Octavian’s fingers were quivering with rage as they grasped the goblet in a death-grip, and the mask of collected calm was beginning to melt from his face; a wax sculpture left too long in harsh sunlight.
‘Huntsmen? Preposterous. I know not of what you speak,’ he muttered. ‘And would you care to repeat what you have just said, Batiatus? Are you really accusing a senator of Rome of conspiring to commit murder?!’
‘I’m just repeating hearsay, is all,’ Batiatus responded with a stony face. ‘I would not make such accusations unless I had proof … something that you are still evidently lacking, with regards to my friend Lucius. You want me to give him to you? Well don’t come here with offers of gold. As I said, I’ve got enough of that. Bring me proof of the man’s crimes, proof, Octavian, and then I’ll cooperate, as any good Roman citizen would. And why do you not humour me by giving me a few details regarding this Huntsmen organisation of yours? Come now, end this charade. I know the secret society exists. If you were to explain to me what exactly it is, I might become more amenable to the idea of turning him in to you.’
Another vein of lightning-wrath ripped across the plain of Octavian’s face, but he quickly suppressed the emotion and readjusted his mask of haughty indifference.
‘As I said, I know not of what you speak, Batiatus. “Huntsmen”? Really? Despite what you insist, I tell you this: no such secret society exists. These are all ridiculous fabrications, concocted in the wild and unrestrained imagination of your uncouth associate. Don’t take too seriously these outrageous things he says.’
‘I don’t take too seriously anything anyone says, Octavian. I judge men by their actions, not their words.’
Octavian threw back his head and laughed, but his tone left little doubt that there were steel barbs and razor-tipped blades in his put-on mirth.
‘So do we in the senate, my friend! Which is why we need … well, never mind, I can see that there is no convincing you. However, should you happen to change your mind—’
‘I won’t.’
Octavian stood up and bowed lightly to Batiatus.
‘In that case I bid you a good evening, Batiatus. I assure you, however, we will speak of this again soon. And I do hope that by next time we speak, some reason will have entered your mind and overridden this stubborn, emotive loyalty that is currently clouding your judgment.’
Batiatus’s lips stiffened into a cold smile that was bereft of any humour or friendliness.
‘Reason is the only thing that guides my hands and mind, Senator. The guards will see you out. Good evening.’
Octavian turned on the heels of his jewelled sandals and strode briskly out of Batiatus’s ostentatious dining hall. The two guards who had been stationed at the door of the hall, both of whom were kitted out in the ornate plate armour of hoplomachi gladiators, replete with full-face helms, followed Octavian out to make sure he got safely to his luxurious litter, which was manned by twelve burly slaves, all waiting in obedient silence.
After a few minutes the armoured guards returned, and one of them strode up to Batiatus, who was still sipping on the exquisite wine that Octavian had given him. The guard leaned his spear against the table, and then removed his full-face helm.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ he said.
Batiatus shrugged and waved a dismissive hand.
‘It is nothing. You heard what I had to say to that snake: I’ve got more gold than I know what to do with, and I’ve got the finest gladiators in the Republic. What more could I want? He’s got nothing he can tempt me with.’
Worry nonetheless bubbled its noxious fumes up through the ponds of Lucius’s eyes.
‘He is trying his best though.’
Batiatus took a slow sip of his wine and closed his eyes, savouring its flavour and body for a few drawn-out moments before replying.
‘Let him try. It won’t make a difference. Look, I’m a soldier at heart, Lucius, and you know how fiercely we value loyalty. And you, you are a former gladiator of mine, and you earned my respect and trust over many years of faithful service. Worry not, old friend, I’ll not sell you to the Huntsmen, not for any price.’
The relief etched on Lucius’s face at this news was plain to see. He sighed and looked down at the floor, massaging his temples with still-clammy fingers.
‘Thank you Batiatus. You are among the few I would name a true friend. And it was quite ingenious of you to have me in disguise as one of your guards, mere feet away from that bastard Octavian. I can’t deny that the impulse to lean across the table and slit his throat was strong … but out of respect for you, I did not do it.’
‘And I trust you enough to know that you would not have done it, which is why I put you there in the first place. As is oft said, the most effective place to hide something is usually in plain sight. I must ask you though, have you found out anything more about these so-called Huntsmen, the very existence of which Octavian continues to deny?’
Lucius, in the past few years, had discovered exactly why the Huntsmen were after him, but of course there was no way that he could explain these things without revealing his own secret – that he could shift form into a wolf at will, that he did not ever fall ill like other people, and that he seemed immune to the ravages of ageing. These Huntsmen somehow knew
