‘I won’t mention it to a soul,’ he promised. ‘If it’s money that they need, I can lend them-’
‘Thank you, but no. They’re too proud to accept even a single drachm from you. Martialis practically had to force my mother into taking his money, and he’s known the family for thirty years.’ Aurelia didn’t say any more. Instead, she prayed that Lucius would come up with the notion of pressuring Phanes himself and think of it as his idea. Long moments went by. Her heart thudded off her ribs so fast that she worried he might feel it.
‘Phanes, you say his name is?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And he lives in Capua?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll see if someone can’t pay him a visit. Persuade him to think again on your family’s debts.’ He smiled as she looked up at him. ‘It’ll be nothing illegal. The dog just needs to reduce the payments to a fraction of their current level, so that your mother can continue to pay them. That’s not unreasonable, given that there’s a war on. Once your father returns, no doubt laden with honours from the Senate, the situation can be reassessed.’
‘You would do this for me?’
‘Of course! You are going to bear me a son. Besides that, it’s but a small thing.’
Genuine tears of gratitude and joy flowed from Aurelia’s eyes then. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
‘I will have a slave carry a letter to Capua tomorrow. There are people in the city who can look after this matter for me. Consider it done.’
She kissed him with real feeling. When her hand moved downwards from his chest, however, he stopped her. ‘A man needs his rest! Wake me again in the morning and I’ll be happy to oblige.’ Content that she had done enough, Aurelia relaxed into his arms. Lucius was a good husband, she thought. For the first time, she wondered if their life together could actually be happy. Yet that didn’t stop her thinking of Hanno again. Didn’t stop her fantasising that it was he who lay beside her, not Lucius. Fuelled by thoughts of how she had just behaved, her imagination ran riot. The temptation to ease the throbbing feeling in her groin grew too great. Moving with great care, she rolled out of Lucius’ embrace and on to her own side of the bed. He moved a little and then settled down again. When she was sure that he had not woken, Aurelia lay back. Her eyes closed, and an image of Hanno, naked, entered her mind. Her hand slipped down of its own volition, dipped into the wetness between her legs, began to rub.
As she reached the heights of ecstasy, she felt no guilt.
Calena, Samnium
It was a cold, blustery afternoon. The sun had vanished behind banks of grey cloud. Looming, swirling, ever changing in shape, they filled the sky from one horizon to the other, as they had since daybreak. The gale had risen at some stage during the night, and it showed no sign of abating. The Roman troops had learned to expect such weather. Mid-winter storms off the Adriatic were a regular occurrence in this part of Italy. The camp’s position on high ground didn’t help. Gusts of wind battered the tents, alternately pulling taut and slackening the guy ropes in a way that threatened to see at least some become airborne before the day’s end. The bitter air meant that the only soldiers who were abroad were those who had to be. Sentries on the ramparts of the large camp huddled below the level of the wooden battlements, with barely their heads visible. An occasional messenger hurried down one or other of the avenues. A mule-driver led his charges back from whatever scant grazing they’d found that day. Groups of unfortunate legionaries, who were being punished for misdemeanours, manoeuvred miserably to and fro on the open ground beyond the defences, threw javelins or went at each other with wooden swords and shields. Their officers stood in thick woollen cloaks nearby, pouring scorn on their efforts.
In the lines of Corax’s and Pullo’s maniple, everything was quiet. Men huddled in their tents, only venturing outside to answer a call of nature or to fetch fuel for the braziers that the more resourceful contubernia had obtained. Like his comrades, Quintus was not on duty — he had been on a two-day patrol that had returned the previous evening. He was inside too, lying in the midst of the nine other men who shared the tent. As the most senior, he had the best spot, by the small, three-legged brazier. Even better, he had a number of sheepskins to lie on: some bartered for, others the winnings from dice games — or plain stolen. Three months in camp with just an occasional skirmish against the Carthaginians meant that the priorities in life had changed somewhat. They were now all about how to make one’s existence in a leather tent in the cold and damp of winter more bearable. Fuel and bedding were always needed; so too were rations that warmed a man’s insides. Choice items like cheese or wine fetched premium prices.
Quintus had soon discovered that Severus, Rutilus’ former lover, was a born scavenger. It didn’t seem to matter what was needed; Severus could find it. Quintus had learned equally quickly to turn a blind eye to his soldier’s pilfering. The reason for this was simple. Everyone in the camp was at it; the trick was never to be caught. It helped that experienced centurions such as Corax tended ‘not to notice’ what was going on. At the start of winter, he’d made one pronouncement: that anyone caught stealing from their own maniple or those that directly neighboured it would receive thirty lashes. It hadn’t taken much to read between the lines that the units further away, or property outside the camp, were fair game.
There had been a tasty stew for the midday meaclass="underline" the best food Quintus had had in days. Luxuriating in the comfort of his warm bedding, he lay back and let the chatter wash over him. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he didn’t want to brood over Rutilus. That was all he’d done since the fight at the pass: simmer, and plot how he could revenge himself upon Macerio. Trouble was, it was hard to accomplish such a thing when there was no fighting going on. In the camp, everyone lived cheek by jowl; a man could barely take a shit without half a dozen others watching. The best opportunities to be had were in the thick of combat. At times like that, most men didn’t see what was happening five paces away, let alone ten. To his frustration, the war had ground to a halt since the onset of winter. That was the way it would remain until the fine weather returned in the spring. I’ll get the bastard eventually, thought Quintus. One way or another. Until then, it wasn’t a crime to relax a little in the safety of his tent mates’ company. To distract himself, he focused on what was going on around him. Five of the men were loudly playing dice. Filthy jokes filled the air; many concerned the farts one of them was emitting. Severus was whispering with two of the others, no doubt planning an expedition to thieve something new. The last man was dozing. At moments like this, Quintus reflected, life wasn’t too bad.
‘Crespo!’ The voice came from outside the tent.
With a silent curse, he ignored it.
‘Crespo! Corax wants you. Now.’
The request was unusual enough, but why was Macerio the messenger? Wide awake now and full of suspicion, Quintus sat up. His men were staring at him. ‘Don’t just look at me,’ he barked. ‘One of you unlace the flap!’ To Macerio, he growled, ‘I’m coming.’ Quickly, he strapped on his sword belt and donned his helmet. Throwing on his cloak, he stepped over the huddle of bodies and blankets to the entrance. Caution stopped him from exiting the tent. Was Macerio capable of trying to kill him in broad daylight, in the midst of their own unit? Surely not. Quintus could feel his men’s eyes on his back, and he began to move. The danger from Macerio was small, and he could not be seen to be indecisive.