refill,’ Brutus said, holding out his cup. He knew his senses were being dulled, but he welcomed the feeling. ‘The trouble with your rustic philosophy,’ Brutus began, tasting the new cup. ‘The trouble is that there have to be some of us who want and want, or where would we be?’ He frowned then as he considered his own words.
‘Happier,’ Tabbic replied. ‘It’s not a small thing to raise a family and provide for them. It might not seem much to armoured generals of Rome, but it earns my respect. No poems about us.’
The mulled wine was more powerful than Brutus had expected on an empty stomach. He knew there was a flaw in Tabbic’s vision, but he couldn’t find the words to make him see it.
‘You need both,’ he said at last. ‘You have to have dreaming, or what’s the point? Cows raise families, Tabbic. Cows.’
Tabbic looked scornful. ‘I’ve never seen a worse head for drink, I swear it. “Cows”, by the gods.’
‘One chance you get,’ Brutus went on, holding up a finger. ‘One chance, birth to death, to do whatever you can. To be remembered. One chance.’ He slumped, staring at the red glow of the forge in the growing darkness.
They emptied the kettle down to bitter pulp at the bottom. Brutus had long ceased to move or speak when Tabbic eventually heaved him onto a cot in a back room, still in his armour. At the doorway, the jeweller paused, looking down at the sprawled figure, already beginning to snore.
‘My daughters remember me every day,’ he said softly. ‘I hope you make the right choices, lad. I really do.’
Julius picked a piece of fennel sausage out of his teeth and smiled as he watched the drunken guests become ever wilder as the moon sank towards the horizon. The music too became more frenzied as the wine flowed into the players. The drums and pipes beat out counterpoint rhythms, while the cithara players made their strings jump with blurring fingers. Julius had not heard a single dirge or ballad from them all the time he had been there, and their excesses suited his mood perfectly. The food too was magnificent after soldiers’ rations.
The invitation was one of dozens that had been delivered before sunset, but the host, Cassius, was a senator who had remained behind and Julius wanted to cultivate the man. Only the first hour had been spent in conversation, as Julius became reacquainted with the social class of his city. The free wine had been delivered all over Rome and they seemed determined to obey his command to celebrate, becoming increasingly wild as the moon set over the hills.
Julius barely listened to a drunken merchant who seemed to have fully recovered from his initial awe. The man wandered through topics without needing more than the occasional nod to keep him going. While he beamed and talked, Julius eyed the young ladies who had come to the party, not unaware that most of them had appeared only after his own presence became known. Some of them were shameless in their competition for his glance and he had already considered more than one of those to share his bed that night. Their faces were flushed with sexual excitement as the red wine lit them up and Julius found the spectacle mesmerising. He had been a long time in the field and the opportunities for female companionship had been few. Brutus had called it ‘scratching his itch’ and it had been no more satisfying, on the whole.
In comparison with the camp whores, the beauties of Rome were like a flock of painted birds arrayed for his enjoyment. Julius could smell the mingling perfumes in the air, even over the fennel.
He sensed his companion had stumbled at last to a halt and Julius looked at him, wondering if a question had been asked. He was a little drunk himself, though his wine was cut with water. Since passing through the Quirinal gate, he had felt the intoxication of challenge and sheer pleasure at being back with his people. The wine bore but a little responsibility for his good spirits.
‘My brothers in particular will be pleased to see a steady hand on the city after Pompey,’ the merchant continued.
Julius let his voice become a background noise as he watched the people around him. Apart from the simple arousal at the thought of bedding one of the Roman women, he wondered if he should be looking for something more than a night. He had once laughed at the suggestion that he needed heirs, but he had been younger then and many of those he called friends had still been alive. The thought sharpened his appraisal of the young women in the crowd, looking for more than a simple turn of leg and thigh, or the quality of the breasts. Given the option, he knew he would prefer a beauty, but perhaps it was also time to think of the connections and alliances of a union. Marriage was one of the powerful counters in the politics of Rome and the right choice could benefit him as much as the wrong one could be wasted.
With a slight gesture, Julius summoned Domitius from another knot of conversation. Senator Cassius saw the movement and came bustling over first, determined that Julius’ slightest whim should be met. He had been honoured by the arrival of the general and Julius found the constant attention flattering, as it was intended to be. The man was as slender as a youth and bore himself well amongst the guests. Julius had encouraged him with subtle compliments and felt sure the senator would be one of those returning to the new government. If the others who had stayed were as amenable, Julius thought the elections would go very smoothly indeed. The senate house could well be filled with his supporters.
He had intended to discuss the women with Domitius, but with Cassius there, Julius addressed him instead, choosing his words carefully. ‘I have been away for too long to know which of your guests are unmarried, Cassius.’ Julius hid his smile by sipping his wine as he saw the senator’s interest sharpen.
‘Are you considering an alliance, General?’ Cassius asked, watching him closely.
Julius hesitated only for a moment. Perhaps it was the excitement he had felt since his return, or part of his sexual interest that night, but he was suddenly certain. ‘A man cannot live alone, and the company of soldiers does not meet every requirement,’ he said, grinning.
Cassius smiled. ‘It will be a pleasure for me to arrange introductions for you. There is only a small selection here, though many are unpromised.’
‘A good family, of course, and fertile,’ Julius said.
Cassius blinked at the bluntness, and then nodded enthusiastically. He practically shook with the desire to spread the information and Julius watched as he searched for a way to take his leave without being rude.
Cassius found his solution in the slave messenger who entered the main room, moving quickly through the revellers towards Julius. The man was simply dressed and wore his iron ring to show his status, but to Julius’ eye he looked more like a bodyguard than a simple messenger. He had been around enough soldiers to know the manner and he felt Domitius prickle at the man’s approach, always wary as he had been trained to be.
As if sensing the discomfort his entrance had caused, the slave held up his hands to show he bore no weapons. ‘General, I have come from my mistress. She waits for you outside.’
‘No name? Who is your mistress?’ Julius asked.
The omission was interesting enough to halt even Cassius in the act of slipping back to the other guests. The slave blushed slightly. ‘She said you would remember the pearl, even if you had forgotten her. I am sorry, sir. Those are the words she gave me to say, if you asked.’
Julius inclined his head in thanks, quite happy to leave Cassius mystified. He felt a stab of guilt that he had not taken the time to see Servilia before the sun had fallen on his first day.
‘I will not need you, Domitius,’
