she was?
‘Mistress, she will be made ready now. Sulla has ordered her to the city and she will be on the road immediately, willing or not. I will wait here, but I expect to see her in a few minutes at most. Do not make us come in to fetch her.’
Aurelia paled slightly.
‘Wh … what about the child?’
The soldier blinked. There was no child mentioned in his orders, but careers were not made by disappointing the Dictator of Rome.
‘The child too. Make them both ready.’ His expression softened a little. It would hurt nothing to be kind and the woman looked very fragile suddenly. ‘If you have a cart and horses that can be harnessed quickly, they can travel in that.’
Aurelia turned without another word and disappeared into the buildings. The soldier looked up at his two companions, his eyebrows raised.
‘I told you this would be easy. I wonder what he wants with the woman.’
‘Depends who the father is, I should think,’ one replied, winking lewdly.
Tubruk sat stiffly in the chair, nodding as he took the wine offered to him. The man he faced was his own age and they had been friends for the best part of thirty years.
‘I still have difficulty recognising I am not the young man I was,’ Fercus said, smiling ruefully. ‘I used to have mirrors all round my house, but every time I passed one, I would be surprised at the old man peering out at me. Still, the body fails, but the mind remains relatively sharp.’
‘I should hope so; you are not old,’ Tubruk replied, trying to relax and enjoy his friend’s company as he had so many times over the years.
‘You think not? Many of those we knew have gone on to cause mischief in the silent lands by now. Disease took Rapas and he was the strongest man I ever met. At the end, they say his son put him over his shoulder to carry him out into the sun. Can you imagine anyone putting that great ox over their shoulder? Even a son of his! It is a terrible thing to grow old.’
‘You have Ilita and your daughters. She hasn’t left you yet?’ Tubruk murmured.
Fercus snorted into his wine. ‘Not yet, though she still threatens to every year. In truth, you need a good, fat woman yourself. They hold off the old age wonderfully, you know. And keep your feet warm at night, as well.’
‘I am too set in my ways for new love,’ Tubruk replied. ‘Where would I find a woman willing to put up with me? No, I’ve found a family of sorts at the estate. I can’t imagine another.’
Fercus nodded, his eyes missing nothing of the tension that filled the old gladiator’s frame. He was prepared to wait until Tubruk felt ready to broach the reason for his sudden visit. He knew the man well enough not to hurry him, just as he knew that he would help in any way he could. It wasn’t simply a matter of the debts he owed, though they were many; it was the fact that Tubruk was a man he respected and liked. There was no malice in him and he was strong in ways that Fercus had rarely seen.
Mentally, he tallied up his holdings and available gold. If it was a matter of money that was needed, there had been better times, but he had reserves and debts of his own that could be called in.
‘How’s business?’ Tubruk asked, unconsciously matching Fercus’ own thoughts.
Fercus shrugged, but stopped the light reply before it left his lips.
‘I have funds,’ he said. ‘There is always a need for slaves in Rome, as you know.’
Tubruk looked steadily at the man who had once sold him to be trained for combat in front of thousands. Even then, as a young quarry slave who knew nothing of the world or the training to come, he had seen that Fercus was never cruel to those who passed through his sales. He remembered despairing on the night before he was sent to the training pens, when his mind turned to ways of ending his life. Fercus had stopped by him as he walked his rounds and told him that if he had heart and strength, he could buy himself free and still have most of his life ahead of him.
‘I will come back on that day and kill you,’ Tubruk had said to the man.
Fercus had held his gaze for a long time before replying. ‘I hope not,’ he had said. ‘I hope you will ask me to share a cup of wine.’
The younger Tubruk had been unable to reply, but later the words were a comfort to him, just to know that one day there could be the freedom to sit and drink in the sun, his own master. On the day he was free, he had walked through the city to Fercus’ home and placed an amphora on the table. Fercus had set up two cups next to it and their friendship had begun without bitterness.
If there was anyone in the world outside the estate that he could trust, then Fercus was the man, but still he was silent as he went over the plans he had made since Clodia had come to see him. Surely there was another way? The course he followed sickened him, but he knew if he was prepared to die to protect Cornelia, then he could surely do this.
Fercus stood and gripped Tubruk’s arm.
‘You are troubled, my old friend. Whatever it is, ask me.’ His eyes were steady as Tubruk looked up at him and held the gaze, the past open between them.
‘Can I trust you with my life?’ Tubruk asked.
Fercus gripped his arm all the tighter in response, then settled back into his seat.
‘You don’t have to ask. My daughter was dying before you found a midwife to save her. I would have died myself at the hands of those thieves if you had not fought them off. I owe such a debt to you that I thought I would never have the chance to repay it. Ask me.’
Tubruk took a deep breath.
‘I want you to sell me back into slavery – to the house of Sulla,’ he said quietly.
Julius barely felt Cabera’s hands as they lifted his eyelids. The world seemed alternately dark and bright to him and his head was filled with a red agony. He heard Cabera’s voice from far away and tried to curse him for disturbing the darkness.
‘His eyes are wrong,’ someone said. Gaditicus? The name meant nothing, though he knew the voice. Was his father there? Distant memories of lying in darkness on the estate came to him and merged with his thoughts. Was he still in bed after Renius had cut him in training? Were his friends out on the walls turning back the slave rebellion without him? He struggled slightly and felt hands pressing him down. He tried to speak, but his voice would not obey, though a mushy sound came out, like the moan of a dying bullock.
‘That is not a good sign,’ Cabera’s voice came. ‘The pupils are different sizes and he is not seeing me. His left eye has filled with blood, though that will pass in a few weeks. See how red it is. Can you hear me, Julius? Gaius?’
Julius could not answer even to his childhood name. A weight of blackness pressed them all away from him.
Cabera stood up and sighed.
‘The helmet saved his life, at least, but the blood from his ears is not good. He may recover, or he may remain like this. I have seen it before with head wounds. The spirit can be crushed.’ The grief was clear in his voice and Gaditicus was reminded that the healer had come aboard with Julius and had a history that went back further
