and administration buildings. Any legionary could have found his way through any camp blindfolded, they were all built to exactly the same pattern. The man to be punished had been slow to obey an order, and when a centurion had beaten him with his vine staff, he had turned with an upraised hand. Had he struck the officer, he would have been crucified, as it was, the flesh would be torn from his back with lead-weighted thongs.
They did it with ceremony. The man was marched to the whipping post before the assembled men, his clothes ripped from his back as his hands were tied, a centurion calling out the reason for the punishment.
The horses shied at the first lash of the whip, with the scream they tore from the man’s throat. I soothed them as I stood on the edge of the parade ground while the punishment continued. The first blows ripped the skin, those after gouged gobbets of flesh from the muscles below, blood running to puddle on the ground. The screaming died as the man slumped unconscious against the pole, but the scourging was continued until the white of bone showed in the crimson ruin of his back.
Macer joined me as bugles broke the assembly. He was white, his eyes strained.
‘They’ve asked me to dine, Atilus,’ he said. ‘You’ll have to wait outside with the horses, as it will be dark by the time we’re finished.’
He was swaying a little when he finally rejoined me and his breath reeked of wine. I helped him to mount and rode close beside him to catch him if he fell. Luckily the moon had risen early and gave a clear light so we made fairly good time.
Severus came from the house as we approached, warned by a slave. In the dancing light of torches his face was stern.
‘Macer?’
‘I’m sorry, father, but it couldn’t be helped.’ The ride had sobered him so that he did not stumble as he dismounted. Severus relaxed when he heard the explanation.
‘And Tullius Voculus will come to dinner tomorrow? Good. It is time we heard the latest news of the legions. I shall order a sucking-pig to be prepared and open some of the best wine. But you should have sent Atilus to tell me what had happened.’
Dismissed, I handed the horses over to the stable-slaves. It was late and I was hungry. The cook gave me a mess of cold vegetables and some bread which I dipped in oil. The slave quarters were dark; people who rose before dawn were ready for bed at dusk; besides which, Severus was mean with oil for the lamps.
From the trees came a rustle and a low voice.
‘Atilus?’
It was Celia. She came running forward, grabbed me by the hand and led me into the shadows.
‘I was getting worried,’ she said. ‘I thought something might have happened to you. Are you hungry?’
‘The cook gave me something.’
‘And I can guess what. That fat old bitch treats the food as if she paid for it. Here, I saved you a piece of pie.’
It was good and I ate it sitting on the far side of the trees. The moon gave out a silver light and stars were bright in the sky.
‘What happened, Atilus? Why were you so late?’
She sucked in her breath as I told her, making me repeat details, her lower lip full as I described the scourging.
‘I’ve never seen a man flogged,’ she said. ‘And I’ve never seen a man bleed like that. What will happen to him? Will he die?’
‘He might. It all depends on the way he heals.’
‘But soldiers get wounded all the time and they don’t all die. Would you like to be a soldier, Atilus? You could kill men and take women and hold them and force their legs open and—’
‘Stop it!’
‘But wouldn’t you like to take a woman and do that to her?’ She pulled up the hem of her gown. ‘Look at my legs, aren’t they nice? Wouldn’t you like to touch them? You can if you want.’
They were pale in the moonlight, tapering shafts joined with darkness, the skin soft and delicately downed.
‘I’ve always liked you, Atilus,’ she whispered. ‘You’re tall and fair and different to the others. Don’t you like me? Wouldn’t you like to kiss me?’ Her lips came close. ‘Wouldn’t you, Atilus? Wouldn’t you?’
This time it was different. Her lips were soft and warm, parting to emit her tongue, her arms lifting to close around my neck, holding me close so that I could feel the soft impact of her breasts.
And it didn’t stop at a kiss.
She was afire and demanding fuel, kindling a similar flame in me, quenching it to fan it into greater life so that we rolled in a paroxysm of physical abandon until, finally, the flame was drowned.
Unsteadily I rose and, turning, looked into my past at a ghost.
She lay on her back, the gown pulled from her shoulders, her breasts exposed. Her legs were wide, joined with darkness which seemed to be blood. Her face was turned, shadowed as was her hair.
‘Atilus?’ She stirred. ‘Come to me, Atilus.’
But I was running, crying, sick with shame.
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