there!’ came a voice from outside the main gate.
Gaius heard the cheerful tone and composed himself. He was the head of the estate, a son of Rome and his father, and he would not embarrass the old man's memory. He walked the steps to the top of the wall, barely aware of the phantom images that came rushing at him. Those were all from the dark. In the sun the shadows had little reality.
At the top, he looked down on the bronze helmet of a slim officer on a fine gelding that pawed the ground restlessly as it waited. The officer was accompanied by a contubernium of ten legionaries. Each man appeared alert and smartly turned out. The officer looked up and nodded to Gaius. He was around forty, tanned and fit-looking.
‘We saw your smoke. Came to investigate in case it was more of the slaves on the rampage. I see you've had trouble here. My name is Titus Priscus. I am a centurion with Sulla's legion, who have just blessed the city with their presence. My men are ranging the countryside hereabouts, on clean-up and execution detail. May I speak to the master of the estate?’
‘That would be me,’ Gaius said. ‘Open the gates,’ he called below.
Those words achieved what all the marauders of the night before could not and the heavy gates were pulled open, allowing the men entry.
‘Looks like you had it rough out here,’ Titus said, all trace of cheerfulness gone from his voice and manner. ‘I should have known from the pile of bodies, but … did you lose many of your own?’
‘Some. We held the walls. How is the city?’ Gaius was at a loss as to what to say to the man. Was he meant to make polite conversation?
Titus dismounted and gave the reins to one of his men.
‘Still there, sir, although hundreds of wooden houses went up and there are a few thousand dead in the streets. Order has been restored for the moment, though I can't say it would be safe to stroll out after dark. At the moment, we're rounding up all the slaves we can find and crucifying one in ten to make an example – Sulla's orders – on all the estates near Rome.’
‘Make it one in three if they're on my land. I'll replace them when things have settled. I don't like the thought of letting anyone who fought against me last night go without punishment.’
The centurion looked at him for a second, unsure.
‘Begging your pardon, sir, but are you able to give that order? You'll excuse me checking, but, in the circumstances, is there anyone to back you?’
For a second, anger flared in Gaius, but then he remembered what he must look like to the man. There had been no opportunity to clean himself up after Lucius and Cabera had restitched and rebandaged his wounds. He was dirty and bloodstained and unnaturally pale. He didn't know that his blue eyes were also rimmed with red from the oily smoke and crying and that only something in his manner kept a seasoned soldier like Titus from cuffing the boy for his insolence. There was something, though, and Titus couldn't have said exactly what it was. Just a feeling that this young man was not someone to cross lightly.
‘I would do the same in your position. I will fetch my estate manager, if the doctor is finished with him.’ Gaius turned away without another word.
It would have been politeness to offer the men refreshment, but Gaius was annoyed that he had to summon Tubruk to establish his bona fides. He left them waiting.
Tubruk was at least clean and dressed in good, dark clothing. His wounds and bandages were all concealed under his woollen tunic and bracae – leather trousers. He smiled as he saw the legionaries. The world was turning the right way up again.
‘Are you the only ones in this area?’ he asked without preamble or explanation.
‘Er, no, but …’ Titus began.
‘Good.’ Tubruk turned to Gaius. ‘Sir, I suggest you have these men send out a message that they will be delayed. We need men to get the estate back in order.’
Gaius kept his face as straight as Tubruk's, ignoring Titus' expression.
‘Good point, Tubruk. Sulla has sent them to help the outlying estates, after all. There is much work to be done.’
Titus tried again. ‘Here, now look …’
Tubruk noticed him once more. ‘I suggest you take the message yourself. These others look fit enough for a little hard labour. Sulla won't want you to abandon us to our wreckage, I'm sure.’
The two men faced each other and Titus sighed, reaching up to remove his helmet.
‘Never let it be said that I shirked a job of work,’ he muttered. Turning to one of the legionaries, he jerked his head back to the fields. ‘Get back out and join up with the other units. Spread the word that I'll be held up here for a few hours. Any slaves you find – tell them one in three, all right?’
The man nodded cheerfully and took off.
Titus began to unbuckle his breastplate. ‘Right, where do you want my lads to start?’
‘You handle this, Tubruk. I'll go and check on the others.’ Gaius turned away, showing his appreciation with a quick grip of the other's shoulder as he left. What he wanted to do was to go for a long walk in the woods by himself, or sit by the river pool and settle his thoughts. That would come later, though, after he had seen and spoken with every man and woman who had fought for his family the night before. His father would have done the same.
As he passed the stables, he heard a pulsing sob from the darkness within. He paused, unsure whether he should intrude. There was so much grief in the air, as well as inside him. Those who had fallen had friends and relatives who had not expected to begin this day alone. He stood for a moment longer, still smelling the oily stink of the bodies he had fired. Then he went into the cool shadow of the stalls. Whoever it was, their grief was now his responsibility, their burdens were his to share. That was what his father had understood and why the estate had prospered for so long.
His eyes adjusted slowly after the morning glare and he peered into each stall to find the source of the sounds. Only two held horses and they snickered gently to him as he reached and stroked their soft muzzles. His foot scraped against a pebble and the sobbing ceased on the instant, as if someone was holding their breath. Gaius waited, as still as Renius had taught him to stand, until he heard the sigh of released air and knew where the person was.
In the dirty straw, Alexandria sat with her knees tight against her chin and her back to the far stone wall. She looked up as he came into sight and he saw that the dirt on her face was streaked with tears. She was close to his own age, maybe a year older, he recalled. The memory of her being flogged by Renius came into his mind with a stab of guilt.
He sighed. He had no words for her. He crossed the short distance and sat against the wall next to her, taking care to leave space between them as he leaned back so that she would not be threatened. The silence was calm and the smells and feel of the stables had always been a comforting place to Gaius. When he was very young, he too had escaped here to hide from his troubles or from punishment to come. He sat, lost in memory for a while, and it didn't seem awkward between them, though nothing was said. The only sounds were the horses' movements and the occasional sob that still escaped Alexandria.
‘Your father was a good man,’ she whispered at last.
He wondered how many times he would hear the phrase before the day
