Emperor

But Thalius quickly identified a Tacitus, a Pliny, a Cicero, relics of an age when people could still think, and argue, and write.

He looked into the gloom of the covered stall behind the table. A youth sat on a stool, chewing on some herb, watching a girl on the next stall with a lascivious leer. Thalius snapped his fingers. 'You!'

The boy's head swivelled to face him. 'You're talking to me?'

'Not by choice, but it does seem you're the purveyor of these books. What is their provenance?'

The boy scowled. 'What?'

Thalius sighed. 'Are you selling these books? Where did they come from?'

'House breakage,' said the boy. 'Prices as marked.' His Latin was coarse, simplified. He was perhaps sixteen, with a hard, surly expression. Thalius wasn't frightened of him, but he was somehow disturbed. Here was a boy who had grown up almost outside society as Thalius had known it, with no compulsion to obey the rules of civilised discourse. What a resource for the future of Britain and the empire!

Thalius ran a finger over the scrolls. They were probably the debris of a minor tragedy, no doubt once owned by some member of the curia, more or less like himself, who had failed to maintain his balance in the endless cliff-top walk that was civil life these days.

But there were some interesting titles. One was a story called The True History by a Syrian-Greek called Lucian. Thalius had read it as a boy, and had since sought out other tales of fantastic voyages to strange corners of the world, or beyond the earth altogether-not myths, which always seemed a little hollow to him, but notions of what might actually be possible. But he had learned to keep his interest in these speculations quiet. Literary snobs always claimed that such tales were for adolescent boys, that the authors were running out of plots, and characterisation was sacrificed for the sake of ideas. It did Thalius no good to protest that the ideas were the whole point. With regret he replaced the Lucian; he already owned a better copy, though not one he kept on display.

As he browsed he was aware of a younger man beside him, also pushing through the heaps of scrolls. He jostled Thalius, to his intense irritation, as he tried to study the books.

The boy behind the counter took an interest in Thalius. 'If you're serious about buying, you might want to see this.' He dug around under the table and produced a scroll even more dog-eared than the rest. Thalius, his eyes rheumy but still sharp, saw that it was a memoir by the Emperor Claudius. 'Talks about his time here in Camulodunum. This is his Temple,' he said, casually jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

'I know whose Temple it is!' snapped Thalius.

The boy was expressionless. 'Good souvenir then.'

Thalius knew it was true that such an item was indeed difficult to find outside the great libraries of the Mediterranean cities-and even harder since Constantine had moved his capital hundreds of miles east. And he supposed the price would reflect its rarity. 'Let me see it. Is it complete, good condition? What generation copy is it?' Books nowadays were as tatty as everything else; you always had to check. He reached out for the scroll. The boy held it up before his chest. Grumbling at his lack of consideration, Thalius leaned forward over the table.

And as he was off balance the young man next to him punched him in the belly, and there was an explosion of quite unreasonable pain, while a hand rummaged inside his tunic.

Another hand, much stronger, grabbed him by a fistful of cloth at the back of the neck. 'Thalius. Are you all right?'

For two, three long breaths Thalius felt his heart racing, and his vision greyed. But he did not fall. Gradually the pain in his punched belly receded. He looked up.

A man stood before him, in his thirties perhaps, tall, well-built, his hair bright strawberry-blond. He was a soldier, as you could tell from the elaborate military brooch at his shoulder, and his expensive-looking belt. He held up his hands. He was holding two items: the Claudian memoir, and Thalius's leather purse. 'Those two rascals were hunting in a pack.' He tossed the purse to Thalius, who caught it clumsily. 'I'm afraid I had my hands full and had to let them go.'

Thalius glanced around. The shoppers thronged oblivious; there was no sign of the robbers. 'The shame of it,' he growled. 'To use books as a lure for thievery and violence! What is the world coming to?'

'I rather think you're owed this, don't you?' The man handed Thalius the Claudian scroll.

Thalius took it uneasily. 'I long to read it,' he said. 'But how shall I pay?'

The soldier laughed. 'The same old Thalius-honest through and through, but so unworldly you're concerned about paying the men who just tried to rob you! Forget it, Thalius. Take the book-they won't be back for it, it was probably stolen anyhow, and it will only rot otherwise.'

Thalius nodded. 'If there is no right course of action-' He looked up. 'But how do you know my name?'

The soldier smiled. 'You really haven't changed, dear Thalius. When I arrived here I knew that to find you I only had to follow the smell of musty old books.'

'Audax.'

XV

Tears embarrassingly pricked Thalius's eyes. 'I'm such a fool. I was somehow expecting the boy. Why, how you have changed! I really wouldn't recognise this great tree of a man as having grown from the wretched sapling I found in that gold mine, all those years ago.'

But Audax's face clouded a little, and Thalius understood there were layers of memory probably best left undisturbed.

He went on hurriedly, 'Besides, you know, with my head full of books I had quite forgotten that I was here to look for you. I'm like that nowadays, I'm afraid. And now here you are caring for me, as poor Tarcho looked out for me all those years.'

'It's been a long time.'

'And how is your wife?'

'Melissa is well. We have a townhouse in Constantinople-smaller than yours, Thalius, but it suits us well.' He said cautiously, 'Things seem to be better out there. In the east. There are lots of small farmers who own their own land. It's not like here where you have whole swathes of the country owned by a few super-rich. You don't have the same-' He waved a hand, his soldier's inarticulacy betraying him.

'Gross inequality?' Thalius finished for him sadly. 'I know, Audax, it is ruining us all, that and the decline of education…But you have sons. Tarcho told me all about them. Your letters always thrilled Tarcho.'

Audax smiled. 'I called the older boy Tarcho-another soldier I think! But the younger has brains rather than brawn. He's more like you, Thalius. We are family after all. I'm glad I named him after you.'

Thalius was thrilled. 'It would be wonderful if you lived closer, so I could get to know him-tutor him a little, perhaps.'

'My place has always been at the Emperor's side.'

'I understand.'

'Anyhow I'm here now-here for the first Tarcho…'

'Yes. Poor Tarcho! Come. Walk with me.'

They moved away from the book stall and, with Audax's broad shoulders and military insignia easily clearing a way, they walked up the stairs, through the colonnade and into the Temple. It was a relief for Thalius to reach the comparative calm beneath the Temple's roof, but it was painful to walk.

Audax touched Thalius's arm, offering support. 'How do you feel?'

Thalius gasped, 'As if that thug buried his arm in me up to the elbow.'

'If you feel you need a doctor-'

'I'd rather walk with you, old friend.'

Audax glanced around at the Temple. 'I haven't been here since I was a child, and then I was too young, or bewildered, to make sense of it. Surprisingly grand, isn't it?'