Sorina was not convinced, but she could tell there would be no point in forcing the issue: his mind was made up. ‘As you say, Decabalus, so it shall be.’
He snorted. ‘You are a poor liar, Sorina. You disagree, but your alternative plays into Roman hands. But it is my wish that you remain my conscience.’
‘Of course, my lord and I am honoured that you respect my judgement. But I see no reason to cause dissent in council. We must be seen to be united. Conversations like this are best kept to the privacy of your tent.’
Decabalus did not reply for some time and when he spoke his voice was heavy with more than tzuica. ‘There are other things best kept to the privacy of my tent, Sorina,’ he said, placing a hand on her thigh.
She did not flinch at his touch but it was unwelcome and she met his eyes. ‘I am to be your whore as well as your conscience?’ she asked. It was disappointing: for all his achievements, Decabalus was still a man – a base creature lusting for what he knew he could not have.
‘No,’ his tone was serious. ‘Not my whore. I would take you for a wife,’ he added.
Sorina chuckled. Men would say anything before the act and deny it afterwards. ‘You have wives,’ she said. ‘Younger and prettier than me. Wives that can bear you sons, which you know I am too long in the tooth for. Besides,’ she removed his hand from her leg, ‘you know that I am with Teuta.’
Decabalus looked at her for a while. She could see in his eyes desire, anger, hurt, petulance and then all of a sudden acceptance. ‘By the gods,’ he laughed suddenly. ‘I would have you, Sorina, above all the others, yet you reject me.’
‘That,’ she rose to her feet, ‘is why you wanted me, Decabalus. You must have known I would refuse you – but you still had to try. It is the nature of men,’ she added.
Decabalus shrugged and poured himself another measure of tzuica. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And so I would be less of a man if I did not.’ He paused regarding her for a moment. ‘You may go.’
Sorina almost laughed her disdain at the dismissal but checked herself before bowing her head and leaving the tent. She took a deep breath of cold Dacian air and wondered suddenly if she had made the right choice. Decabalus could have her removed as a war chief if he so chose. Now, so close to wreaking her full vengeance against the Romans that would be a bitter draught to have to swallow.
87 A.D.
Rome
Valerian could hear raised voices from the atrium – those of his house slave and of Settus. They grew louder and there was a sudden shout of fear mingled with pain followed by a crash. The slave started screaming for help and Valerian sighed and, squinting at the sudden daylight, made his way from the room that had become his prison. He could not remember the last time he had left it. Since his return from Capua after Pyrrha’s death, life had lost its meaning. All he desired was to be left alone and perhaps to drink enough to summon the courage to open a vein.
In the atrium, Settus had the slave on the floor and was kicking him, each kick punctuated by an obscenity. ‘That’s enough, Settus.’ He heard his own voice, cracked, harsh and slurred from tiredness and wine.
Settus kicked the slave once again for good measure before turning his attention to Valerian and the shock in his face was evident. ‘This cunt wasn’t going to let me in. This is the third time I’ve come round here and been told that you’re . . . what is it? Otherwise engaged. You look like shit,’ he added.
The slave was cowering on the floor, eyes flicking to Settus in fear and to Valerian in desperation. ‘Leave us,’ Valerian commanded to which the man gratefully scrambled up and fled.
‘Where have you been?’ Settus wanted to know, walking past Valerian and into the house proper. ‘Nobody’s heard anything from you in days.’
Valerian followed him inside, the desire to expel him warring with the friendship they had forged. ‘What do you want, Settus?’ he asked.
‘A fucking drink would be a good start.’
‘You’ve just beaten up my slave.’
‘And you’ve lost the use of your fucking legs, have you? Fuck’s sake, I’ll get it myself then. Cellar?’
Valerian did not answer and, with a shrug, Settus made off. Clearly, he was not going to take kindly to any request to leave. Valerian sat on a couch and put his head in his hands, massaging his temples. The last thing he wanted or needed was Settus and his lies about the amount of wine he had consumed and the number of whores who were so impressed with his prowess they had given him some sort of discount. He decided that if he just sat and ignored Settus when he came back, the former optio would get the message and leave.
Settus returned shortly, bearing cups and a krater of wine. He poured for them both, but as he approached Valerian, his nose wrinkled. ‘You fucking stink,’ he told him. ‘When was the last time you had a bath? And why the beard? You fancy turning into a barbarian, is that it?’
‘What do you want, Settus?’
‘Can’t I just come round to see an old friend?’ Settus placed himself on the couch opposite. ‘Chat about the good times and all that?’
‘I’m not feeling well. Perhaps another time?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve already told you, I’ve been round here three times and been turned away . . .’
‘Because I instructed my slave that I was not to be disturbed.’
Settus looked mildly affronted for a moment. ‘Yeah, but I’m your mate.’
‘And my mate should realise when I’m not well and come back when I’m feeling better,’ Valerian downed his cup, wincing at the taste. ‘You didn’t water this?’
‘I’m not your fucking slave in case you hadn’t noticed. Anyway – you’re not sick, unless it’s up here?’ Settus tapped the side of his head. ‘Fucking sitting in your house pining after that girl of yours. Look she was a nice bird, no doubt about it, but she’s gone. I know it’s shit – my wife died in Britannia, but there’s fuck all we can do about it when it happens. We can’t go with them.’
Like fresh pitch poured on burning embers, anger erupted within Valerian, and he lurched to his feet, spilling wine down his already filth begrimed tunic. ‘Get out!’ he shouted. ‘Get out of my house, now!’
Settus remained unmoved. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Get out!’
‘No.’
Valerian leapt at Settus, registering the surprised expression on his face as he slammed his fist into it. The couch up-ended and the two men crashed to the floor, snarling, kicking and punching. They rolled over, Valerian emerging on top as he rained blows down onto Settus in an animal fury. The former optio fought back and heaved Valerian from him sending him crashing into a bust of the goddess Minerva. It fell to the floor and shattered as the two men surged to their feet. Settus opened his mouth to speak, but Valerian gave him no chance and dived in, aiming to use his greater size and strength to overwhelm his opponent.
But this time, Settus was ready and as Valerian came in, the older man moved like a wrestler and used his momentum against him, executing a neat hip throw that sent him crashing onto the low table that sat between the couches. Fury still burning hot, Valerian scrambled from the wreckage of the table and charged in once again, only to be met with a sharp left jab, followed by a thunderous right cross that sent him down on one knee.
Settus kicked him in the chest and followed him to the ground, flipping him on to his front. He wrenched Valerian’s arm up behind his back, locking it and effectively pinning him to the floor. The pain pierced Valerian’s anger and it fled, to be replaced by shame.
‘You fucking cunt!’ Settus gasped. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
Valerian did not answer, simply going limp and waiting for Settus to release him.
‘I wasn’t called the hardest man in the Second Augusta for no reason, you twat,’ Settus noted and let him go. ‘Nice punch though,’ he added touching his bloody lip. ‘You ready to talk now, or do you want me to carry on using you as a battering ram?’
Despite th
e melancholy that had been eating away at his soul since Pyrrha had been killed, Valerian managed a grin. ‘Ready to talk, I think.’
‘Wine’s all over the floor, table’s all smashed up – that’s your fault. We should go out – let your slave clean up this mess. But you need a bath first – I’ll even pay, how about that?’
‘I don’t know, Settus,’ Valerian sat up. ‘I don’t want to go out . . . we’ll be fine here.’
‘Bollocks,’ Settus rose to his feet and offered him a hand up. Clearly, as far as Settus was concerned, the decision was made.
A visit to the public baths was invigorating and, despite himself, Valerian was pleased to have the growth of beard scraped from his face. For his part, Settus always enjoyed the shocked looks his hideously tattooed body garnered in the pool. He called them souvenirs of his time in Britannia, but had once told Valerian in confidence he had got them to better blend in with the locals after marrying a Brigantian girl.
Settus’s wife had taken ill and died, leaving Settus with his permanent and indelible reminders of her. And, Valerian assumed, because he had suffered loss, he had now appointed himself as advisor to his friend.
The truth of it was that Valerian had no wish to talk about his grief – after all, there was no point in it. What was done could not be undone and, despite his upbringing in the equites class with all its emphasis on Roman virtus, he could not help but feel an overwhelming sense of self-pity.
Settus took him to one of his favourite drinking houses where the booze was cheap and the food rancid – but everyone knew the former optio and there would be no trouble from the rough crowd that filled the place from noon till dawn. Valerian found them a booth whilst Settus got the wine. They both drank in silence for a while, Settus clearly trying to work out a strategy to begin his conversation. Evidently, said strategy involved a lot of inane chat, lubricated with a copious amount of wine.
‘So, ‘Settus tipped down another cup. ‘Now, I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on. That Jewish cunt you employed to sort out the finances from our fertilizer business . . . what’s his name again . . .?’
‘Ezra.’
‘Yeah, Ezra. He reckons that things are going better than even he expected. It’s funny ain’t it? Years of being in the shit and now we’re making a fortune selling shit. Anyway, leaving the Flavian has eaten into our profits a bit as now we have to bribe the slaves who’ll dump it for us as opposed to chucking it in the Tiber. A good thing I’m taking care of business while you’re sitting on your arse at home. I have to ask why.’
Valerian sighed. ‘Look, Settus, I know you mean well,’ he began, ‘but this is my problem, all right. No offence, but I don’t really want to hear that there’s more fish in the sea and that we move on. I know that, but right now . . . I just don’t want to hear it.’
Settus grunted. ‘Well, as I said back at the house – she was a lovely girl, that Pyrrha. I liked her a lot and it was fucking shit what happened to her. But you’re right. You do have to move on. And quickly.’
‘I’ll be all right.’
‘You’ll have to be,’ Settus stated. ‘Thing is, I’ve got a letter here from Sextus Julius Frontinus – he wants to see both of us. Something about “being of service to Rome. ”’
Valerian laughed harshly. ‘Fuck Frontinus and his service to Rome. What has Rome ever done for me, eh Settus?’ he drained his cup and refilled it. ‘Sent me – well both of us – to Britannia and then after that, I get a tribunate in Dacia. And we all know how that went. You’ve no idea what they did to me,’ he added, squeezing his eyes shut as the memories came flooding back of the night in the forest where they had humiliated him. Raped him. Stripped him of is virtus in the most base and effective manner.
‘Steady,’ Settus raised his palms. ‘There’s no need to be unpatriotic, no matter what happened.’
Valerian’s smile was bitter. ‘I’m not a soldier anymore. And neither are you, so you can fuck off with your notions of patriotism.‘
‘We’re still Romans,’ Settus had the aspect of a man who would not be moved. A part of Valerian held him in contempt for his simple view as Rome being the light of the world. The thought shamed him, but he could not push it away. ‘And the Old Man has always done right by us,’ Settus added, referring to Frontinus.
‘Settus, you are being naïve. The only reason why Frontinus is suddenly extending the benevolent hand of friendship again is because he needs us to do something for him. Last time we were there, he wanted a full report on the battle at Tapae – he wasn’t giving you booze and whores for no reason.’
‘So . . . so what?’ Settus looked confused. ‘It’s our duty to help him, all right. He’s still a general.’
Valerian continued drinking. ‘You see him then.’
‘Letter says both of us.’ Settus stuck out his chin.
‘Valerian says fuck the letter.’ Valerian was aware that keeping up with Settus was making him drunk – and fast. With the loosening of emotions that wine always brought, he was growing more bitter at the unfair lot that fate had dealt him. ‘I don’t give a shit,’ he added.
‘That ain’t like you,’ Settus said. ‘You’re Gaius Minervinus Valerian, for fuck’s sake. Equites,’ he raised his cup.
‘I’m no longer equites, Settus. I used to think that regaining my former status would mean something. Now I realise that it wouldn’t mean a damn thing,’ he drank more wine. ‘What’s the point, eh?’ He asked, glaring at the former optio. ‘What’s the fucking point? Every time I start to make some headway, it all goes wrong. Rome’s taken everything from me. First in Dacia, then in Capua when Achillia killed Pyrrha. I have nothing. I am nothing.’
‘Listen, mate. You can’t carry on like this,’ Settus tried what he must have thought was an encouraging smile. ‘Maybe Frontinus wants to make clients of us, you ever think about that? We’re doing well, I’ve got loads of contacts in the subura and you – well, you’re like the acceptable face of our business. Speaking Greek to the upper classes and all that. We’re a team, right? You know, just like in the old days, back in the army.’
‘We’re not in the fucking army anymore,’ Valerian spat. ‘I’m happy to sell up my side of the business if that’s what you’re after.’ As soon as the words came out, Valerian felt contrite: Settus was not subtle enough to try and manoeuvre money out of him – his concern, however rough, was genuine. And he could tell that he had struck a low blow – reading the hurt in the older man’s eyes. That Settus had not got up and given him a kicking for it spoke volumes. ‘Look,’ he said, his tone less harsh and, he noted, more slurred,’I know you mean well – and I’m sorry for . . . well . . . you know what I mean.’
Settus grunted in acceptance. ‘Yeah, yeah, all right. I think I’ve made a mistake, though.’
‘What mistake?’
Settus jerked his chin in the direction of the entrance to the tavern. ‘I invited Frontinus to join us here. I knew I’d get you out of the house but I didn’t think I’d be able to get you to go to him. I’m not as thick as you look,’ he grinned. ‘But I didn’t count on you getting so pissed you can hardly talk.’
‘Then I’ll leave,’ Valerian made to stand, but Settus’s hand lashed out and grabbed his wrist as he placed his palms on the table to steady himself.
‘Don’t,’ he said. ‘Let’s just hear him out – I might get something out of it, even if you’re not up for it. Don’t fuck things up for me as well. Please just hear him out.’
Valerian slumped back down in the booth. Please was not a word that Settus used often and the sound of it from his lips gave him pause. It was not fair of him to disavow Settus any chance of raising his position just because he himself felt so wretched.
‘He’s here anyway,’ Settus raised his arm.
Valerian turned and saw the old general weaving his way through the crowd.
He was clad like a pauper, a hood pulled over his rough, green tunic. As he entered, Valerian saw him exchange a few words with a d
angerous-looking giant of a man who was evidently his bodyguard. Appearances aside, it was clear that the old man was taking no unnecessary risks in the subura.
‘Sir,’ Settus greeted him, and beckoned the serving girl to bring another cup. Valerian just nodded.
‘I trust you are both well,’ Frontinus began.
‘We’re fine,’Valerian said.
‘As I can see, and I don’t blame you for having good drink when the occasion arises. A celebration perhaps?’
Valerian snorted. ‘Hardly.’
‘Well, that is about to change then,’ Frontinus nodded his thanks as the serving girl placed another cup on the table. ‘I have news that concerns you both.’ He paused, waiting for Valerian to ask what the news was, but Valerian was not going to give him the satisfaction. Frontinus had had a chance to help him in the past, yet he had not been there. And Settus was not going to ask in the presence of his betters. ‘Are you not curious?’ Frontinus asked.
‘Not really,’ Valerian responded and tipped back his cup and ignored the sharp pain in his shin as Settus kicked him under the table.
‘I see.’ Frontinus’s face flushed with contained anger. ‘I thought this was a bad idea from the start, Settus.’ He turned to the younger man. ‘I am still a general and –’ he lowered his voice,’ . . . and a fucking senator of Rome. Yet I come to this shithole – at your behest – bearing gifts, yet your friend here is too pissed to hear me out and accord me the proper respect . . .’
‘My fault, sir,’ Settus held up his hands. ‘I thought a few cups would put him in a better frame of mind. He’s had a hard time of late . . .’
‘I can speak for myself, Settus!’ Valerian interrupted. ‘What do you want, Frontinus?’
‘I don’t want anything, boy. I came here to offer you something. But since you don’t seem ready to listen . . .’
Valerian snorted. ‘Alright. Indulge me.’
Frontinus took a hefty draught of wine, wincing at the taste. And, Valerian could tell that he was struggling to keep his temper. ‘My people have told me about your run of bad luck, Valerian. It was a poor show that you were blamed for the Dacian disaster. You were only a tribune after all. But as it turns out, the losses the barbarians inflicted on us there were deemed too serious for the truth to come out. It’s been covered up as best we can – and as such, your reputation has been – in some part – restored. By my efforts.’
Imperatrix (Gladiatrix Book 3) Page 6
