‘I told your men you could not object to them helping an old friend,’ Servilia said, stepping down from the riding seat of a cart and walking towards him.
For a moment, Julius could not respond. Her dark hair was wild around her head and his eyes drank in the sight of her. Surrounded by men, she seemed fresh and cool, perfectly aware of the sensation she caused. She walked like a stalking cat, wearing a brown cotton dress that left her arms and neck uncovered. She wore no jewels but a simple chain of gold ending in a pendant that was almost hidden as it disappeared between her breasts.
‘Servilia. You should not have presumed on a friendship,’ Julius said, stiffly.
She shrugged and smiled as if it were nothing.
‘I hope you won’t punish them, General. The docks can be dangerous without guards, and I had no one else to help me.’
Julius looked coldly at her, before returning his gaze to the officer. The man had followed the exchange and now stood with the glazed expression of one who waited for bad news.
‘My orders were clear?’ Julius asked him.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then you and your men will take the next two watches. Your rank makes you more responsible than they, does it not?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the hapless soldier replied.
Julius nodded. ‘When you are relieved, you will report to your centurion to be flogged. Tell him twenty strokes on my order and your name to be entered in the lists for disobedience. Now run back.’
The officer saluted smartly and spun on his heel. ‘Turn about!’ he shouted to his twenty. ‘Double speed back to the docks.’
With Julius there, no one dared groan, though they would be exhausted before they were halfway back to their original post and the watches to come would see them dropping with tiredness.
Julius stared after them until they were clear of the line of carts, before turning back to Servilia. She stood stiffly, trying to hide her surprise and guilt at what her request had brought about.
‘You have come to see your son?’ Julius said to her, frowning. ‘He is training with the legion and should be back at dusk.’ He looked at the line of carts and bellowing oxen, clearly caught between his irritation at the unexpected arrival and the demands of courtesy. After a long silence, he relented.
‘You may wait inside for Brutus. I will have someone water your animals and bring you a meal.’
‘Thank you for your kindness,’ Servilia replied, smiling to cover her confusion. She couldn’t begin to understand the differences in the young general. The whole of Rome knew he had lost his wife, but it was like speaking to another man from the one she had known. Dark pouches ringed his eyes, but it was more than simple tiredness. When she had seen him last, he had been ready to take arms against Spartacus and the fires in him were barely controlled. Her heart went out to him for what he had lost.
At that moment, Angelina leapt onto the road from her cart at the back of the line and waved, calling something to Servilia. Both she and Julius stiffened as the girlish voice rang out.
‘Who is that?’ Julius said, his eyes narrowing against the glare.
‘A companion, General. I have three young ladies with me for the trip.’
Something in her tone made Julius glance at her in sudden suspicion.
‘Are they …’
‘Companions, General, yes,’ she replied lightly. ‘All good girls.’ For the right price, they could be superb, she added silently.
‘I’ll put a guard on their door. The men are not used to …’ he hesitated. ‘It may be necessary to keep a guard. On the door.’
To Servilia’s intense pleasure, a slow blush had started on Julius’ cheeks. There was still life in him, somewhere deep, she thought. Her nostrils flared slightly with the excitement of a hunt. As Julius marched back between the gates, she watched him and smiled, pressing the fullness of her lower lip between her teeth in amusement. Not too old after all, she told herself, smoothing her tangled hair with a hand.
Brutus stretched his back muscles as he rode the last miles towards the fort. His century of extraordinarii were in formation behind him and he felt a touch of pride as he glanced to each side and saw the neat line of cantering horses. Domitius was in position on his right and Octavian held the line a few places along. They thundered over the plain together, raising a plume of dust that left the taste of bitter earth in their mouths. The air was warm around them and their mood was light. They were all tired, but it was that pleasant lethargy of skilled work, with food and a good night’s sleep only a little way ahead.
As the fort came into sight, Brutus called to Domitius over the noise of the horses, ‘Let’s give them a show. Split and wheel on my signal.’
The guards on the gate would be watching them come in, he knew. Though the extraordinarii had been together for less than two years, Julius had given him what he wanted in the way of men and horses, and he had wanted the best of the Tenth. Man for man, Brutus would have wagered on them against any army in the world. They were the charge-breakers, the first into impossible positions. Every one of them had been picked for his ability with horse and sword and Brutus was proud of them all. He knew the rest of the Tenth considered them more show than substance, but then the legion hadn’t seen a battle in their time in Spain. When the extraordinarii had been blooded and shown what they could do, they would justify their expense, he was certain. The armour alone had cost a small fortune: laced bronze and iron strips that allowed them greater movement than the heavier plates of the triarii legionaries. The men of Brutus’ extraordinarii had polished the metals to a high sheen and, against the glossy skin of their mounts, they glowed in the dying sun.
Brutus raised his hand and made sharp gestures to each side. He kicked his mount into a gallop as the group slid smoothly apart as if an invisible line had been drawn on the ground. Now the wind pressed against Brutus’ face and he laughed with excitement, not needing to look to know the formation was perfect. Specks of white spittle flew back from his horse’s mouth and he leaned forward into the saddle-horn, gripping with his legs and feeling as if he was flying.
The fort was growing with astonishing rapidity and, caught up in the moment as he was, Brutus almost left it too late for the signal to re-form the split square. The two groups swerved together only moments before they were changing their holds on the reins to halt, but there were no mistakes. As one man, they dismounted, patting the steaming necks of the stallions and geldings Julius had brought over from Rome. Only cut mounts could be used against enemy cavalry, as intact stallions could be sent berserk by the scent of a mare in season. It was a balancing act between taking the best for the extraordinarii and keeping the bloodlines strong. Even the local Spanish whistled and called when they saw those horses, their love of the breed overcoming the usual reticence they showed to the Roman soldiers.
Brutus was laughing at something Domitius had said when he caught sight of his mother. His eyes widened for a moment before he rushed under the gate arch to embrace her.
‘Your letters didn’t mention this!’ he said, lifting her up to her toes and kissing her on both cheeks.
‘I thought you might become overexcited,’ Servilia replied. They both laughed and Brutus put her down.
