head, let alone the thing on his neck. I remember when they first arrived. He was like a son to that Flaccus, rode everywhere with him while the mercenaries brought from the mainland did the dirty work, flaunting that gold eagle and a well-fed body while women and children starved.’
Tyrtaeus looked at Aquila enquiringly and the boy held his gaze, forming the words in his mind that he would need to save himself. Phoebe had only taught him a small amount of Greek, which did not extend to explaining the impression he had: that part of Pentheus’s anger was probably compounded of jealousy as much as hardship and the way he looked at the eagle talisman was clearly suffused with greed.
‘He speaks the truth. I was close to Flaccus, for reasons that it would be of little use to explain.’ He raised his hand towards Gadoric, still struggling to follow the conversation. ‘But I was closer to this man, who helped to raise me after my father went off to war. When I saw him tied to a stake, and heard what his fate would be, I could not leave him to die.’
Pentheus jabbed his spear into Aquila’s stomach. ‘Don’t trust him, Tyrtaeus. Let me kill him.’
‘I don’t trust him,’ replied the taller man, ‘but neither will I behave like our late masters and condemn him out of hand.’
‘I’m in a poor position to offer advice, but Flaccus and his men are headed this way, following our trail. All I have done is make him cautious, which will slow him down, but he’ll be here before nightfall. Either you have enough men to stand here and fight him, or you too have to flee.’
‘How many men we have is our business. Tie him up, Pentheus.’
The ex-slave grinned, dropped his spear and dashed to obey. Tyrtaeus walked over and addressed the other two, his hand indicating the marks of fresh wounds. ‘You are welcome, whatever else. Your scars are like the insignia of our tribe.’
‘I’ll take care of you myself,’ whispered Pentheus, pulling the rope that held Aquila’s arms tight. Then he grabbed the eagle on the chain, and jerked Aquila’s head forward until their noses were nearly touching. ‘I lost a woman and two children to your lot. I’ve dreamt of killing Flaccus ever since, but you’ll do in his place. One thing I promise you, and that is a slow death.’
Tyrtaeus walked back, his arms through those of Gadoric and Hypolitas. ‘Pentheus, help these two fellows onto the horses.’
‘And him?’
‘He’s well fed. The bastard can walk.’
Marcellus read the despatch while his father watched him. They had become more like equals now; not that Lucius had mellowed, it was just that his son was becoming too mature to be treated as a schoolboy.
‘My first impression is that Silvanus is exaggerating.’ Lucius nodded, as Marcellus continued. ‘Obviously he has to pay for calling out his auxiliaries, but sending troops to Sicily would be a burden on the state. How venal is he?’
‘I daresay he’ll make a goodly sum out of his governorship, but I doubt that it will be excessive.’
‘What would be excessive?’
‘Two million sesterces per annum. Half of that is about what the governorship should be worth.’
‘How can we tell what he is making?’
‘By the cries of the islanders. If he was milking them we would have an endless stream of complaints.’
‘So there is the possibility that this request is prompted by genuine fears, rather than any dent it might make in his purse?’
‘Runaway slaves are not unknown,’ said Lucius.
Marcellus lifted the scroll and waved it. ‘Which is just what this is, a few hundred slaves got into the hills, and they must steal grain and livestock to survive. It’s banditry. I think he’ll find he has quite enough men for this sweep through the mountains he’s planned.’
Lucius smiled and nodded his agreement. ‘I would have had serious doubts about putting the idea up to the Senate anyway. They’re never keen on spending public money, so the idea of sending soldiers to Sicily would not be well received.’
Marcellus put the scroll down on Lucius’s desk. ‘Am I free to go now?’
‘Yes, but take the scroll to my steward. This is the second despatch Silvanus has sent us on the same topic. I want it taken round to the house of Quintus Cornelius. Let us see what opinion he has.’
‘Would it not be easier just to tell him what you think?’
Lucius gave his son a sharp shake of the head. ‘This was sent to the consuls, so it will require a debate and he will be proposing the response to the house. Let him make up his own mind.’
Marcellus made his way through the house, for even after this session with his father, he was still smarting from the way Valeria had humiliated him. The look he had received on making his delayed entrance, washed and dressed, was full of hauteur. Gnaeus Calvinus, still in his dirt-streaked smock, had benefited, though there was some doubt as to his level of appreciation. From what Marcellus knew, he did not even like girls, yet she had treated him like a heroic suitor and all for the purpose of annoying him. It rankled even more that Gnaeus had entered into the spirit of things, playing up to Valeria and even surpassing her in his flights of poetic hyperbole. All his friend’s gentility had evaporated as they challenged each other, in rhyming couplets, to ever increasing degrees of bloodthirstiness. He vowed that he was finished with her games; never again would he allow her actions to make him jealous.
The room was dark, which was the way he liked it; he did not want to see Sosia at all. She was there, of course, as usual and the cot creaked as he knelt over her. The cool skin he touched was, in his mind, Roman skin, the hair the same as he pulled her head off the bed. The lips, even the resistance was the repugnance of a high- born lady, but she succumbed as he thrust his hips forward, and, in his mind, the insistent teasing voice was still.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The runaway slaves might know the mountains that provided their refuge, but seemed sadly lacking in the skills necessary to evade a pursuit. The trail they were leaving, given their number, was so obvious it bordered on the ridiculous and the few tentative suggestions their prisoner made were cut off by the sallow-complexioned Pentheus with the butt of his spear. Aquila, trying to find out as much about his captors as he could, probed guardedly, aware that any direct question addressed to the leader, Tyrtaeus, would not be answered. But as they stumbled along the rocky mountain trails, he had time for an oblique approach, so he quickly established that this trio had nothing to do with the recent attack on him and Flaccus. From that, and other hints, he deduced that the slaves were in fragmented groups; they were not the organised bandit force that Barbinus imagined.
The party stopped as the sun went down and, permitted to rest alongside Gadoric, he was able to explain all that had happened since they had last met. He also enlisted his support, knowing that he had to persuade his captors that, if they continued in a like manner, Flaccus would catch them the next day and they would all die, so Gadoric called Tyrtaeus over and Pentheus followed. The moon made the latter’s hair look silver, like the head of some benign old man, an impression quickly erased by the harsh voice.
‘He stays tied. I don’t care what anyone says!’ These words were accompanied by a glare aimed at Tyrtaeus.
It was Gadoric who replied. ‘He doesn’t need to be untied. All I ask is that you follow the advice he and I give you.’
Tyrtaeus scratched thoughtfully at his hooked nose. He must have guessed that Gadoric, in his weak state, would leave everything to Aquila. Pentheus certainly seemed to, being quick to shake his head in disapproval. The leader examined the boy closely, struck by the maturity and assurance so evident in one so young.
‘May I be allowed a question?’ said Aquila. Pentheus shook his head again, but Tyrtaeus nodded. ‘I would guess that, normally, soldiers never bother to pursue you very far into the mountains.’ Another sharp nod. ‘I mean no disrespect when I say that they don’t think you’re worth it. What are a few slaves, scratching an existence in the hills, to men who have so many?’
‘One day we’ll show them,’ snapped Pentheus, jabbing the spear.
