‘I am a friend of her husband-’
‘You can bloody well end that.’
‘Are you going to tell him?’
‘Scared that Nemurus might stab you in the street like Paris?’ Vinius finished writing fluently then looked up to find Scorpus with raised eyebrows. ‘Yes, it’s true. Domitian murdered Paris. I was there. He used my sword.’
‘ That one?’ Wide-eyed, Scorpus indicated Vinius’ sword, cosily tucked under his right arm.
‘Lost mine in Dacia. This is the replacement Domitian personally gave me.’
‘You are laying it on thick!’ Scorpus reproached him.
‘No. I am telling the truth.’
After eyeballing Vinius admiringly, Scorpus shoved writing equipment in front of Orgilius. ‘I’ll fetch a clerk to help you write your story. He can sign it as a witness.’ One more person who would know. ‘Adulterers can be held for twenty hours while the wronged husband gathers evidence, so we operate the same time limit. I’ll keep you in the cells tonight, for your own safety. That way, Vinius may calm down and not kill you. I’ll escort you to your banker tomorrow morning — then what about the cash, Vinius?’
‘Bring it to me at the Camp.’
‘Oh, so you can pocket it!’ Orgilius scoffed.
‘Do not judge me by your standards,’ Vinius replied. ‘Flavia Lucilla will not want to touch money that has come from you but I shall invest it for her.’ Scorpus and Vinius went outside to the portico. ‘Try to lock him up with a vomiting drunk.’
‘Always feasible.’ Scorpus had now remembered Lucilla. ‘This is the girlie who came calling just before the big fire? Pasty, timid, flat as a board? But you liked her.’
‘The one. She’s not flat now.’
‘You cheeky beggar! You picked her up?’
‘She was far too young.’
‘You thought she was sweet… All this time you’ve been seeing her? — Ten years, Gaius?’
‘No. It’s not like that.’
‘What is it then?’
Vinius sucked in air slowly then expelled a long, enormous sigh. ‘What is it? — Scorpus old friend, I don’t think I know.’
Scorpus clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Apparently, you still like her… You look a bit lean. Fancy a Frontinian for old times?’
‘I would, though another day, if you can wait. Thanks for your help, but I have to see a man about a dog.’
Lucilla was crouched on the edge of a wicker chair, huddling, her eyes dark with misery, when the Praetorian came in.
‘I brought food. Relax now. When I’ve seen you eat some supper, I’ll take you home if you want.’
‘Home?’ Lucilla felt bemused.
‘To your husband?’ Vinius suggested pointedly. ‘At his parents, in the Third Region?’
‘Not tonight…’ She could not face a quarrel with Nemurus. ‘What if Orgilius comes back?’
‘He won’t.’
‘Gaius, I think he will.’
‘No. All sorted.’
‘How?’
‘If that man ever bothers you, go to the vigiles; ask for Scorpus, who will put him on trial. The statements are all there; you won’t have to do anything. Orgilius is fixed and he knows it. But we’ll take a few precautions.’ Vinius, with parcels beneath one elbow, was making his way to the kitchen. ‘That slave has to be sold, for starters.’
‘He is just a child!’ Though full of gratitude for her rescue, Lucilla still hated Vinius being overbearing. ‘No second chance?’
Vinius glared. ‘You must not have a slave who can be bribed to put you in danger. Promise?’ Lucilla resisted mutely. ‘Listen to sense. I have to be at the Camp. I can’t always stroll in and save you.’
She smiled weakly in consent. Gaius went out to prepare the food; Lucilla jumped up and followed. ‘I have not thanked you-’
‘Forget it.’ Clearing the work space, he came on the multi-blade she had waved at Orgilius. ‘I don’t recommend facing off intruders with a folding spoon… We keep this where?’
‘Shelf.’ Lucilla indicated. Gaius clipped various parts closed and replaced it. ‘Would you care to define your mention of a “snittering” knife, Gaius?’
‘Snicketing. Absolutely no idea, darling. Some gadget that men with hobbies use for hours in their den, making awful Saturnalia presents for their rich great-uncles.’
After washing his hands at the tap, Gaius emptied two kinds of olives into bowls, placed a segmented loaf on a comport, ripped chicory and drizzled it with olive oil from Lucilla’s own long jar, pulling down dried herbs from a high hook. Lucilla had never seen him prepare food before, but she knew soldiers could cook. Everything was done fast and extremely neatly. ‘Being a man, I always buy too much when I’m shopping. All my wives have commented-’
Lucilla cut across the talk of wives. ‘How come the timely arrival today?’
She saw Gaius check. ‘Not sleeping. Dacia. Nightmares and flashbacks. It’s a known phenomenon. The Camp is noisy, so I thought I might manage better here.’ Lucilla started to speak, but he stopped her. ‘Don’t worry about me! What can we drink?’
‘Grape juice.’ She reached for cups from the shelf.
Gaius had a fresh mullet to fry; he was kindling the cooking fire, ready to heat oil in his square skillet. He had to use a flint to strike a spark, always a laborious process. Lucilla watched from the doorway; feeling herself sink back into gloom. He noticed she was so downcast: ‘Bear up. Could have been a disaster, but wasn’t.’
‘While you were out, I thought a lot about my life,’ Lucilla admitted, hugging a stole closer around her.
Gaius gave her a friendly poke with a spatula. ‘I don’t want to hear any grim stories.’ He filled a beaker, making the juice go further with water, and plonked it in front of her. ‘If you’re intending to snivel, let me do the talking.’
He poured for himself, with a larger proportion of juice. Lucilla reached for the flagon and levelled hers. Gaius tutted teasingly. The mood was light, a hint of how things could have been between them.
Lucilla studied him as he continued to work on the fire and the fish, while indeed talking. In profile, with the undamaged side of his face towards her, his original good looks were stunning. He spoke steadily and quietly, as if distracting a badly upset child with a story. He described his new work under the cornicularius. ‘It’s a big department, many clerks and orderlies. Registrars to maintain documents; copy scribes; accountants and debt collectors. I am curator for the fallen. When Guards have died in service, I secure their property and sort out their wills; sometimes I have to trace their families. I try to see to things properly; do a bit of digging to find out what the man was like. You have to be sensitive.’
‘You like it. You are good at it. Was it a promotion?’
Lucilla thought Gaius looked oddly shy. ‘Yes. Well, yes, it was.’
‘Recognition for Dacia?’
‘I’m no hero.’
‘You were to me today. And don’t forget, I know how brave you are: you left me your golden oakleaves, your civic crown.’
‘Oh that old thing. I hope you chucked it out. Come and have your food.’
They had just finished eating when knocking came at the door. Lucilla froze, flinching with fear again.
‘Sit tight.’ Gaius went. She heard men’s voices, clearly nothing untoward. Goodnights were called.
It was late. The apartment interior had grown dark. Gaius lit oil lamps before coming back. ‘Delivery.’
‘What?’ Lucilla’s face clouded with suspicion.
‘I thought you could do with a dear little heart-melting puppy. Handily, my brother had one. I bet you never owned a pet?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I had lots, naturally.’ He was talking to calm her again. ‘Motherless boy, two big brothers, doting female relatives; naturally I had pups, kittens, doves, goslings, a tame rat — my grandma would watch until I lost interest, then a sad demise would be arranged. Felix gave me a crocodile hatchling once. I didn’t take to the snapper at all. One of my aunts helped me carry him to the other side of Rome and we slipped him down a drain. He’s probably still somewhere in the sewers, eighty feet long and looking for revenge. I don’t hang about in a public latrine even now; just in case he pops up through the seat.’