he said.
Cabera shrugged. ‘Nothing is sure in this world.’
‘Then it is settled. I will send a messenger before me and visit my uncle,’ Gaius said, something of his gloom lifting.
‘I will come with you,’ Marcus said quickly. ‘You are still recovering from your wounds and Rome is not a safe place at the moment, you know.’
Gaius smiled properly for the first time that day.
Cabera muttered, as if to himself, ‘I came to this land to see Rome, you know. I have lived in high mountain villages and met tribes thought lost to antiquity on my travels. I believed I had seen everything, but all the time people told me I had to visit Rome before I died. I said to them, “This lake is true beauty”, and they would reply, “You should see Rome.” They say it is a wondrous place, the centre of the world, yet I have never stepped inside its walls.’
Both boys smiled at the old man's transparent subterfuge.
‘Of course you will come. I consider you a friend of the house. You will always be welcome anywhere I am, on my honour,’ Gaius replied, his tone formal, as if repeating an oath.
Cabera laid the bow aside and stood with his hand outstretched. Gaius took it firmly.
‘You too will always be welcome at my home fires,’ Cabera said. ‘I like the climate around here, and the people. I think my travels will wait for a little while.’
Gaius released the grip, his expression thoughtful.
‘I will need good friends around me if I am to survive my first year of politics. My father described it as walking barefoot in a nest of vipers.’
‘He seems to have had a colourful turn of phrase, and not a high opinion of his colleagues,’ Cabera said, giving out a dry chuckle. ‘We will tread lightly and stamp on the occasional head as it becomes necessary.’
All four smiled and felt the strength that comes from such a friendship, despite the difference in age and background.
‘I would like to take Alexandria with us,’ Gaius added suddenly.
‘Oh, yes? The pretty one?’ Marcus replied, his face lighting up.
Gaius felt his cheeks grow red and hoped it wasn't obvious. Judging by the expressions of the others, it was.
‘You will have to introduce me to this girl,’ Cabera said.
‘Renius whipped her, you know, for distracting us at practice,’ Marcus continued.
Cabera tutted to himself. ‘He can be charmless. Beautiful women are a joy in life …’
‘Look, I …’ Gaius began.
‘Yes, I'm sure you want her simply to hold the horses or something. You Romans have such a way with women, it is a wonder your race has survived.’
Gaius left the room after a while, leaving laughter behind him.
Gaius knocked at the door of the room where Renius lay. He was alone for the moment, although Lucius was nearby and had just been in to check the wounds and stitches. It was dark in the room and at first Gaius thought the old man was asleep.
He turned to leave rather than disturb the rest he must need, but a whispering voice stopped him.
‘Gaius? I thought it was you.’
‘Renius. I wanted to thank you.’ Gaius approached the bed and drew up a chair beside the figure. The eyes were open and clear and Gaius blinked as he took in the features. It must have been the dim light, but Renius looked younger. Surely not, yet there was no denying that some of the deep-seam wrinkles had lessened and a few black hairs could be seen at the temples, almost invisible in the light, but standing out against the white bristles.
‘You look … well,’ Gaius managed.
Renius gave a short, hard chuckle. ‘Cabera healed me and it has worked wonders. He was more surprised than anyone, said I must have a destiny or something, to be so affected by him. In truth, I feel strong, although my left arm is still useless. Lucius wanted to take it off, rather than have it flapping around. I … may let him, when the rest of me has healed.’
Gaius absorbed this in silence, fighting back painful memories.
‘So much has happened in such a short time,’ he said. ‘I am glad you are still here.’
‘I couldn't save your father. I was too far away and finished myself. Cabera said he died instantly, with a blade in his heart. Most likely, he wouldn't even have known it.’
‘It's all right. You don't need to tell me. I know he would have wanted to be on that wall. I would have wanted it too, but I was left in my room, and …’
‘You got out though, didn't you? I'm glad you did, as it turned out. Tubruk says you saved him right at the end, like a … reserve force.’ The old man smiled and coughed for a while. Gaius waited patiently until the fit was over.
‘It was my order to leave you out of it. You were too weak for hours of fighting and your father agreed with me. He wanted you safe. Still, I'm glad you got out for the end of it.’
‘So am I. I fought with Renius!’ Gaius said, his eyes brimming with tears, though he smiled.
‘I always fight with Renius,’ muttered the old man. ‘It isn't that much to sing about.’
The dawn light was cold and grey; the skies clear over the estate lands. Horns sounded low and mournful, drowning the cheerful birdsong that seemed so inappropriate for a day marking the passing of a life. The house was stripped of ornament save for a cypress branch over the main gate to warn priests of Jupiter not to enter while the body was still inside.
Three times the horns moaned and finally the people chanted, ‘Conclamatum est’ – the sadness has been sounded. The grounds inside the gates were filled with mourners from the city, dressed in rough wool togas, unwashed and unshaven to show their grief.
Gaius stood by the gates with Tubruk and Marcus and watched as his father's body was brought out feet first and laid gently in the open carriage that would take him to the funeral pyre. The crowd waited, heads bowed in prayer or thought as Gaius walked stiffly to the body.
He looked down into the face he had known and loved all his life and tried to remember it when the eyes could open and the strong hand reach out to grip his shoulder or ruffle his hair. Those same hands lay still at his sides, the skin clean and shining with oil. The wounds from the defence of the walls were covered by the folds of his toga, but there was nothing of life there. No rise and fall of breath; the skin looked wrong, too pale. He wondered if it would be cold to the touch, but could not reach out.
‘Goodbye, my father,’ he whispered and almost faltered as grief swelled in him. The crowd watched and he steadied himself. No shame in front of the old man. Some of them would be friends, unknown to him, but some would be carrion birds, come to
