your money.’
He pulled himself away, pushing up on his elbows. ‘If Demetrius gives you a dowry, he can make it conditional on you marrying someone of his choice. If I give it to you, then you can decide for yourself.’
She lay silently, her head in the crook of his arm, and Aquila sensed she was crying. ‘Perhaps the gods will be kind.’
‘You deserve their kindness. Use the money to find somewhere else to live. Get out of here. When I’m not around, how can I be sure that Demetrius will keep his hands to himself?’
The wheel fell off Commodus’s cart the first day, tipping him into the street. He was still aching from the bruises the following morning when he woke to find the stone-cold body of Donatus in his bed. That day, as he walked through the streets, on his way to tell Demetrius that he was a dead man, a whole pile of wooden scaffolding cascaded down. Commodus was as aware as anyone that the shout, coming from nowhere, had saved his life, giving him just enough time to duck into a doorway. He screamed and cursed at his men, especially his brother, for their inability to protect him, but he stayed away from the bakery. What finally convinced him were the three arrows that arrived the following day. They came through his open warehouse window, one near his right arm and another near his left, with the third thudding into the desk right in front of him. He went personally to see Demetrius, swore on all the gods that he would not take revenge, and even paid for his bread.
‘I’m enjoying this,’ said Fabius as they watched Commodus making his way home, surrounded by bodyguards, his eyes darting around the buildings.
‘I think it may be over,’ Aquila replied.
The vengeful look was quite gone from Commodus’s face, to be replaced with one of fear, as the gang leader’s head swept from side to side, to seek out his invisible attackers. Demetrius, who reluctantly handed over the funds they needed to buy their equipment, confirmed that Calpurnia had taken lodgings with Donatus’s widow and that was their last port of call. She was brave; no tears or tearing of garments, and she even kissed Fabius on his podgy cheek.
‘I look forward to the day when you celebrate your triumph, Aquila.’
He wanted to argue, to tell her he was a mere mortal and point out that legionaries were not awarded triumphs, but the look in her eyes precluded that, so he bent and kissed her softly.
‘Take care, Calpurnia.’ Then he spun round to face Fabius, slapping him on his spreading stomach. ‘Come along, “Nephew”. Time to get some of that weight off you.’
His ‘nephew’ insisted on one last sweep through the rich houses on the Palatine Hill, certain that the gods would not let him go off to war empty-handed, and he was right. They caught a vintner delivering ampoules of wine to the Cornelii villa, a man foolish enough to leave his cart unattended while he lifted the clay containers into the rear of the house. Not that his eye was off his possessions for more than two seconds, but that was enough for Fabius. He was spotted, of course, which led to a commotion, as well as a hue and cry.
‘Remarry?’ asked Quintus Cornelius, ignoring the noise of shouting that suddenly erupted from just outside the kitchens.
Claudia thought that his eyebrows were arched in a rather theatrical way. Quintus was like that, always behaving as if there was part of his personality outside his body observing his actions. They had been at loggerheads ever since the day she had married his father, not least because he esteemed his own dead mother, but also as she had been younger than her prospective stepson at the time of the nuptials. Quintus could never accept that Claudia had loved his father, as well as admiring the most famous general in the Roman world, and, after his conquest of Macedonia, one of the richest men in Rome. The twenty-year age gap had not made any difference to their relationship either; that had changed after she had been taken prisoner by the Celt-Iberians.
It was Quintus who had found her, and he was one of the few people who knew her secret. Not that he would say anything; the Cornelii name and his political ambitions meant too much to him. She did not doubt that her intention to remarry had surprised him. On top of that, he had the air of a man who was anticipating the pleasure he could gain from a negative response. Time to disabuse him of that notion!
‘I am aware that I don’t really require your permission.’
‘Oh, I think you do, Claudia. I am the head of the Cornelii household.’
‘Which your father saw fit to place me outside.’
Quintus bristled. ‘As long as you reside under this roof…’
Claudia cut him off sharply. ‘I can move today if you wish it, Stepson, and buy a house of my own.’
‘I will not let you do this, Claudia!’
‘Yes, you will,’ she said softly.
The eyebrows shot up again; he was unused to that tone of voice from his stepmother. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Not even if you were to have a hand in my choice of husband?’
There was nowhere left for his face to go, being shocked and surprised already, so it seemed as if her words had failed to register. But she knew her stepson too well for that; he was not stupid, despite his manifest faults. He would have covered all the possibilities relating to his personal advantage in a split second. After all, he was, since the death of Lucius Falerius Nerva, the titular leader of the optimates, the faction that Lucius had led, but he lacked the authority of his predecessor. His hold on power was shaky and his position, to his mind, was perilously assailable.
‘I am aware of my responsibilities to the family, just as you are.’
Quintus treated that remark with a mocking smile. ‘Then it is a sudden and somewhat overdue conversion, Lady.’
Claudia let the insult pass; her goal was far too important for that. ‘You may draw up a list of candidates, Quintus, men who stand to gain by an alliance with the Cornelii. I will not let you choose, but I shall certainly take a husband from the names you provide.’
‘I find this hard to believe.’
‘Why? I want to remarry, preferably without a public fuss.’
‘Which I could most certainly cause,’ said Quintus coldly.
‘So let it be a person who will give you something in return, like more vocal support in the Senate.’
They stood, eyes locked, for what seemed an age, while Quintus ran through the pros and cons in his mind. Finally, he nodded abruptly. ‘I agree, but on one condition.’
Claudia’s heart was pounding fiercely; she was afraid he had guessed her motives and would make her swear an oath that would block them off. ‘Which is?’
‘That you make a will, returning, on your death, all the money my father left to you to the Cornelii family coffers.’
Claudia felt, and heard, the breath she had built up escape from her body. ‘I agree!’
CHAPTER FOUR
Marcellus had two problems to consider, which had nothing to do with the chests full of documents in the cellar; first, he had to decide what to do about his forthcoming nuptials, and secondly, he had received his summons to join the legions as soon as he got home, though the death of his father excused him from immediate compliance in both cases. As Lucius’s sole heir he had to oversee everything; Titus Cornelius, his mentor in Sicily, now quaestor, and more experienced in these matters, helped him to make the arrangements. The death of someone as potent as Lucius Falerius was the occasion for one of the greatest sights in the Roman Republic, a patrician funeral, and Marcellus had to request the attendance of famous men, people of enough personal standing to grace such an occasion and act as family mourners.
They readily agreed, though Titus declined the premier post. He advised Marcellus that he would be wiser to ask his elder brother Quintus, certain to be elected as the next junior consul, to undertake that prestigious role. The catafalque was arranged, borne aloft by the most imposing slaves from the Falerii farms. Marcellus followed on foot, while behind him came Quintus in his purple-edged toga, driving his own chariot, wearing the death mask of Lucius’s most famous ancestors, Maximus Falerius, a great administrator and Roman soldier, who had helped to
