One of the tribune’s guards cursed across the room, but Octavian was around the bar and on the fallen tavern-keeper before they could move. The man’s hands flailed at him, knocking his head up with a lucky blow before Octavian landed two more solid punches. The burly man slumped then and Octavian searched the pockets of his apron, rewarded with the feel of a small lump. He drew out the ring just as the guards came storming over with swords drawn. One of them placed a palm against Agrippa’s chest, with a blade raised to strike at throat height. Agrippa could only hold up empty hands as he backed away. At a word from the tribune, they were both dead.
The other guard reached over and wrapped an arm around Octavian’s neck, heaving backwards with all his strength. With a strangled shout, Octavian was yanked over the bar and they fell back together.
Octavian struggled wildly as the arm around his throat tightened, but his air was cut off and his face began to grow purple. He clung on to the ring as his vision began to flash and fade, never hearing the dry voice of the tribune as he strolled over to them.
‘Let him go, Gracchus,’ Tribune Liburnius said, wiping his mouth with a square of fine linen.
The guard released Octavian, pausing just long enough to punch him hard in the kidneys before standing up and smoothing himself down. On the floor, Octavian groaned in pain, but he held up his hand with the ring pinched between two fingers. The tribune ignored it.
‘Twenty lashes for brawling in public, I think,’ he said. ‘Another twenty for disturbing my lunch. Do the honours, would you, Gracchus? There is a whipping post in the street you can use.’
‘It would be a pleasure, sir,’ the guard said, panting from his exertions. As he laid hands on Octavian again, the young man came to his feet, so far gone in fury that he could hardly think.
‘My ring is stolen from me and you call this Roman justice?’ he demanded. ‘Should I let some fat taverner steal a gift from Caesar himself?’
‘Show me the ring,’ the tribune said, a frown line appearing on his forehead.
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Octavian said. Agrippa gaped at him, but he was practically shaking with rage. ‘You are not the man I want to see; I know that now. I will take the lashes.’
Tribune Liburnius sighed.
‘Oh, save me from young cockerels. Gracchus? If you wouldn’t mind.’
Octavian felt his arm gripped and his fingers forced open. The ring was tossed through the air and the tribune caught it easily, peering closely at it in the gloom. His eyebrows raised as he studied the seal marked in the gold.
‘Just a month ago, this would have gained you entry almost anywhere, young man. But now it only raises questions. Who are you and how did you come to have this in your possession?’
Octavian tensed his jaw defiantly and it was Agrippa who decided enough was enough.
‘His name is Gaius Octavian Thurinus, a relative of Caesar. He speaks the truth.’
The tribune digested the information with a thoughtful expression.
‘I believe I have heard that name. And you?’
‘Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, sir. Centurion Captain of the fleet, sir.’
‘I see. Well, gentlemen, a ring from Caesar has won you a place at my table, at least for an hour. Have you eaten?’
Agrippa shook his head, dumbfounded at the sudden change in manner.
‘I’ll order for you when the tavern-keeper wakes up. Gracchus? Throw a bucket of slops on him … and spend a moment or two teaching him that stealing has consequences, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll need to find a new inn tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir,’ the legionary responded. He had recovered his dignity and looked with satisfaction on the unconscious figure sprawled beneath the bar.
‘Come, gentlemen,’ the tribune said, gesturing back to his table and his still-seated companion. ‘You have my attention. I hope you don’t regret it.’
Tribune Liburnius placed the ring on the table before them as Octavian and Agrippa pulled up chairs. He did not introduce his companion and Octavian wondered if he was a client or perhaps a spy for the tribune. The man met his eyes briefly, revealing a flash of interest and intelligence before looking away.
The tribune looked up at the sound of a bucket clattering to the ground and a stifled cry from behind the bar.
‘I’m sure the wine will be here in a moment or two,’ he said. He reached out and held the ring once more, turning it in his hands. ‘This is a dangerous little thing these days. I wonder if you realise that?’
‘I’m beginning to,’ Octavian said, touching a hand to a swelling lump by his right eye.
‘Hah! Not thieves. There is far more danger in those who are struggling even now to keep a grip on the mother city. We’re out of it here in Brundisium. If I have my way, we will remain so until order is re-established. Yet Greece is further still, so perhaps this is all news to you.’
Octavian blinked. ‘How did you know I came from Greece?’
To his surprise, Liburnius chuckled, clearly delighted.
‘By the gods, you really are young! Honestly, it makes me nostalgic for my own youth. You truly think you can come into this port, throwing silver coins around and demanding to speak to senior men, without it being reported? I dare say every rumour-monger in the city has your description by now, though perhaps not your name, not yet.’
Octavian flicked a glance at the tribune’s silent companion and the man sensed it, smiling slightly without looking up.
‘Your presence is an interesting problem for me, Octavian. I could have you sent in chains to Rome, of course, for some senator to dispose of as he sees fit, but that would gain me just a favour, or a few gold coins, hardly worth my trouble.’
‘You have no loyalty then?’ Octavian demanded. ‘The Fourth Ferrata was formed by Caesar. You must have known him.’
Tribune Liburnius looked at him, biting the inside of his lower lip in thought.
‘I knew him, yes. I cannot say we were friends. Men like Caesar have few friends, I think, only followers.’ Liburnius drummed his fingers on the table as he considered, his eyes never leaving Octavian.
The drinks arrived, brought by the tavern-keeper. The man was a bedraggled mess, his face swollen and one eye half shut. There was a piece of green vegetable in his hair. He did not look at Octavian or the tribune as he placed a jug and cups carefully and departed, limping. The legionary, Gracchus, took up his position once more, facing out.
‘And yet …’ Liburnius said softly. ‘The will of Caesar has not been read. He had a boy with the Egyptian queen, but they say he loved you also like a son. Who knows what Caesar’s gift might mean to you, when we hear? It could be that you are the horse to back, at least for now. Perhaps we can come to some arrangement, something that benefits us both.’
The fingers drummed again and the tribune’s companion poured for all of them. Octavian and Agrippa exchanged
