“You never think. If your father was alive, he'd be ashamed of you, boy. He would tell you we never steal and we never lie. Then he would warm your backside properly with his strap, which I should do myself.”
The boy struggled to get away, kicking out at her as he found his arm held firmly.
“He was a money changer. You say they're all thieves, so he must have been too.”
“Don't you dare say that!” Atia said through whitened lips. Without waiting for a response, she upended the boy on her knee and smacked him hard, six times. He struggled through the first three and lay silently still for the last. When she put him down, he skittered around the two women, pelting down the narrow street and disappearing around the nearest corner.
Atia sighed as she watched him run. Alexandria clasped her hands together nervously, embarrassed to have witnessed such a private moment. Atia seemed to remember her suddenly and flushed as she met her eye.
“I'm sorry. He is always stealing and I can't seem to make him understand not to do it. He's always caught, but the next week he tries again.”
“Is his name Thurinus?” Alexandria asked.
The woman shook her head. “No. They call him that because the family moved to the city from Thurin. It's an insulting nickname they have for him, but he seems to like it. His given name is Octavian, after his father. Little terror. Only nine years old, but more at home on the streets than in his own house. I do worry about him.” She glanced at Alexandria, taking in the clothes and brooch properly.
“I shouldn't be bothering you with our troubles, miss. I don't mind admitting we could use the rent for the room. He wouldn't steal from you, and if he did I'd give it straight back, on my family's honor. You wouldn't know it, but there's good blood in his veins, Octavii and Caesar, if the little bugger would only realize it.”
“Caesar?” Alexandria said sharply. The woman nodded.
“His grandmother was a Caesar, before she married into my family. No doubt she'd weep if she saw him steal meat from a butcher not three streets away. I mean, it's not as if they don't know his face! They'll break his arms if he does it again, and where will I be then?” Tears spilled from her eyes and, without thinking, Alexandria stepped forward to put an arm around her.
“Let's go inside. I think I will take that room of yours.”
The woman straightened and glared at her. “I don't want charity. We get by and the boy will learn in time.”
“It's not charity. Yours is the first clean room I have seen and I used to . . . work for a Caesar a few years ago. Could be the same family. We're almost relations.”
The woman wiped her eyes with the cloth, producing it again from where it made a lump in her sleeve.
“Are you hungry?” she said, smiling.
Alexandria thought of the small pile of vegetables that waited to be chopped.
“I've already eaten. I'll pay you for the first month and then go back to where I'm staying and collect my things. It's not far off.”
If she walked quickly and didn't dawdle at Tabbic's, Alexandria thought, she could make it back to her new home before dark. Perhaps by then they would have been able to buy a little meat with her rent.
* * *
The senators shifted uncomfortably in their seats. It had been a long session and many of them had reached the point where they were ignoring the complications of the arguments and simply voting whichever way they had agreed earlier.
With the evening shadows lengthening, torches were lit using tapers on long poles. The glow of the small flames was reflected in the polished white marble walls, and the air filled with the soft smell of scented oil. A large number of the three hundred senators who had gathered that morning had already left, letting the last few votes pass without their presence.
Crassus smiled to himself, having made sure his own supporters would remain until the torches were snuffed and the long day reached its official conclusion with the prayer for the safety of the city. He listened intently to the list of appointments, waiting for the one he and Pompey had included to be brought to the vote. Almost unwillingly, his eyes strayed to the legion list, cut into the white marble. Where Primigenia had been inscribed, there was now a blank space. It would be pleasing to undo another small piece of Sulla's legacy, even if he hadn't been asked to by his old friend.
At this thought, he looked across at Cinna and their eyes met for a moment. Cinna nodded to the legion list and smiled. Crassus returned the smile, noting his friend's whitening hair. Surely Servilia could not favor such a winter father over himself? Just the thought of her stirred his blood, making him miss the end of a section in reminiscence. He watched the way Cinna voted and then raised his own hand with him.
More of the Senate rose, excusing themselves quietly, heading for homes and mistresses all over the city. Crassus watched Cato heave his bulk out of his seat. The man had been close to Sulla and it would sting him to miss the vote to come. Crassus tried not to let his face show his pleasure as they drew close and passed him, deep in discussion. It would be easier with them gone, but even with every Sullan in the building, he doubted if Cinna, Pompey, and himself could not force it through in their teeth. Restoring Primigenia would infuriate them. He reminded himself to thank Servilia for the idea when they next met. Perhaps a small gift to show his appreciation.
Pompey rose to answer a question concerning the new commander of a legion in Greece. He spoke with an engaging confidence of the new names, recommending them to the Senate. Crassus had heard there was another rebellion, and the losses meant chances for friends and relatives of the men in the Senate hall. He shook his head sadly, remembering the day when Marius had forced a vote that took Sulla away from Rome to put Mithridates down the first time. If Marius were here now, he would make them look up from their feet and do something about it! Instead, these fools argued and discussed the days away, when they should have been diverting a couple of the precious legions to shore up the Greek ones.
Crassus smiled wryly as he realized he was one of the fools he criticized. The last rebellion had led to civil war and a Dictator. Not one of the generals in the room dared put himself forward for fear of the others uniting against him. They did not want another Sulla and nothing was done as a result. Even Pompey waited and he was almost as impetuous as Marius himself. It would be suicidal to volunteer as Marius and Sulla had. There was too much spite and envy to let any one of their number have a victory over Mithridates. Sulla's fault, for letting him go free the first time. The man couldn't do anything right.
Pompey sat down and the vote was passed quickly, leaving only the last item of the day's business, proposed by Crassus and seconded by Pompey. They had kept Cinna's name out of the records at that point, as there were rumors he had been involved in Sulla's poisoning. Baseless, of course, but no one could stop the gossipmongers of Rome plying their trade.
For a moment, Crassus wondered if they were baseless, but then dismissed the thought. He was a practical man, and Sulla and the past were gone. If Cinna's daughter had avoided becoming Sulla's reluctant mistress, as he had heard whispered, that was surely proof that the gods looked with favor on Cinna's house—or the Caesars, perhaps. Definitely one of them.
He had heard some headway had been made finding the slave who carried the poison, but nothing yet was known about whoever ordered the death in the first place. Crassus looked around the half-empty room. It could have been almost any of them. Sulla had made enemies with a complete absence of caution. And caution should be the first rule of politics, Crassus thought. The second rule of politics should be to avoid attractive women needing favors, but a man didn't have too many chances for joy in his life and Servilia had provided some memories he cherished.
“Restoration of Primigenia to Legion Rolls,” the Master of Debate announced, making Crassus sit up straight and concentrate.
“License to recruit, train, take oaths, and appoint officers under Senate authority to be given to Marcus Brutus of Rome,” the speaker con
tinued in a drone that didn't match the murmur of excitement that swept through the remaining hundred senators in their seats. One of the Sullans left quickly, no doubt to bring his friends back for the vote. Pompey frowned as he saw Calpurnius Bibilus and two others stand to speak on the matter. The man had been a staunch supporter of Sulla's, and still swore his killers would be rooted out whenever he had the opportunity to do so.
It looked as if they had an old trick in mind. One after the other, they would speak to the Senate at great length until the session finished, or at the least until enough of their followers could be summoned to vote it down. If the proposal was pushed to the following session, it might not pass at all.
Crassus looked over to Cinna and caught his eye in commiseration. To his surprise, the older man flickered a wink in his direction. Crassus relaxed and settled back in his seat. Money was a powerful lever; he knew that as well as anyone. To hold up the vote, the Sullans had to be allowed to begin, and the Master of Debate recited the details of the proposal without once looking up at the benches where they stood, clearing throats noisily for his attention.
When the details had all been described, the Master of Debate called immediately for a vote. One of the Sullans swore loudly and walked out of the Senate hall, a gross breach of etiquette. The appointment passed easily and the session was declared closed. During the final prayer, Crassus sneaked a glance at Pompey and Cinna. He would have to choose his gift to Servilia with care. No doubt those two had similar ideas.
CHAPTER 17
Julius waited in the black hold, his sword drawn with the others around him. They were silent, waiting for the signal, and in that unnatural quiet, the creaking timbers of Ventulus seemed almost like muttered voices over the slap of waves against the hull.
Above them, the soldiers could hear the pirates laugh and swear as they tied their fast trireme to Ventulus and gathered on her decks without resistance. Julius strained to hear every sound. It was a tense time for them all, but most dangerous for those who remained above, where they could be cut down as an example or in simple cruelty. Julius had been surprised at first that any of the crew of Ventulus were willing to be on deck when the pirates boarded them. Their initial suspicion and anger at his men had vanished when he told them of the plan to attack pirates, and he believed in their enthusiasm. They had taken great pleasure in choosing those who would surrender on the decks, and Julius had realized that to these men a chance to strike back at the pirates they feared and hated would be the opportunity of a lifetime. Not for them the might of a legion galley. A merchant ship like the Ventulus always had to run for protection, and many of the crew had lost friends over the years to Celsus and his brother raiders.
Despite this, he had left Pelitas and Prax with them, dressed in rough clothes. It did not pay to trust strangers with their lives, and one of his officers would be able to shout the signal even if the crewmen betrayed them. He preferred not to leave anything to luck.
Voices sounded faintly through the hatches above their heads. His men shuffled, packed tightly, but not daring even to whisper. There was no way to be sure how many of the enemy stood on the deck. A pirate crew was usually smaller than the forces of a Roman galley and rarely more than thirty swords, but after witnessing the packed decks of the two ships that sank Accipiter, Julius knew he could not depend on superior numbers. He had to have surprise to be certain. With the remaining crew, a full fifty men waited with him. Julius had decided to allow the sailors their choice of weapons, reasoning that he could not spare men to guard them. The best he could manage was to have them mingle with his own soldiers, preventing a sudden attack on their rear as they rushed the deck.
One such stood close to him, carrying a rusting iron bar as a weapon. There was no hint of deception in the man, as far as Julius could see. Like the others, his gaze was fixed on the dark hatches, outlined with sunlight shining through the cracks in wide golden beams that swirled and glittered with dust. The beams moved almost hypnotically as Ventulus pitched and rolled in the swell. More voices spoke above and Julius tensed as he saw the light blocked by moving shadows, with the boards creaking under the weight. His own men would not stand on the hatches. It had to be the pirates, moving about their prize.
Julius had waited as long as he could before going below with the others, wanting to see how the pirates operated with his own eyes for the next time. To make it look real, he had to order the Ventulus rowers to a good stroke speed, but was ready to have some of the oars foul each other if the pirates couldn't close the gap. It hadn't been necessary. The enemy ship must have been stripped right down and drew steadily closer as the day wore on.
When they were close enough to count the oars, Julius had gone below to join his men. His greatest worry was that the enemy would employ a trained crew, as Celsus did. If they were wage-men, they might not be chained to the benches, and the thought of a hundred muscular rowers storming up to take on his men would mean disaster, armed or not. He'd seen the enemy ship carried a spiked ram that could anchor them if they smashed head-on into their prey, but guessed they wouldn't use it, preferring to come alongside and board. No doubt they felt secure so far from the coast and patrolling galleys, able to take their time off-loading cargo and possibly claiming Ventulus for their own rather than sinking her. Raiders didn't have shipyards, after all. He hoped they would have brought only a token force onto the decks of Ventulus. With the enemy tied securely, neither ship could escape, which was just as Julius wanted it. He sweated with anxiety as he waited for the signal. There were so many things that could go wrong.
Above, a strong wind was blowing, scattering tiny droplets of salt spray into the faces of the crew of Ventulus and their captors. Knowing the plan, they had surrendered without complaint, calling for the oars to be brought in and the sail dropped. Ventulus bobbed and rocked in the waves without wind and oars to make her move. A flight of arrows arced over as the pirates tied up, and Pelitas had to step aside not to be hit. He saw some of the crew sitting down on the deck, their hands in the air. No arrows were landing near them, so he copied the action, pulling Prax down with him. The shafts stopped flying as soon as they were all sitting. Pelitas heard laughter from the men waiting to board them, and he smiled grimly, waiting for the right moment. Julius had said to hold until the enemy had split their force between the two ships, but it was impossible to judge how many they had in reserve. Pelitas decided he would shout when twenty men had crossed over their rail. More than that might not break in the first charge, and the last thing they wanted was a pitched battle on the decks. Too many of Julius's men were novices, and if the pirates didn't surrender quickly, the fight could turn and they would lose everything.
The first ten of the enemy reached the main deck of Ventulus. Though they were confident, Pelitas noted how they moved as a unit, protecting each other from a sudden lunge. They spread out slightly to the sitting crew, and he saw long leather cords hanging from their belts, ready for tying the prisoners. No doubt these ten were the best fighters, veterans who knew their business and could cut their way out of trouble. Pelitas wished Julius had let him bring a sword on deck. He felt naked without one.
The crew allowed themselves to be tied without a struggle, and Pelitas hesitated. With only ten on deck, it was too early to call, but they were working with efficiency, and if they trussed the rest as quickly, they could be no help at all when the fight started. He saw four more clamber over the rail to Ventulus and then looked into the serious face of the man who approached him, thongs ready in his hands. Fourteen would have to do.
As the man met Pelitas's eye, the Roman shouted loudly, making him jump and raise his sword.
“Accipiter!” Pelitas yelled, scrambling up. The pirate looked confused and snapped a response, but then the hatches banged open and Roman legionaries swarmed out amongst them, their armor gleaming in the sun.
The man by Pelitas swung to see them, his jaw dropping. Without hesitating, Pelitas leapt onto his back, pulling his fore
arm across the man's throat with all his strength. The man staggered forward a couple of steps, then reversed the sword in his hand and rammed it back into Pelitas's chest. He fell away in agony.
Julius led the charge. He killed the first man in front of him, swearing as he saw Pelitas had called it too soon. The archers were still on the other ship, and dark shafts struck the deck, killing one of the bound crew. There was no way to avoid them without shields, and Julius could only hope the charge wouldn't falter. His men had never been under fire and it was hard even for experienced soldiers, when every instinct said to dive and hide. His blade clanged against another and he punched around it, knocking his opponent flat. One quick shove into the exposed throat and he was over him.
In the space, Julius glanced left and right, taking in the scene. Most of the pirates on Ventulus were down. His men were fighting well, though one or two were struggling to pull arrows from their limbs, howling in pain.
A buzzing shaft struck Julius in the chest, knocking him back a step. He felt winded, but the vicious thing fell to the wooden deck with a clatter and he realized his armor had saved him.
“Board them!” he bellowed, and his men surged with him toward the pirate ship. More arrows cut through them with little damage, and Julius thanked the gods for the tough Roman plate. He jumped onto the rail of Ventulus and skidded, his iron-shod sandals slipping on the wood.
He landed at the feet of the enemy with a crash of metal and swearing. He batted away a jabbing sword with his forearm, taking a cut from the edge. His gladius was under him and he had to roll to free it. Another blade clanged against his shoulder, snapping off the plate.
The other Romans roared as they saw him fall, cutting wildly through the pirates who faced them. They threw themselves into the enemy ship without caution, pushing the line past Julius. Gaditicus grabbed his arm and heaved Julius to his feet.
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