"Tubruk?" he murmured, dazed. "I fell out of a tree."
The big mans laugh echoed in the closeness of the dense woods.
"You know, lad, no one doubts your courage. It's your ability to fight I'm not too sure about. It's time you were properly trained before you get yourself killed. When your father is back from the city, I'll raise it with him."
"You won't tell him about... me falling from the tree? I hit a lot of branches on the way down." Gaius could taste blood in his mouth, leaking back from the broken nose.
"Did you manage to hit the tree at all? Even once?" Tubruk asked, looking at the scuffed leaves and reading the answers for himself.
"The tree has a nose like mine, I'd say." Gaius tried to smile, but vomited into the bushes instead.
"Hmmm. Is this the end of it, do you think? I can't let you carry on and see you crippled or dead. When your father is away in the city, he expects you to begin to learn your responsibilities as his heir and a patrician, not an urchin involved in pointless brawls." Tubruk paused to pick up a battered bow from the undergrowth. The string had snapped and he tutted.
"I should tan your backside for stealing this bow as well."
Gaius nodded miserably.
"No more fights, understand?" Tubruk pulled him to his feet and wiped away some of the mud from the track.
"No more fights. Thank you for coming to get me," Gaius replied.
The boy tottered and almost fell as he spoke, and the old gladiator sighed. With a quick heave, he lifted the boy up to his shoulders and carried him down to the main house, shouting "Duck!" when they came to low branches.
Except for the splinted hand, Marcus was back to his usual self by the following week. He was shorter than Gaius by about two inches, brown-haired and strong-limbed. His arms were a little out of proportion, which he claimed would make him a great swordsman when he was older because of the extra reach. He could juggle four apples and would have tried with knives if the kitchen slaves hadn't told Aurelia, Gaius's mother. She had screamed at him until he promised never to try it. The memory still made him pause whenever he picked up a blade to eat.
When Tubruk had brought the barely conscious Gaius back to the villa, Marcus was out of bed, having crept down to the vast kitchen complex. He'd been in the middle of dipping his fingers into the fat-smeared iron pans when he heard the voices and trotted past the rows of heavy brick ovens to Lucius's sickroom.
As always when they hurt themselves, Lucius, a physician slave, tended to the wounds. He looked after the estate slaves as well as the family, binding swellings, applying maggot poultices to infections, pulling teeth with his pliers, and sewing up cuts. He was a quiet, patient man who always breathed through his nose as he concentrated. The soft whistle of air from the elderly physician's lungs had come to mean peace and safety to the boys. Gaius knew that Lucius would be freed when his father died, as a reward for his silent care of Aurelia.
Marcus sat and munched on bread and black fat as Lucius set the broken nose yet again.
"Suetonius beat you again then?" he asked.
Gaius nodded, unable to speak or to see through watering eyes.
"You should have waited for me, we could have taken him together."
Gaius couldn't even nod. Lucius finished probing the nasal cartilage and made a sharp pull, to set the loose piece in line. Fresh blood poured over the day's clotted mixture.
"By the bloody temples, Lucius, careful! You almost had my nose right off then!"
Lucius smiled and began to cut fresh linen into strips to bind around the head.
In the respite, Gaius turned to his friend. "You have a broken, splinted hand and bruised or cracked ribs. You cannot fight."
Marcus looked at him thoughtfully. "Perhaps. Will you try again? He'll kill you if you do, you know."
Gaius gazed at him calmly over the bandages as Lucius packed up his materials and rose to leave.
"Thanks, Lucius. He won't kill me because I'll beat him. I simply need to adjust my strategy, that's all."
"He's going to kill you," repeated Marcus, biting into a dried apple, stolen from the winter stores.
A week later to the day, Marcus rose at dawn and began his exercises, which he believed would stimulate the reflexes needed to be a great swordsman. His room was a simple cell of white stone, containing only his bed and a trunk with his personal possessions. Gaius had the adjoining room and, on his way to the toilet, Marcus kicked the door to wake him up. He entered the small room and chose one of the four stone-rimmed holes that led to a sewer of constantly running water, a miracle of engineering that meant there was little or no smell, with the night soil washing out into the river that ran through the valley. He removed the capstone and pulled up his night shift.
Gaius had not stirred when he returned, and he opened the door to chide him for his laziness. The room was empty and Marcus felt a surge of disappointment.
"You should have taken me with you, my friend. You didn't have to make it so obvious that you didn't need me."
He dressed quickly and set out after Gaius as the sun cleared the valley rim, lighting the estates even as the field slaves bent to work in the first session.
What mist there was burned off rapidly, even in the cooler woods. Marcus found Gaius on the border of the two estates. He was unarmed.
As Marcus came up behind him, Gaius turned, a look of horror on his face. When he saw it was his friend, he relaxed and smiled.
"Glad you came, Marcus. I didn't know what time he'd arrive, so I've been here awhile. I thought you were him for a moment."
"I'd have waited with you, you know. I'm your friend, remember. Also, I owe him a beating as well."
"Your hand is broken, Marcus. Anyway, I owe him two beatings to your one."
"True, but I could have jumped on him from a tree, or tripped him as he ran in."
"Tricks don't win battles. I will beat him with my strength."
For a moment, Marcus was silenced. There was something cold and unforgiving in the usually sunny boy he faced.
The sun rose slowly, shadows changed. Marcus sat down, at first in a crouch and then with his legs sprawled out in front of him. He would not speak first. Gaius had made it a contest of seriousness. He could not stand for hours, as Gaius seemed willing to do. The shadows moved. Marcus marked their positions with sticks and estimated that they had waited three hours when Suetonius appeared silently, walking along the path. He smiled a slow smile when he saw them and paused.
"I am beginning to like you, little wolf. I think I will kill you today, or perhaps break your leg. What do you think would be fair?"
Gaius smiled and stood as tall and as straight as he could. "I would kill me. If you don't, I will keep fighting you until I am big and strong enough to kill you. And then I will have your woman, after I have given her to my friend."
Marcus looked in horror as he heard what Gaius was saying. Maybe they should just run. Suetonius squinted at the boys and pulled a short, vicious little blade from his belt.
"Little wolf, mudfish—you are too stupid to get angry at, but you yap like puppies. I will make you quiet again."
He ran at them. Just before he reached the pair, the ground gave way with a crack and he disappeared from sight in a rush of air and an explosion of dust and leaves.
"Built you a wolf trap, Suetonius," Gaius shouted cheerfully.
The fourteen-year-old jumped for the sides, and Gaius and Marcus spent a hilarious few minutes stamping on his fingers as he tried to gain a purchase in the dry earth. He screamed abuse at them and they slapped each other on the back and jeered at him.
"I thought of dropping a big rock in on you, like they do with wolves in the north," Gaius said quietly when Suetonius had been reduced to sullen anger. "But you didn't kill me, so I won't kill you. I might not even tell anyone how we dropped Suetonius into a wolf trap. Good luck in getting out."
Suddenly, he let rip with a war whoop, quickly followed by Marcus, their cries and ecstatic yells
disappearing into the woods as they pelted away, on top of the world.
As they pounded along the paths, Marcus called over his shoulder, "I thought you said you'd beat him with your strength!"
"I did. I was up all night digging that hole."
The sun shone through the trees and they felt as if they could run all day.
Left alone, Suetonius scrabbled up the sides, caught an edge, and heaved himself over and out. For a while, he sat there and contemplated his muddy praetexta and breeches. He frowned for most of the way home, but as he cleared the trees and came out into the sunshine, he began to laugh.
CHAPTER 2
Gaius and Marcus walked behind Tubruk as he paced out a new field for ploughing. Every five paces, he would stretch out a hand and Gaius would pass him a peg from a heavy basket. Tubruk himself carried twine wrapped in a great ball around a wooden spindle. Ever patient, he would tie the twine around a peg and then hand it to Marcus to hold while he hammered it into the hard ground. Occasionally, Tubruk would sight back along the lengthening line at the landmarks he had noted and grunt in satisfaction before carrying on.
It was dull work and both boys wanted to escape down to the Campus Martius, the huge field just outside the city where they could ride and join in the sports.
"Hold it steady," Tubruk snapped at Marcus as the boy's attention wandered.
"How much longer, Tubruk?" Gaius asked.
"As long as it takes to finish the job properly. The fields must be marked out for the ploughman, then the posts hammered in to set the boundary. Your father wants to increase the estate revenues, and these fields have good soil for figs, which we can sell in the city markets."
Gaius looked around him at the green and golden hills that made up his father's land.
"Is this a rich estate then?"
Tubruk chuckled. "It serves to feed and clothe you, but we don't have enough land to plant much barley or wheat for bread. Our crops have to be small and that means we have to concentrate on the things the city wants to buy. The flower gardens produce seeds that are crushed to make face oils for highborn city ladies, and your father has purchased a dozen hives to house new swarms of bees. You boys will have honey at every meal in a few months, and that brings in a good price as well."
"Can we help with the hives when the bees come?" Marcus spoke up, showing a sudden interest.
"Perhaps, though they take careful handling. Old Tadius used to keep bees before he became a slave. I hope to use him to collect the honey. Bees don't like to have their winter stores stolen away from them, and it needs a practiced hand. Hold that peg steady now—that's a stade, 625 feet. We'll turn a corner here."
"Will you need us for much longer, Tubruk? We were hoping to take ponies into the city and see if we can listen to the Senate debate."
Tubruk snorted. "You were going to ride into the Campus, you mean, and race your ponies against the other boys. Hmm? There's only this last side to mark out today. I can have the men set the posts tomorrow. Another hour or two should see us finished."
The two boys looked at each other glumly. Tubruk put down his spindle and mallet and stretched his back with a sigh. He tapped Gaius on the shoulder gently.
"This is your land we're working on, remember. It belonged to your father's father, and when you have children, it will belong to them. Look at this."
Tubruk crouched down on one knee and broke the hard ground with the peg and mallet, tapping until the churned, black soil was visible. He pressed his hand into the earth and gripped a handful of the dark substance, holding it up for their inspection.
Gaius and Marcus looked bemused as he crumbled the dirt between his fingers.
"There have been Romans standing where we are standing for hundreds of years. This dirt is more than just earth. It is us, the dust of the men and women who have gone before us. You came from this and you will go back to it. Others will walk over you and never know you were once there and as alive as they themselves."
"The family tomb is on the road to the city," Gaius muttered, nervous in the face of Tubruks sudden intensity.
The old gladiator shrugged. "In recent years, but our people have been here for longer than there was ever a city there. We have bled and died in these fields in long-forgotten wars. We will again perhaps, in wars in years to come. Put your hand into the ground."
Reaching out to the reluctant boy, he took Gaius's hand and pushed it into the broken soil, closing the fingers over as he withdrew it.
"You hold history, boy. Land that has seen things we cannot. You hold your family and Rome in your hand. It will grow crops for us and feed us and make money for us so that we can enjoy luxuries. Without it, we are nothing. Land is everything, and wherever you travel in the world, only this soil will be truly yours. Only this simple black muck you hold will be home to you."
Marcus watched the exchange, his expression serious. "Will it be home to me as well?"
For a moment, Tubruk did not answer, instead holding Gaius's gaze as the boy gripped the soil tightly in his hand. Then he turned to Marcus and smiled.
"Of course, lad. Are you not Roman? Is not the city as much yours as anyone's?" The smile faded and he returned his gaze to Gaius. "But this estate is Gaius's own and one day he will be master of it and look down on shaded fig groves and buzzing hives and remember when he was just a little lad and all he wanted was to show new tricks on his pony to the other boys of the Campus Martius."
He did not see the sadness that came onto Marcus's face for a moment.
Gaius opened his hand and placed the earth back in the broken spot Tubruk had made, pressing it down thoughtfully.
"Let us finish the marking then," he said, and Tubruk nodded as he rose to his feet.
The sun was going down as the two boys crossed one of the Tiber bridges that led to the Campus Martius. Tubruk had insisted they wash and change into clean tunics before setting out, but even at that late hour the vast space was still full of the young of Rome, gathered in groups, throwing discuses and javelins, kicking balls to each other and riding ponies and horses with shouted encouragement. It was a noisy place and the boys loved to watch the wrestling tournaments and chariot practices.
Young as they were, they were both confident in the high saddles that gripped them at the groin and buttocks, holding them secure through maneuvers. Their legs hung long over the ribs of the steeds, gripping tight in the turns for added stability.
Gaius looked around for Suetonius and was pleased not to see him in the crowds. They hadn't met again after trapping him in the wolf pit, and that was how Gaius wanted to leave it—with the battle won and over. Further skirmishes could only mean trouble.
He and Marcus rode up to a group of children near their own age and hailed them, dismounting with a leg flung over the pony's side. No one they knew was there, but the group parted as they approached, and the mood was friendly, their attention on a man with a discus gripped in his right hand.
"That's Tani. He's the champion of his legion," one boy muttered aloud to Gaius.
As they watched, Tani launched himself, spinning on the spot and releasing the disc at the setting sun. There were whistles of appreciation as it flew, and one or two of the boys clapped.
Tani turned to them. "Take care. It'll be coming back this way in a moment."
Gaius could see another man run to the fallen disc and pick it up before spinning it into flight once more. This time, the discus was released at a wide angle and the crowd scattered as it soared toward them. One boy was slower than the rest, and when the discus hit and skipped, it caught him in the side with a thump, even as he tried to dodge. He fell winded, and groaned as Tani ran up to his side.
"Good stop, lad. Are you all right?"
The boy nodded, clambering to his feet but still holding his side in pain. Tani patted him on the shoulder, stooping smoothly to pick up the fallen discus. He returned to his spot to throw again.
"Anyone racing horses today?" Marcus asked.
A fe
w turned and weighed him up, casting gazes at the sturdy little pony Tubruk had chosen for him.
"Not so far. We came to watch the wrestling, but it finished an hour ago." The speaker indicated a trampled space nearby where a square had been marked out on the grassy ground. A few men and women stood in clusters nearby, talking and eating.
"I can wrestle," Gaius broke in quickly, his face lighting up. "We could have our own competition."
The group murmured interest. "Pairs?"
"All at once—last one standing is the winner?" Gaius replied. "We need a prize, though. How about we all put in what money we have and last one standing takes the collection?"
The boys in the crowd discussed this and many began to search in their tunics for coins, giving them to the largest, who walked with confidence as the pile of coins grew in his hands.
"I'm Petronius. There's about twenty quadrantes here. How much have you got?"
"Any coins, Marcus? I have a couple of bronze bits." Gaius added them to the boy's handful and Marcus added three more.
Petronius smiled as he counted again. "A fair collection. Now, as I'm taking part, I'll need someone to hold it for me until I win." He grinned at the two newcomers.
"I'll hold it for you, Petronius," a girl said, accepting the coins into her smaller hands.
"My sister, Lavia," he explained.
She winked at Gaius and Marcus, a smaller but still stocky version of her brother.
Chatting cheerfully, the group made their way over to the marked square, and only a few remained on the outside to watch. Gaius counted seven other boys in addition to Petronius, who began limbering up confidently.
"What rules?" Gaius said as he stretched his own legs and back.
Petronius gathered the group together with a gesture. "No punching. If you land on your back, you are out. All right?"
The boys agreed grimly, the mood becoming hostile as they eyed each other.
The Gates of Rome Page 2
