Invictus Page 5

  Macro cocked an eyebrow. ‘And special services?’

  ‘That too.’ She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and Macro tasted wine on her breath.

  ‘See you again soon then.’ Macro increased his pace to catch up with his friend as they made for the long, straight street that led to the Quirinal district.

  As they left the Forum behind Cato paused under a lamp hanging from a bracket outside a pie shop and took out the letter Julia had sent him over a year before, in which she gave directions to the house she had purchased. The home where she had awaited his return. While on campaign he had often imagined his homecoming and the wondrous prospect of holding her in his arms again. The dream seemed to mock him now. Cruelly. He felt his heart lurch as he stared at the words written in her neat script, then hurriedly folded the letter and tucked it back in his haversack.

  ‘Not far. It’s this way.’

  Without waiting for a response he strode off and Macro cast a quick backward glance at Columnella, who was accosting a skinny grey-haired man with baggy eyes. He let out a deep sigh and caught up with his friend. Even though the Quirinal was one of the better quarters of Rome, the street was still narrow, with sinister-looking alleys leading off it on both sides. The kind of place where footpads liked to hide in the shadows to pick off unwary individuals. At the top of the hill, where the air was less fetid, the tenement blocks were replaced by the first of the town houses that belonged to well-off merchants, members of the equestrian class like Cato, and the least affluent of the senatorial families. There were many shops here, on either side of the imposing doorways, some trading their upmarket wares: spices, cloth and fine wine and bread.

  They passed over two crossroads and then Cato turned right at the third. He counted the doors they passed and stopped outside a neat studded door, fifty paces along the street. Three worn steps led up from the street and a single oil lamp burned from an iron bracket set far enough above the door that it would escape the clutches of any light-fingered passer-by. He stared at the door, gently pinching his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Are you all right, Cato?’

  ‘No . . . Not really.’

  Macro reached out and rested his hand on Cato’s shoulder. He had been present when his friend had met Julia and knew her well enough to mourn her death in his own right, and not just because it affected Cato. A fine woman, who would have been a fine mother, and more importantly the person who would have made Cato happy and less melancholic. Macro had known his friend since Cato first joined the legions and had watched him fight his way up through the ranks, to centurion, and then surpass Macro and become his superior. It was an odd thing, he reflected once in a while, to be comrade, friend and subordinate. But it was more than that. Cato might well be a brother-in-arms but he was also more like a kid brother, or a son, and, like any father, Macro shared his joy and his pain in equal measure.

  ‘Julia is gone, but your child is in there. He needs you now he has no mother.’

  Cato shot him a bleak look. ‘What do I know of being a father, Macro? There has been hardly a moment that I have not been a soldier for the last ten years. I am steeped in the blood of men I have killed, and seen killed before me. What do I know of nurture and child-raising?’

  ‘I wasn’t suggesting you suckle him at your tit, lad. Just saying that he’ll need a man to look up to and teach him what’s what. That sort of thing. You’re as good as anyone for the job. Do it right and I’m certain young Lucius will turn out every bit as fine a man as his dad, eh? Now, I’m tired. My feet ache and I need food. So, are we going to stand around much longer like a pair of vagrants, or are we going inside?’

  Cato smiled weakly. ‘All right. Here goes.’

  He took a deep breath, climbed the steps and rapped the knocker twice, loudly. All was quiet for a moment, and he was about to try again, when they both heard a cough and a moment later the sound of a small bolt scraping. A small viewing slot opened behind an iron grille and a pair of eyes regarded them suspiciously.

  ‘Who are you?’ a gruff voice demanded. ‘We’re not expecting anyone. Well?’

  Cato met the man’s gaze. ‘I am Prefect Quintus Licinius Cato, returned from campaigning in Britannia, and this is my house. My home. So let me in.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘Prefect Cato?’ The man behind the door sounded shocked. Then his eyes narrowed. ‘The master is in Britannia. Be on your way!’

  He made to shut the flap and Cato thrust his hand in between the small iron bars to stop him. ‘Wait. I am who I say. Look here.’

  He fumbled for his military seal and held it out, angling it towards the dull gleam of the lamp so that the man could make out the inscription. There was a brief pause as the doorkeeper appeared to scrutinise the seal, and Cato wondered if he could even read. Then he looked at Cato once again. ‘If you are who you say you are, then how do you come to be here in Rome, when you should be fighting them barbarians in Britannia?’

  ‘My comrade and I were sent back to Rome by the new governor.’ Cato was tired and his patience was wearing thin. ‘Now open the door, and let me in.’

  ‘And who is he, then? Your comrade.’

  ‘Centurion Macro. I am sure my wife has mentioned him.’

  ‘The lady did speak of him . . . Fair enough, sir. I believe you.’ The doorkeeper stepped back from the door and the viewing flap dropped back into place. A moment later there was the muffled sound of a heavy bolt being drawn and the door opened easily on oiled hinges to reveal a solid individual with dark features. He wore a plain brown tunic and bowed deeply as he stood aside to admit Cato and Macro.

  ‘Welcome home, sir.’

  He closed the door and locked it before continuing in an apologetic tone. ‘Forgive me, Master Cato. I had to be sure who you were. There’s only me and the nurse in the house at the moment. And young Master Lucius of course. So I have to be careful, what with things on the streets being as they are these last months.’

  ‘There’s been trouble even round here?’

  ‘Yes, Master. The followers of the Emperor’s heirs have been stirring things up. Trying to get the mob behind their man, and using the street gangs to ram the point home.’

  ‘That’s too bad,’ Cato responded as he looked round the modest entrance hall, curious to know more about the house Julia had chosen for their home. A candle in a holder on a small side table provided just enough illumination to make out the details. To the left was an alcove with a small shrine and a handful of figures depicting the household spirits. On the opposite wall was another alcove within which a pale face gleamed. Cato felt the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen as he recognised the features. He swallowed and slowly approached. The wax death mask was illuminated from behind by the small wavering flame of an oil lamp. Close up he could see the lines of her face more clearly and he felt a sharp pang of longing for his dead wife. Tentatively, he reached out and touched the mask, and any illusion that it resembled her face shattered as he sensed the smooth hardness of the wax. All the same, he stroked the curve of the cheek for a moment before he turned back to the others.

  ‘I am so sorry for your loss, Master.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cato nodded. ‘What’s your name, fellow?’

  ‘Amatapus, Master.’

  ‘How long have you been living here?’

  ‘All my life, Master. I was born in the slave quarters. My previous master included me in the price when Lady Julia bought the house. She appointed me the major-domo.’

  ‘I see. And the nurse?’

  ‘Petronella? She was hired as a wet-nurse. After the lady died, she was kept on by your father-in-law to look after Master Lucius.’

  ‘Very well. I would like to see the rest of the house. But first I’d like to see my son.’

  ‘Of course, Master.’ Amatapus held out his hands. ‘Your
cloaks, please?’

  Cato handed over his cloak and haversack and Macro followed suit. Once he had hung them on the pegs in the corner of the hall, Amatapus gestured to them to follow him down a short passageway. There were barred doors on each side, and Cato guessed that they led through to the rooms fronting the street either side of the entrance.

  ‘Are there shops attached to the house?’

  ‘There’s a basket weaver to the left and a baker to the right, Master.’

  ‘And what rent do they make?’

  The slave shook his head. ‘I do not know, Master. Such matters were never in my purview. Lady Julia’s father took responsibility for such matters until you returned.’

  ‘I see.’

  At the end of the passage they emerged into an atrium. A small square pond with tessellated representations of fish lay under the open sky. The faint light of the stars provided just enough illumination to make out their surroundings and Cato saw that a handful of doors opened onto the atrium, with a narrow staircase in one corner leading up to the next floor.

  ‘Very nice,’ Macro commented, as he looked round. ‘Very nice indeed. You’ve landed on your feet, lad, and no mistake.’

  ‘There’s four rooms upstairs, Master. All empty at the moment. The mistress never had the chance to decorate them, or furnish them. That’s her sleeping chamber over there. There’s the study she had prepared for you, a dining room next to it, and the last door is Master Lucius’ room. Do you wish to see him? He’ll be asleep.’

  Cato nodded. ‘I’ll see him now.’

  ‘Excuse me then, Master. I’ll fetch a lamp from the kitchen.’

  He left the atrium by a further passage and they heard a muted exchange with a woman. Macro turned to his friend.

  ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Feel?’ Cato thought for a moment. ‘Like a trespasser if I am honest. I’ve never had a home before. This is all new to me. I’m not sure how to cope with it all.’

  ‘We get what fate deals out to us, lad. And we have no choice about how we handle it.’

  Cato smiled. ‘What’s this? Philosophy?’

  ‘Experience, lad. Much better.’

  A faint glow and the sound of shuffling footsteps announced the return of Amatapus. He was accompanied by a large woman in a loose-fitting tunic that hung on her like a tent. The major-domo waved her forward and she bowed to Cato and Macro.

  ‘This is Petronella, Master.’

  By the light of the lamp Cato could see that she had a pretty, plump face with fierce dark eyes, a high forehead and fine dark hair cut short. She appeared to be in her early thirties, though it was hard to be certain in the dim light.

  ‘I assume you’ve been told who I am.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’d like to see my son.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’ She took the lamp from Amatapus, led them to the door of Lucius’ chamber but paused as she took the latch. ‘Master, it might be best if it was just the two of us. No point in scaring the poor child if he wakes to find himself surrounded by grown-ups.’

  ‘All right.’ Cato turned to his friend. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. He’s your son. I’ll get to know him well enough in due course.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cato turned and nodded to the nurse who lifted the latch and gently pushed the door open. Raising the lamp, the nurse led the way into the chamber, a modestly proportioned room with simple furnishings. Besides the bed, against the far wall there was a stool and a chest at the foot of the bed.

  ‘Careful, Master,’ Petronella whispered and gestured towards his feet. Cato glanced down and saw that he had been about to step on some small wooden figurines. He stooped and picked one up and saw that it was crudely carved into the shape of a legionary.

  ‘He loves those,’ the nurse commented. ‘Has them out all the time, Master. The trouble is getting him to help put them away when he goes to bed.’

  Cato put the figurine down and softly paced over to the side of the bed. As Petronella held the lamp up he saw the boy lying on his front with his head to one side and arms splayed out on his mattress. He had kicked off his thin cover and a pair of chubby legs stretched down. His nose wrinkled and he murmured something incoherent and then sighed before his breathing became light and regular again. Easing himself down on the edge of the bed, Cato gently touched the soft, dark curls and felt his heart lurch.

  This was his son. Lucius. His flesh and blood, as well as that of Julia. Already he fancied that he could see that the boy had inherited her snub nose and petite chin. The thought pained his heart and once again he ached for her, Julia. He silently cursed the Gods for taking her from him.

  Easing himself up, he nodded back towards the atrium. They left the boy to continue sleeping and silently closed the door behind them.

  Macro tilted his head. ‘Well?’

  ‘He’s spark out and sleeping like a veteran.’

  Macro chuckled. ‘A chip off the old block then. Good for him.’ Then his face wrinkled up and his mouth stretched open in an involuntary yawn. ‘Fuck me, I’m shattered.’

  ‘So I can see. Amatapus, find the centurion a comfortable bed.’

  ‘Yes, Master. And for yourself?’

  ‘I’ll sleep in the main bedchamber.’

  ‘Yes, Master.’

  ‘Good, then you can wake us both at the second hour tomorrow. I take it there’s enough food.’

  Petronella nodded. ‘Plenty, Master.’

  ‘Then we’ll get some sleep.’

  Amatapus’ brow creased. ‘Do you not want to see the rest of the house, Master?’

  Cato glanced round the atrium. ‘There’s more?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Master. The kitchens, slave quarters, but most of all the garden and outside dining area. That was the mistress’ favourite part of the house. You can’t see much now, of course.’

  ‘Then we can see it in the morning,’ Cato cut in. ‘For now, we both need sleep. Please see to Centurion Macro. Better get him another lamp and let me have that one. I’ll find my own way.’

  With the lamp in hand, Cato turned to his friend. ‘Sleep well.’

  ‘I’m sure I will.’ Macro gestured at his surroundings. ‘A billet doesn’t come much better than this!’

  They exchanged a weary smile, and then Cato made his way around the colonnaded pond to the room that Amatapus had indicated earlier. He lifted the latch and the door hinges gave a light squeak as the door swung inwards. Stepping across the threshold Cato caught a sweet scent lingering in the air, something Julia must have placed in the room to make it more pleasing. The sleeping chamber was a large space with chests against one wall, a table, chair and shelves with pots and jars against the opposite wall, and in between a large bed with a thick mattress with fine linen coverings and two well-padded bolsters. Some small sandals lay at the foot of the bed.

  He crossed to the table and saw that there were brushes and a mirror there, as well as small pots of face colours, some scents and a wooden frame upon which hung some necklaces and bracelets. To one side lay a thick silver amulet and Cato smiled at the thought that she had bought this to give him on his return. Then he turned towards the bed.

  He put the lamp down on the small table beside the bed and undressed, leaving his folded clothes on the chair. Then he pulled back the coverings and climbed into the bed and lay on his side, nose pressed into the bolster covering and inhaling the faint odour of yet another scent. More subtle this time, more human. The unmistakable odour of hair. Julia’s hair. He closed his eyes and reached out across the empty bed and ran his fingers over the mattress, tracing the small indents where she had once lain. Sleep would not come, and he lay restless, his mind seething with memories and a terrible aching sense of loss, and the far more raw sense of facing life without Julia, without love.r />
  But there was his son. And there was Macro. He tried to console himself with that, and yet he felt more alone than he had ever felt before in his life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cato heard the sound of laughter as he emerged from the sleeping chamber the next morning. He had barely slept. Rubbing his eyes, he stretched his shoulders before turning towards the sound that echoed down the corridor leading towards the rear of the house and the garden. He passed the three small doors of the slave quarters before reaching the open door of the kitchen. Breathing in a rich aroma of frying he realised how hungry he was and paused to look into the kitchen.

  Petronella was feeding charcoal to a fire under a grill. On top was a large pan in which onions and sausages were sizzling and spitting. She straightened up, rubbing her hands on a stained apron, and caught sight of him.

  ‘Oh, Master! You surprised me.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘We aren’t used to company in the house. Not since the mistress passed away.’ She smiled sympathetically at him. ‘Some breakfast, Master? The other officer ordered this, after he had finished our last cuts of pork and bread. There’s heated wine too.’

  ‘That’ll do fine.’

  Cato paced out of the corridor and into bright sunshine and blinked for a moment before he could take in the view. The garden at the rear of the house was not very wide, but stretched a full forty paces to the wall at the back where another street ran parallel to that on which the entrance opened. There were tall walls on either side, giving privacy from the neighbours, and on the far side of the street only tiled roofs were visible for some distance, meaning that the garden was not overlooked. He heard the laughter again and saw a covered area a short distance along the garden wall. There was a simple stone table, with cushioned eating couches on three sides. On the largest, Macro was lying on his back and holding Lucius up above his face. The child was giggling and then let out a shrill peal of laughter as Macro lowered him and blew a raspberry into his stomach.