“Marcus, I am glad you have found time to come,” Claudia said, as he kissed her lightly on her cheeks. Then she motioned for him to follow her into the building. “I am sure your new job is keeping you busy. Come, he is in the class room.”
“Has he apologised to you yet?” Marcus growled, as he followed her into the school.
Claudia sighed. “You had better speak to him,” she replied in a weary voice.
Ahern was sitting on a chair in a stubborn, rebellious posture as Marcus entered the classroom. The beginnings of a beard was just visible across his chin and for a seventeen-year old, he was thin and lanky. Ahern groaned and rolled his eyes as he caught sight of Marcus.
“Oh, look who it is,” the youth muttered in a sarcastic voice. “Must this take long? I have an important project to finish.”
Marcus did not reply. In the doorway Claudia sighed and folded her arms across her chest. Turning to her, Marcus carefully cleared his throat.
“Maybe it is best if you leave me alone with him for a while,” he said quietly. “This is going to be a man to man talk.”
Claudia nodded. “As you wish,” she said lightly before leaving. As she departed, Marcus gestured for Indus to close the door behind her and then slowly he turned to face Ahern, his face hard and cold as stone.
“What?” the youth blurted out defensively, as he caught the look on Marcus’s face.
For a while Marcus said nothing as he stared at Ahern and, as he did, the atmosphere in the room grew increasingly uncomfortable and awkward. There had been a time not so long ago, Marcus thought, when he and Ahern had enjoyed going for walks together. They would cross the Tiber into Rome in search of army veterans sleeping rough on the streets, with the aim of telling them about Marcus’s army charity. Those had been good days. A time when Ahern had nearly been like another son to him. It had been his chance of catching up with the young student and finding out what he was doing. But those days had stopped as Ahern had grown older and had started to discover the hedonistic delights of Rome.
“Do you know how disappointed I am in you,” Marcus hissed, breaking the silence. “Kyna and I have done our best to raise you as a decent, honourable young man and this is how you repay us! With insolence, rebellion and disgrace. Why have you not apologised to Lady Claudia yet? What is the matter with you boy?”
“I did nothing wrong,” Ahern cried out defiantly. “I’ve told you so many times already. I was out with the boys in a tavern in the Aventine district. We had a few drinks and the next moment I was being arrested, by those stupid pricks from the urban watch. I did nothing wrong. How many times do I have to tell you that.”
“That’s not what the watch commander told me,” Marcus snapped, his eyes blazing. “He says his men caught you pissing on a statue of the emperor and making obscene remarks about the imperial family. He also says you were drunk and that you tried to resist arrest.”
“So, you are going to believe a policeman over your own family,” Ahern retorted. “It’s their word against mine.”
“You still don’t get it,” Marcus replied raising his voice. “This is about your reputation. In this city, reputation is everything. Lose it and you lose it forever and with it, the chance to make a career.” Angrily Marcus pointed a finger straight at Ahern. “You boy, you occupy a privileged position in society. You have never known what it is like to be at the bottom of the ladder. When I was your age I ran away from home to join an auxiliary unit. It was tough leaving my mother on her own, but it was nothing compared to life in the regiment as a soldier. But you have been given a chance to make something of yourself. A great opportunity. A chance most people do not get. So, when you are out and about in public, the least I expect from you is that you conduct yourself with dignity. People are watching. People are always watching and your arrest outside that tavern is just what your enemies need. They will use that against you one day if you are not careful.”
“Enemies,” Ahern sneered bitterly. “The only enemies I have are the ones who do not want Rome to become a republic again.” Boldly Ahern raised his arm and pointed his finger at Marcus. “And this is not about my reputation. You are only here because you are concerned about your own reputation. You don’t give a damn about me. You don’t give a damn about the steam engine that I am building. You are just like the rest of the mindless sheep walking the streets out there.”
“Are you going to apologise to Lady Claudia or not?” Marcus hissed.
“No, I have said all that I am going to say,” Ahern retorted.
Reaching into the folds of his toga, Marcus produced a centurion’s vine staff and banged it loudly onto the table, his face dark with rage.
“Hold him down,” Marcus snapped, turning to Indus. “It’s time to teach the boy some discipline and respect; the old-fashioned way.”
At the sight of the vine staff Ahern’s face went pale and his eyes widened in shock.
“What is this? You are not serious? You are going to flog me,” the youth cried out in mounting alarm.
“I have been too lenient with you for too long,” Marcus growled as Indus caught Ahern’s arms and effortlessly spun the youth around, so that his back was facing Marcus. “That is going to change. You are going to learn the meaning of respect the hard way. In the army if you had spoken to your commanding officer like you just did, then this is the punishment you would receive.”
“No,” Ahern cried out and his cry ended with a piercing howl of pain, as Marcus wacked the vine staff across his back.
“Are you going to apologise to Lady Claudia?” Marcus cried out, as the room filled with Ahern’s anguished cries.
“No,” Ahern groaned defiantly.
Another strike from the vine brought a renewed outburst of howls.
“Marcus, stop this at once,” a woman’s voice suddenly cried from in the doorway to the classroom. It was Claudia. There was a disapproving look on her face. “He is your son and you have the right to do with him what you like,” Claudia said sternly, “but you shall not beat him whilst he is here in my school.”
Marcus hesitated and then gestured for Indus to release Ahern. As the Batavian bodyguard let the youth go, Ahern shot away into the corner, his face terror-stricken and his body shaking and wracked with pain.
“These youths these days are soft,” Marcus snapped as he looked at Claudia. “The army teaches a young man how to behave. That’s what he needs. A healthy dose of army punishment. It will make a man out of him.”
“Not in my school Marcus, in your own home, but not here,” Claudia said stubbornly as she placed her hands on her hips.
Marcus sighed but said nothing as, looking displeased, he lowered the vine staff and slipped it back into his toga.
“You are a monster,” Ahern suddenly shrieked, from the corner of the room to which he had retreated. Tears were rolling unashamedly down his cheeks as he rounded on Marcus. “But your time and that of your kind is coming to an end. A storm is coming. A storm that is going to blow you away. Go back to Vectis where you belong and leave me alone. You are not my father. You are a tyrant. I never wish to see you again.”
***
The stone fountain in Claudia’s small private garden in the school grounds had been fashioned to resemble a leaping fish, but Marcus was not admiring the craftsmanship as he peered grimly at the gurgling jet of water coming from the fish’s mouth. At his side Claudia was picking tensely at her fingernails.
“Ahern’s project is coming on well,” Claudia said, as she looked down at her nails. “His tutor is impressed and has consistently given him a good report. He thinks the steam machine will be ready by the summer. There is talk of a demonstration of the machine being given to the senate. He is making good progress Marcus. He is a bright student with a great future as a scientist.”
“I cannot just ignore his recent behaviour,” Marcus growled. “Gifted or not he must understand that he cannot treat everyone with disrespect. If he keeps on going down this path, then one day he i
s going to find himself floating down the Tiber, with a knife in his back. I am just trying to help him, to protect him.”
“I know,” Claudia said smoothly, “I know. We all are. He is a lucky young man even if he doesn’t appreciate it yet.”
Claudia sighed and folded her arms across her chest and turned to look in the direction of her school building.
“I have spent a lot of time with Ahern since you first brought him to my school in Londinium all those years ago,” she said wearily. “He’s not a bad young man, but I fear that he is being led astray by that new group of friends he made last year. I think they have a bad influence on him. I have noticed his behaviour has deteriorated since meeting them.”
“The Republicans,” Marcus snorted contemptuously. “Those boys who want to do away with the emperor and restore the republic. Sheer madness. No one supports those ideas, least of all the army.”
“It’s not their radical ideas that concerns me,” Claudia said carefully. “Those youths come from wealthy patrician families, but they are mostly harmless. This talk of a restoration of the republic. It’s a phase of life for them and they will grow out of it. But what if someone was manipulating them from behind the scenes. Getting them to do his bidding. Someone who truly does want to start a revolution and overthrow the existing order and is planning to do so. Someone with the guile and ability to do so. What if Ahern and his friends are just pawns in this game? Pawns get sacrificed, Marcus; pawns are expendable.”
Marcus’s face darkened as he stared at the fountain.
“What is it?” Claudia said as she sensed his sudden unease.
“I am not sure,” Marcus replied with a troubled frown. “It’s just something Ahern said just now. He said that a storm was coming. A storm that is going to blow me away and he told me to leave Rome.” Slowly Marcus shook his head. “It could be a coincidence but those are the same words which that stranger used, to threaten me outside my home a few days ago. It’s odd that he would use the same phrases.”
Claudia looked surprised and for a long moment she did not reply.
“Are you suggesting that Ahern may be connected to the incident outside your house,” Claudia said sharply.
“I don’t know,” Marcus exclaimed in a sudden weary voice. “The boy refuses to talk to me and you heard what he said. I am a tyrant. He never wants to see me again. But I doubt that he has got the balls to get himself involved in an extortion racket. His heart is with making this steam engine. I think that is all he cares about right now.”
“I think you are right,” Claudia nodded. “We should let matters quieten down for a while. I shall urge Ahern to focus on his machine.”
“If he does get into trouble again,” Marcus said, turning to look at Claudia. “I have in my mind the idea to send him away from Rome, back to Londinium or Vectis. Maybe you can impress on him, that if he screws up again, he will not be able to continue working on that machine of his. Maybe that will teach him some sense.”
“A good idea Marcus,” Claudia said, as a faint smile appeared on her lips. “You always manage to find a suitable solution in the end.” She was just about to add something when she was interrupted by a loud cry.
Turning around Marcus was surprised to see Cassius hurrying towards him. But surprise swiftly turned to alarm. His young secretary was sweating and gasping for breath as if he had been running. But that was not what alarmed Marcus. It was the sheer look of horror on Cassius’s face.
“Marcus, Marcus,” Cassius cried out, as he came towards the fountain. “There is news. Terrible news from Portus. I came to find you as soon as I heard. The Egyptian grain fleet - there was a storm out at sea and the fleet is lost. The whole fleet and its cargo of grain, sunk and scattered by a storm. It’s a catastrophe, an utter disaster! We were relying on that grain for our programmes and now it’s gone.”
Slowly the blood seemed to drain from Marcus’s face, as he stared at his secretary in sheer disbelief.
“Great gods,” he muttered at last.
Chapter Five - Civilisation is skin deep
Marcus looked worried as he hurried on down the narrow city street. It was around noon and in the noisy and bustling alleys all seemed normal. In the doorways to their simple two room dwellings, shopkeepers were advertising their wares in loud brash voices. The trader’s products were displayed along the edge of the tall apartment blocks that hemmed in the street on both sides. Leather shoes, loaves of bread, cuts of meat, dried fish, apples, olives, cheap trinkets, religious ornaments, figs and iron tools. The smell of leather from the shoemaker’s workshops, garum rotting fish sauce, the sweet smell of freshly-baked bread and the stink from the sewers beneath their feet, created a heady pong but Marcus no longer noticed it. A couple of wealthy businessmen, easily identifiable by the quality of their clothes and appearance, were concluding a deal on a street corner and in a barbershop, a young man was having his beard trimmed. Glancing up, Marcus caught sight of a group of young children watching the street from the third floor of a crumbling tower block.
Spotting a baker’s shop, Marcus swerved across the street, narrowly avoiding being run over by a horse drawn wagon, laden with terracotta amphorae. Ignoring the swearing cart driver, Marcus picked up a loaf of dark, hard bread and turned to the baker who was standing beside his produce.
“How much for the bread?” Marcus growled.
“Twenty loaves of bread for two denarii. Individual loaf costs two asses,” the baker replied swiftly, with a well-practised sales patter.
Marcus grunted and replaced the loaf and started out again down the crowded street. At his side Cassius looked ashen.
“The price of grain has not yet risen,” Marcus snapped, turning to his secretary as he pushed his way on through the crowd, with the silent Indus following him discreetly. “We still have some time but not much. Once the news of what happens to the Egyptian grain fleet spreads across the city, the price of bread is going to shoot up.”
“It’s too late to contain the news,” Cassius blurted out, as he struggled to stay level with Marcus in the crowd. “In Portus everyone seemed to know. How long do you think we have got?”
Marcus’s face darkened but he said nothing as he stubbornly fixed his gaze on the street ahead. Down an alley, a small crowd were listening to a man standing atop of a barrel - one of the many street prophets, who was lecturing them on morality and the dangers of Bacchus, the god of wine. Cassius was right Marcus thought. It was already too late to contain the news of the disaster. Soon the whole city of a million plus people was going to know about the looming grain shortages. This was a bad day. This was a really bad day. A fucking nightmare.
“What is going to happen Sir? What should we do?” Cassius said hastily, his voice quivering and close to panic, as they pushed their way down the street in the direction of the Forum.
Quickly and roughly Marcus caught Cassius by the arm and yanked him into the entrance to a dingy, rubbish-strewn alley.
“What do you think is going to happen?” Marcus hissed as he rounded on the young man. “Once the news spreads that the bulk of the Egyptian grain fleet has been lost at sea, how long do you think it will be before the price of grain starts to rise. How long do you think it will be before people realise that they are not going to get their free handouts of bread? Look around you. Two hundred thousand citizens completely rely on the grain dole to survive. Thirty percent of this city is made up of slaves and most of the remainder of the population spend half their annual salary on food and most of that is on bread. If they can’t get their dole or afford to buy bread anymore, then they are going to starve. The whole city is going to starve. So, there is going to be trouble. That’s what is going to happen. I am going to the urban prefect’s HQ to warn Similis about the situation and to ask him to put the urban and praetorian guard units on alert.”
Cassius’s eyes widened in growing horror as he stared at Marcus and, as he did his lower lip started to tremble.
“Similis, the ur
ban prefect,” Cassius stammered. “He’s not here Marcus. He left a few days ago taking all the remaining praetorian and one of the urban cohorts with him. There has been trouble in Umbria. He and his men are a hundred miles away. Didn’t you know?”
“What? Oh dear gods,” Marcus muttered, as he took a step backwards, his eyes widening in shock as he stared at Cassius. “Similis is not here? Who has he left in charge of the security of the city?”
“That would be the prefect of the night watch,” Cassius croaked. “There are three urban cohorts left in the city, plus the vigiles, the night watchmen and firefighters. That’s about it.”
Marcus raised both his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair as some colour shot into his cheeks.
“Three urban cohorts,” he exclaimed, “That’s fifteen hundred men to police a city of a million. And the urban prefect is a hundred miles away.” Marcus groaned. “It will take Similis and his men at least five days march to get back to the city. Oh, this just gets better and better. We’re fucked.”
For a moment Marcus was unable to speak as he turned to gaze at the people passing by in the street. Then with an effort he forced himself to look at Cassius.
“All right, look,” he said, speaking quickly, “most people haven’t heard the news yet, so we have some time, but we must move fast. This is out of our hands now. I want you to go home at once Cassius. Hurry. Your duty is to look after Elsa. Look after your wife. Make sure that she and your family are safe. Barricade your home, make sure you have some supplies of food and water and do not venture out onto the streets. We are about to be hit by a shit storm, like nothing we have experienced before. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes Sir,” Cassius nodded hastily.
Rome and the Conquest of Mesopotamia (Book 8 of the Veteran of Rome Series) Page 4
