“Quick” Istros yelled as he saw the guard, who was gripping his useless arm tightly, turn to run. “Finish him” he shouted to Auguronos as he pointed at Hix, who had fallen to the floor. The guard turned as if to run but Istros was too fast for him, his pleas ignored as he sliced his blade across his throat. Behind him he heard voices calling from around the corner, but he was also glad that he saw Auguronos slamming his blade repeatedly into the body of Hix, his lifeless eyes staring up to the sky. Istros grabbed the young man’s arm and pulled him quickly into an alleyway before several people came around the corner, some with cudgels and others with long blades. They kicked up a commotion as they called for candles to come and see what had happened as Istros pulled Auguronos further from the scene and angled towards the river where he knew they needed to wash away the blood from their clothes if they were to avoid the mob that would soon be searching the city.
*****
Marcus sighed as the last guest was led away to the door and waved their goodnights. The triumphal parade had been magnificent, with the wagons loaded with spoils and over seventy superb horses captured in battle paraded through the streets. The people had cheered wildly, the streets crowded with admiring Romans. Yet Marcus had felt very alone as he had donned the flowing cape of the dictator and stood on the gold coloured chariot as he led the legions, gleaming in their bronze and iron armour, through the streets.
The parade had lasted two hours, and three magnificent golden bowls inscribed with the name Camillus had been fashioned from the spoils of the war and presented to the city. These bowls were presented to Marcus at the Temple of Jupiter and were to remain there forever as a sign of his great deeds for the city.
Since then he had endured endless speeches from various senators which extolled the values of Rome and her gods. Finally, there had been the obligatory feast at his house, where he now stood and allowed himself to relax slightly. He’d been goaded into a long argument about his decision to allow the soldiers to take much of the spoils on the campaign, a decision which had angered more of the Senate than he had expected. The older senators had ranted for an hour regarding how the plebeians couldn’t be trusted after the night on the Capitol when the guards had fallen asleep. If it hadn’t been for Marcus Manlius Capitolinus and his sacred geese, the old argument had started. Several senators had joined the debate as men split into two distinct camps, those for political reform, allowing plebeian positions to support the Senate, and those against. The discussions had, as always, been heated. As Marcus nodded to the door slave and turned towards the rear of the house there was a knock on the door, gentle but noticeable. The slave frowned as he looked to his house master.
“A guest must have left a cloak” Marcus said over his shoulder as he stifled a yawn. The door slave nodded as he slipped the latch and the door opened slowly. As the door slave bowed deeply and mumbled a greeting Marcus turned to see what had caused such a reaction. In the frame of the doorway stood the unmistakable outline of more than one lictor, their rods and fasces held firmly in their grips. Marcus moved towards the door as Gaius Javenoli, his face beaming with a broad smile, entered.
“Pontifex” Marcus said with genuine surprise. “I’m afraid the party has finished, and the food and wine removed” he said quickly as he stepped briskly across and gripped Javenoli’s hand.
Javenoli smiled as he looked around the room. “Gaius, please” he said. “Surely such old friends as we can ignore the formalities at such a late hour?” Marcus nodded and responded that they should. He motioned the older senator to a chair and sat across from him as Javenoli apologised for his late arrival. “You cannot believe how much time and energy I expend reviewing calendars, preparing for festivals, dealing with the hundreds of people who turn up at the temples every day with children they wish blessed, curses they want to put onto enemies” he shook his head, his eyes looking heavy as he looked up at Marcus.
With a grin he replied, “You forget I was a member of the Camillii brotherhood for many years, Gaius.” The Pontifex smiled at this. Marcus called for drinks, but Javenoli simply waved the suggestion away, saying that he wished only to have a quiet moment with him and wouldn’t impose on the dictators’ time for more than a few moments. Intrigued, Marcus sat back on his chair with an expectant look on his face.
Javenoli interlocked his fingers and laid them across his stomach as he took a moment to compose his thoughts. “No doubt you are wondering why I’ve come at such a late hour?”
Marcus acknowledged the question with a movement of his head, affecting the minimum of interest whilst inwardly very interested in the strange approach of Rome’s leading priest. There had been many conversations in his own circles with regard to the Pontifex and his continued political and business dealings both within Rome and with the wider network of land and trade deals. As usual most things that Javenoli touched seemed to add to his wealth, and there was much to be said for the role he had taken in leading the changes to the religious calendars and state business as Pontifex. There was even talk of a female partner, something of which Marcus had not heard of in all the years he had known the man. Indeed, he’d lost a remarkable amount of weight and looked almost as healthy as Marcus had ever remembered him being, though his cheeks seemed strangely flushed in the candlelight of the room.
“The reality is I chose to come after all the guests had left as I need your opinion on a few matters and I didn’t want any unwanted ears to overhear our conversation. You must forgive me” he continued. “But it is the only way that I felt we could talk privately without causing suspicion” he added.
Marcus raised his eyebrows questioningly as he shifted slightly on his seat.
“I know that your skills in the Etrusca Disciplina are second to none, and mine are poor in comparison” he said with a slow look towards Marcus, which suggested he felt embarrassed at the admission. “Recent sacrifices have been” he paused as his eyes drifted to the ceiling in thought “obscure. In fact, I would even go so far as to say they have suggested dark omens.”
Marcus sat forward, frowning at the words.
“Yes” Javenoli’s voice dropped, almost conspiratorial. “I find myself needing to question the other priests as reading after reading becomes darker. Liver spots, red blotches on intestines, many cases of intestinal disease in both lambs and chickens” he said as his eyes widened, and he started to wring his hands together. Marcus started to slowly shake his head but didn’t reply. Javenoli looked up, his well-rehearsed look catching Marcus and affecting him exactly as he had expected. “The readings today, they were…. mixed. Not at all what I said they were. I’ve been thinking of it all evening” his eyes closed as he put both hands on the sides of his jaw and rubbed his cheeks until his fingers met on his bristled chin.
“Surely the results cannot have been that bad?”
Javenoli simply shook his head in response. “Several readings, the same results.” He looked up with red veined eyes. “As a man chosen by the gods, and with your skills” his eyes widened “I would value your opinion, Marcus” he said, softly.
Marcus stood; his body language tense as he stared at Javenoli. “Tomorrow, two hours after sunrise. I will come to the temple of Jupiter. We can read the skies and sacrifice in order to ask the gods for their guidance on the new building programme in the marshes” he stated in the commanding voice of a man used to giving orders. Javenoli nodded earnestly as he stood and clasped Marcus’ hand.
“You do me a great honour, Marcus” he added quickly as he continued to hold his hand. “You” he looked momentarily embarrassed again. “You must visit” he stammered as if struggling to find the correct words. “You must come and visit. You and Livia” he added with a warm smile. “One evening this week, we can confirm arrangements when we meet tomorrow. It will be good to hear the story of your recent victory first hand.” At this he brightened up. “I do miss campaigning” he said with a wistful look in his eye.
Before Marcus could reply, the old man had let lo
ose his firm handshake and turned towards the door. He winked as the door opened and called over his shoulder “My apologies Camillus. If I had known your triumphal feast had already finished I would never have entered. Great men need their sleep” he added loudly as he turned to look back at Marcus with a grin. Marcus bowed formally and said his goodbyes as he noticed several men in the shadows watch the Pontifex leave, his lictors strung out in front of him like a long snake as his slaves joined the back of the retinue.
Standing and watching the dark streets for a moment Marcus considered his old friend as his group disappeared into the shadows of the houses. A number of thoughts ran through his mind as he stood in silence and allowed his views to assemble. Two men, one half carrying the other, caused him to tighten his lips disapprovingly before he turned and re-entered the house. If Javenoli had sought him out, then things must be bad. Had the gods forsaken Rome again as they had on the day of the Alliensis? No, that could not be the case, his own sacrifices in the last few weeks and days had all pointed to the success of the campaigns. Surely if the gods were against Rome he would have seen it himself. He rubbed his chin as he moved into the interior of the house. The unrest in Rome had been on the increase recently, he thought. Several minor scuffles across the city as men lost their victory spoils in gambling dens, violence spilling out onto the streets. Yet all the appropriate sacrifices had been made, spoils of silver and gold and the best weapons hoarded at the altars in the temples. Javenoli must be mistaken, he concluded. The man was still new to the Disciplina, there must be some mistake. As he passed the alcove in which a small wooden statue sat he knelt on one knee and dropped his head in silent prayer. Do not desert Rome, we need you he thought as he kissed his fingers and laid them on the head of the statue before turning towards his chamber. A thought came to him as his servant unwound the toga from his body and he glanced to the wooden carved eagle he always kept on a cord around his neck. The words of the prophecy from all those years ago came to his mind as fresh as if he had just heard them for the first time. Javenoli had been there at the beginning, was this the gods telling him that their favour had now passed? Had the words of the seer now run their course? He swallowed nervously as he allowed the last fold of the toga to slip from his body and decided that he would reassert his vows to Fortuna and Mater Matuta before he went to his bed.
************
“There” shouted Crastinus, his hand jerking towards the pair of crudely carved dice as they rolled to a stop. “A pair” he called triumphantly with a slap to the table. Several men groaned as he took the small pile of bronze ases and dragged them towards him.
“You have the luck of the gods tonight” slurred a blurry eyed Brevo, his hand clutching a wooden cup which he upended and drained noisily.
“I’m still down” Crastinus replied moodily. “Come on, who’s in for this throw” he called as he reached across and grabbed the dice, dropping them into the wooden cup he held in his left hand. A number of grumbles greeted his words as heavy hands slid various coins and other precious metals into the table centre. He threw the dice. “Shit” he called as a one and a five landed. Cheers greeted his misery at such a bad throw and he handed the cup to the drink sodden man on his left, whose eyes seemed to be working independently as he struggled to grab the dice and place them in the cup. Several throws later and the soldiers had had enough, one man picking up his inebriated friend and waving his goodbyes as he half dragged him from the tavern.
“More wine” shouted Crastinus to a dark-haired boy who was running between the tables delivering large jugs of the red liquid.
“I’m done” Brevo said sleepily. “Not an As left” he mumbled with his hands placed with palms towards the ceiling.
Vulpus, his hands also open, nodded towards Brevo with red eyes. “I’m done too, sir” said the Optio. “I need to get back, Narcius will have me on latrines again if I turn up drunk on morning parade.”
“The old woman” grumbled Crastinus. “Why isn’t he here with us tonight?” he added.
“He’s at Camillus’ house party” the Optio replied as he scraped his chair back on the flagstones and stood, his hands holding the table firmly as he looked at his inebriated colleagues. “Anyone else heading home towards the river?” he asked. Three men raised grumbling voices and stood, slapping the shoulders of the remaining men before they departed together noisily.
Two men entered as the soldiers left, their eyes searching the tables as they slid thick woollen hoods from their heads. One nodded towards the chairs vacated by the leaving men and they strode across purposefully. Dark eyes greeted them as they sat.
“We’ve got no coin if you’re looking for a game” Brevo said coldly towards the two men, who looked too sober to be up to any good at this late hour.
“No friend” said the shorter of the men, his brown eyes set deep in his skull. Brevo noticed the man had a number of pock marks on his face, remnants of some childhood disease, but he was otherwise unremarkable, even skinny. With disdain, the soldier considered he must be some sort of lawyer or magistrate as his hands looked as if they’d never done a day’s work in his life. “Just out celebrating the great victory as you are” the man added warily as he placed his hands on the table to show he had no weapon drawn under the table.
Brevo and Crastinus shared a brief glance as the tension that had arrived with the men started to ease. A loud guffaw brought their eyes to an approaching figure as Vetto, his scarred face twisted into a long grin, appeared in the doorway with several other older soldiers, men who had been stationed outside the city walls whilst the eagles had been following Camillus across the countryside.
“Here’s where they are” cheered the old man as his friends spilled in behind him and crammed themselves onto the table at which Crastinus was sat.
“Ah, old man” grinned the centurion. “About time you turned up, this lot have given up on the wine, at least an old soak like you can drink like a proper Roman” he said with a grin as the two men clasped hands, several of the newcomers also reaching around the table to clasp hands with their fellows.
“Boy, more wine” yelled Crastinus into the depths of the inn behind him. “Been a good day hasn’t it?” he asked as he frowned into the empty cup in his hand.
“Camillus can put on a show that’s for sure” Vetto replied. “As loyal soldiers we’ve had free drinks in every bar we’ve been in” he shouted hopefully as the men who had arrived with him cheered loudly and started to drum on the table in a rising crescendo of noise. Crastinus grinned at this. The noise continued, men individually quietened but were called back to chanting and drumming by Vetto before they could give up altogether.
A sour faced landlord appeared with two burly, leather clad, bodyguards. His short-cropped beard hid a thin lined mouth as he stared at the perpetrators of the noise. He curled his lip as he shook his head before speaking. “One jug” he waved as he turned from the crowd of boisterous soldiers. “No more” he yelled as the men cheered loudly and called upon the gods of the inns to bring great profits to his doors. He grinned at this, yellow teeth staring back at the shouting at men. “Two then, it’s been a good night” he laughed as he waved the bodyguards away, the men replacing their cudgels into their belts. This brought an even bigger cheer as the older soldiers whooped with delight.
Crastinus was watching the two newcomers as all the activity had taken place. The men watched but said nothing and the centurion eyed them suspiciously before Vetto broke his concentration.
“You see young pup.” Vetto laughed. “The old ones know all the tricks” he tapped his nose.
Crastinus and Brevo smiled back at him and shook their heads. “I bet he’s your cousin” Brevo replied. “Same ugly face and tight as an Etruscans purse.”
More cheers went up as two men further along the table took out a pair of dice and started shaking them in a small bone cup. Brevo heard the noise and shifted along the table and nodded towards the small pile of coins in front of Crastinus be
fore grabbing a handful of them as his friend gave a resigned flick of his head. Brevo called that he was in for a few Ases and disappeared along the table. Crastinus shook his head again and looked up, wondering where the free jugs of wine had gone.
“Why so surly my friend?” Vetto asked.
“Brevo has already lost all his campaign pay” he said slowly with a sad look to his friend. “He just can’t say no to a game.”
“It’s a curse” Vetto replied as he glanced towards the other centurion, his hands gripping the rattling cup as his eyes stared wildly to the sky and he called on Jupiter to send him a pair. His prayer went unanswered as his dice showed a three and a four. Jeers rang through the air as another man took the cup from the despairing centurion.
“It’s more than that” Crastinus replied. “His debts are already more than a year’s pay and with three mouths to feed as well as his whole family living with him.” He continued to shake his head and didn’t finish the sentence as Vetto sighed deeply before speaking again.
“Who’s he in debt to?”
“That arse Cincinnatus”
“Another Capitol man who seems to have profited well out of the invasion of the Gaul’s” Vetto said quietly.
Crastinus nodded his reply. “They look after each other alright.” He eyed the two newcomers before continuing as the wine jugs were deposited on the table to great cheers from the men. “Seems they get richer as we struggle to keep the rats from the amphora” he said gloomily. Vetto nodded.
“They’re not all bad” Vetto replied. “Camillus, Cossus” he shrugged, “there’s a few who’ll give a man a chance.”
“True, but not enough to make a difference.”
The pock marked man shuffled in his seat and leant forwards, the movement causing Crastinus to narrow his eyes and tighten his right hand into a fist. “Capitolinus is one such man” he said as he looked from one centurion to the other. “Good man. Friend of the plebeians” he added. “They say he’s already paid off hundreds of debts for old soldiers and men under the heel of patrician paymasters.” The man smiled as he finished.
The King of Rome Page 20
