“Commander?”
Better focus. One of the Roman cavalrymen was holding him up and staring into his eyes.
“What?”
“Can you ride, sir?”
Varus shook his head. He could barely stand, let alone ride. The soldier conferred with someone out of Varus’ line of sight.
“We haven’t got time for a litter. I’ll throw him over the back of my horse and have to hope he survives with his arm intact.”
“Be quick. We’re in full retreat.”
The last thing Varus remembered was the heaving nausea as his world spun upside down and the shock of unspeakable pain as his arm swung to and fro from the back of the horse upon which he was unceremoniously draped. The image that burned itself into his retinas as he bounced painfully away from both battlefield and consciousness was the body of his rescuer, Piso, still miraculously kneeling in the mud.
ROME
The villa of Atia Balba Prima, like most of the houses of the wealthier families on the Palatine hill had a very austere facade, plain brick walls coated with plaster, with few apertures and even those high up.
Balbus frowned from the shadow of the apple tree.
“I still do not like this.”
Faleria, the sister of Fronto, was proving to Balbus to be every bit as headstrong and troublesome as her brother and probably more so. The well-dressed lady in her lemon-coloured stola and mustard-toned shawl smiled.
“Quintus, we are quite all right, you know. This is a social call; nothing more. Now run along and we’ll meet you back at the house in a couple of hours.”
Balbus’ gaze slipped back and forth between Faleria and his daughter Lucilia, bedecked in a midnight blue stola and looking far too adult and mature for his liking.
“I’d tell you to look after each other, but I do worry you’re each as bad. Be careful.”
Lucilia smiled and patted him on the cheek as they turned and strode across the square, passing a family of the equestrian class and an apple seller who apparently had not cottoned on to the abundance of the fruit going for free in the square. Balbus watched them until they got to the door and then turned with a nervous swallow and returned to the three litters that had brought them from the Cispian.
Faleria arched a perfect eyebrow at her companion.
“Are you really comfortable with this? I’ve met Atia. She’s shrewd and very used to being steeped in the politics of the city.”
Lucilia smiled.
“I’m fine, Faleria. Come on.”
Reaching up, she tugged the bell-pull by the featureless door. A few long moments passed before they heard the muffled flapping of sandals on marble from the far side and, after a couple of clunks and rattles, the door opened.
A short, bald man with an olive complexion and a neat, short beard squinted at them.
“Mistresses?”
Faleria allowed her most imperious expression to fall across her face, her voice matching it perfectly.
“Please inform your mistress that the ladies Faleria and Lucilia have come to pay their respects to the gracious niece of the great Caesar.”
The slave gestured to them, inviting them into the atrium, and then shuffled off. A murmur of conversation drifted back from the tablinum nearby, while the two visitors cast their glance around the room.
Close to the door stood the altar to the household and family gods, with its small statuettes and a mass of flower heads in the dipped surface, soaked in Falernian wine as an offering. A similar sight stood inside most households, though more surprising was the small altar to Venus that stood nearby with a tray of sweetmeats in the offering bowl. It was said that Caesar could trace his family line back to the Goddess herself and Atia clearly bought into the idea.
The fountain in the impluvium pool, a bronze statue of a dancing nymph, sprayed a jet into the air that tinkled down to the water with a calming splatter.
“The domina will see you now, ladies. Please follow me.”
Lucilia and Faleria smiled at the slave who had appeared from around a corner and followed him back and into the tablinum. Atia Balba Prima lounged on a golden couch while two slave girls anointed her feet and tended her toenails. Absently, she plucked a grape from the bowl next to her and popped it into her mouth.
Lady Atia could hardly look any more different from her uncle. Rather than being tall and lean, she was diminutive and voluptuous, her nose small and button-like, her hair lustrous and coppery, falling in carefully-curled waves to her shoulders. Her face was pale — presumably with white lead — her lips crimson and her eyes kohl-darkened.
“Noble names. The widow of the Falerii, sister of my uncle’s favourite soldier, and the daughter of the erstwhile commander of one of his legions. And keeping company together in the city. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Faleria nodded — a gesture that suggested an equality between them that surprised Lucilia.
“A social call only. As clients of your family, it seemed polite to make your acquaintance again. We met a few years ago, of course, but Lucilia is new to the circles of Rome.”
Atia smiled and a shudder ran through Lucilia. That face suddenly reminded her of nothing so much as a crocodile.
“Of course; of course. Do come and sit. I will have food and drink brought for you. Wine or fruit juice?”
Lucilia smiled nervously. “Fruit juice will be fine for me, thank you my lady.” Faleria nodded. “For me too.”
Lucilia gestured to the spare couches and snapped her fingers.
“Agorion? Play something sweet for our guests.”
A thin, ebony-skinned man in a loincloth plucked a lyre from beside a pillar and stepped to the side of the room, beginning to pick out a light melody with seeming ease.
“So you have decided to spend the summer in Rome while the men are off playing soldier with the barbarian. Very sensible, I should say. Sadly, you missed one of the great social engagements of the spring, when lady Sepunia held her orgy. It was quite a party, I can tell you. Some juicy scandal and some delicious slaves from Tingis.”
Lucilia sat gingerly on the couch to one side and raised her feet, removing her sandals. Faleria mirrored her opposite with a sigh of relief.
“Thank you, Atia. I don’t know about you, but I find litters to be less comfort than walking. The bones are shaken up with every step.”
“Indeed, though it would not do for ladies to walk so far unescorted, of course.”
“Of course.”
The opening pleasantries over, Atia turned to Lucilia with a smile.
“Your father has a villa near to Massilia, I understand, where the family resides much of the time?”
“Very true, lady Atia.”
“Do you not find yourselves overcome with the tedium? Do you not miss the spectacle of Rome?”
Lucilia shrugged.
“I have not spent a great deal of my time here, my lady. Much of my youth I lived in the provinces with father and mother. I have only ever spent short stints in the city.”
“Then we shall have to train you up in the manner of a lady of the city, my darling Lucilia. Why I shall make it my personal task to introduce you to every important face and every delight the city has to offer.”
Faleria switched off. Lucilia was handling herself well, and something that had attracted Faleria’s interest since she’d first entered nagged at her. Over the general hubbub of the house, the chattering of the lady and her slaves in this room, there had been the barely-discernible sound of male voices in deep discussion somewhere in the house. Now, as she concentrated, trying to filter out the lyre music and the inane chat, she could hear them more clearly.
Because they were becoming louder.
She realised suddenly that the sources of the noise were approaching.