Marcus looked at him for a moment and then nodded, saluting again reflexively as he turned away and walked into the house.
‘You think he’ll be able to resist the temptation to smash the bastard’s windpipe?’
Scaurus shrugged.
‘For one thing it would be a brave man who’d give him the chance. I fully expect the chamberlain to conduct his interview with us, when the invitation comes, from behind a wall of Praetorian armour.’
‘And if he doesn’t?’
‘In that eventuality, Centurion, I expect that both the chamberlain and I will have significant grounds for nervousness. Not that I intend to lose any sleep over it.’ He turned away, stopping and turning back as something occurred to him. ‘Oh, and I’ll be needing an escort in the morning, I’m planning to visit a professional man and I’ll need enough muscle to make sure we’re not disturbed.’
‘Will you not be taking that big German lump Arminius with you?’
Scaurus shook his head solemnly.
‘He tells me that he has a more important task to perform. I’ll take Lugos along with me, if only to get a professional medical opinion as to the state of his leg, but the presence of a few of your rougher-edged veterans would be useful, I suspect.’
‘Arabus died instead of me, Arminius. He died like a slaughtered animal, choking on his own blood.’
The big German sat opposite the boy Lupus in the house’s atrium, close enough to reach out and take the young man’s hand had he felt it appropriate, but something deep within him instinctively recognised that the time for comforting the child that they had left behind on sailing east for Parthia was gone, along with the child himself. The sword-armed soldiers Scaurus had set to guarding the house stared stolidly out into the morning’s sunshine, knowing better than to intrude in such a sensitive moment. Not only was the boy the orphaned grandchild of one of their own, considered a child of the cohort and welcome at any Tungrian campfire or barrack, but the German slave’s disregard for his apparent position among them was well known, as was his implacable temper when he was gainsaid.
While Lupus struggled for self-control, Arminius looked for what was left of the boy he’d left behind the previous year, marvelling that so much could have changed in the still-familiar face in such a short amount of time. Harder lines in the jaw and cheeks spoke of the onset of manhood, something in which he would have quietly exulted under different circumstances. Swallowing his own sorrow for the teenager’s distress, he forced a note of harshness into his voice.
‘A lesson to be relearned, then.’
‘A lesson?’
The German nodded into Lupus’s hot stare.
‘Arabus did what was right, offering his own life to protect yours, knowing how much more living you have left to do. Just like Antenoch.’
The boy pursed his lips and nodded.
‘They both died because I was not strong enough to defend myself.’
‘They both died because they loved you enough to give their lives to keep yours intact. They both died because they were honourable men who knew what they had to do. And they both died because their time had come to die. Have I not told you this before?’
Lupus nodded slowly.
‘But Arabus-’
‘Arabus knew what he had to do. There were wolves in the house, wolves who demanded a life, and he knew that his was the life they must take. He was man enough to offer it, and for that we should both hold his memory in high esteem for the rest of our days. And now you tell me this story with the wounded pride of a man who feels he should have done something to save his friend. Except, Lupus, you could have done nothing, because you are not yet a man.’
The boy looked at him with eyes suddenly hard, and Arminius smiled slowly back at him to draw the hurt from his words.
‘Understand me, boy. You may be close to manhood but you cannot consider yourself as a man until I have finished helping you to become a man.’
The boy protested, his voice raised indignantly.
‘Not a day has passed without my exercising with my sword and spear. My body is getting stronger-’
Arminius shook his head, raising a finger to his lips.
‘Marcus is still asleep — do you want to wake him and have him discover that my master has gone to take some share of revenge for his wife’s death without him? A man can make such a point without once raising his voice. What I speak of is more than your muscles, or how tall you’ve grown. You will possess great strength, given another few years, and perhaps even be tall enough to look me in the eyes, but true manhood comes from more than the body the gods have seen fit to gift you. True manhood is in here, Lupus …’
He tapped his forehead.
‘True manhood is measured by whether the man is worthy of the term. I will train your body and make you strong, give you skills with spear and sword that will make you a great warrior.’ He leaned forward to stare into his pupil’s eyes. ‘Becoming a man, however, will be a different matter.’
The half-dozen people waiting for a consultation with the doctor were suitably respectful when they saw the purple stripe that adorned the latest arrival’s tunic, while the size of the party accompanying him spoke volumes as to his significance in the city’s complicated social structure. While the man himself was clean-shaven and bore no obvious scars, the fact that he was a serving officer was obvious, not least from the size and demeanour of the men accompanying him.
The first member of his party to come through the door was a stocky figure dressed in a military tunic with cropped hair, scarred arms and an evident disdain for the waiting-room’s occupants, but if his appearance gave the clients a momentary frisson of apprehension, the man following him was altogether more disquieting. Built to an entirely different scale, he was forced to duck through the door, and as he limped across the room to join the soldier, the waiting patients watched his progress with wide eyes, mesmerised by his slab-like muscles and long, plaited hair. Their master entered next, to general and evident relief at both his civilised appearance and the likelihood of him preventing any unpleasantness on the part of the hulking barbarian, but the three men who completed the party quickly reinforced the initial impression. Hard-bitten soldiers to judge from their short hair and beards, they clearly regarded the citizens present with a mixture of distrust and open curiosity. A tense silence fell upon the room as the new arrivals looked about them, with the sole exception of the equestrian who was evidently the head of this close-knit familia, apparently too deep in the scroll he was reading to pay much attention to the goings-on around him.
After a moment, the doctor’s assistant appeared through the door that led to his consulting room, noting the new arrivals with a raised eyebrow. Upon his call for the next patient, concerted efforts were made by the waiting room’s other occupants to encourage the aristocrat to take their turns with the physician, although whether this generosity was born of respect for his rank or fear of his companions was not entirely clear. In any case the efforts were to no avail, as he simply smiled and gestured for the next patient to accompany the doctor’s assistant, happily reading his book while the room slowly emptied as each of its occupants saw the doctor and left until, an hour or so later, only his party was left. Pulling a face at the unexpected lack of any further custom, the doctor’s assistant ushered him through the doorway, on the sensible assumption that he was likely to be the only one of the party with the wherewithal to pay for such expensive services, moving hastily aside as both the stocky soldier and the giant followed. The doctor looked up from his chair, gesturing to one on the other side of his desk.
‘Good day to you, sir. Please do take a seat.’
The aristocrat sat down, inclining his head in thanks.
‘And good day to you, Doctor.’