Castus nodded, uncomfortable. This woman, he reminded himself, knew things about the inner life of the court that he did not.
‘But I do miss Rome so much,’ Sabina went on. ‘If you’ve never seen it you could not comprehend… There are houses there the size of small towns, temples and basilicas entirely covered in marble and gold. It’s the mother of cities, the centre of the world.’
‘So I’ve heard.’
He looked at her then. Her shadowed profile was outlined against the radiance of the river, and he saw the proud elegance of her face, the curve of her lip, the line of her nose. He felt an urge to reach out and touch her, to turn her face to his. But then he became aware of himself, and felt heavy and coarse beside her. He knew that he must smell strongly of stale sweat, horse, the dust and mud of the road. Even to feel attracted to her felt shameful. He remembered seeing the woman and her friends in the courtyard and thinking that they resembled members of some other species.
‘Don’t you miss your own home?’ she asked him.
‘My home’s the army,’ he told her. And, yes, he thought, I do miss it.
She staggered and let out a cry as her foot slipped beneath her, and grabbed at his arm to steady herself. Her slender hand gripped his biceps, and he smelled the wave of perfume again, intoxicating in the darkness.
‘That’s Antunnacum up ahead,’ he told her, conscious of the thickness of his voice. ‘See those lights along the valley there? The imperial camp.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said, with almost a note of disappointment. ‘We should be there in no time.’
A movement from the shadows at the side of the road, and Castus halted suddenly. He had been staring at the distant glow of the encampment, and for a moment he could see nothing of the shapes that seemed to gather from the surrounding darkness. He cursed under his breath as he reached for the hilt of his sword: the woman’s presence had distracted him, and he had let his attention slip.
There were men all around them, closing in on both sides. Sabina drew a quick breath, stepping closer to Castus, both hands clasping his arm. He could feel her involuntary shudder as he eased the sword smoothly from his scabbard.
‘Who’s there?’ he said, low and steady. The horse blew and nuzzled at his shoulder.
‘Identify yourselves,’ came a voice in response. Latin, but Castus kept his guard up.
‘Aurelius Castus, Ducenarius of the Protectores of the Sacred Bodyguard.’
He could make out their forms more clearly now. Eight men, wearing military cloaks, several with shields and spears. One of them uncovered a lantern, and for a moment the wavering light flared brightly, throwing wheeling shadows across the road.
‘Aurelius Castus?’ the voice replied. ‘We meet again then, eh?’
Something in the tone was familiar; an ugly memory surfaced in Castus’s mind. The lantern had dazzled him for a moment, but when he blinked and squinted the features of the man before him were clear. He wore the uniform and insignia of a centurion in the Praetorian Cohorts, but the scarred face and sour grimace were the same. The last time Castus had seen them, he had been staring across a battle line.
‘Oh, yes,’ Satrius Urbicus said. ‘You weren’t the only one who got promotion after that fight back in Germania. And I still haven’t forgotten you, either. Who’s your lady friend?’
Sabina had stepped quickly away from Castus as soon as the lantern appeared. She pulled the hem of her shawl across her face, but her shoulders were tight with anger. Castus heard a couple of the Praetorians laughing quietly in the darkness.
‘You address me as dominus,’ he said in a growl. He was still holding his naked sword. ‘And the lady is none of your concern.’
Urbicus hissed between his teeth, stepping closer. It seemed that his men advanced a step too. Castus had already used his sword in anger once that day; if he did it again now, men would die. He flicked his gaze between them, judging distances. There were too many; he could take down three, maybe four, but if they all set upon him at once he would have no chance. And he had the woman to consider…
‘I’m travelling on imperial duty,’ he said, in as calm and clear a tone as he could muster, though he spoke through his teeth and his jaw was locked. ‘Let us through.’
The centurion was close enough that Castus could smell the damp wool of his cloak. ‘Seems of me, dominus,’ Urbicus said, ‘that this might be an ideal opportunity for you and me to settle a few things. A dark road, no bystanders or witnesses… And my optio here’s taken a fancy to your sweet little friend.’
The soldier with the lantern grinned, showing crooked teeth.
Sabina stepped forward quickly, drawing herself up and throwing the shawl back from her face. The lamplight gleamed off her gold jewellery. ‘You heard what the Protector said,’ she declared, loud enough for them all to hear. ‘I am a lady of the imperial household – step aside and let us pass!’
In her voice was the unmistakeable note of privilege, of authority. Castus saw a ripple pass through the squad of Praetorians as they recognised the truth of her words. Behind him he could hear the slaves approaching, the two men with the trunk and the maid. He smiled, slipping the sword into his scabbard. Urbicus took a step back, and another. Then the rest of his men retreated, and the road was clear.
‘I’ll be looking out for you, Aurelius Castus,’ the centurion said quietly. ‘Next time, maybe we’ll meet on the battlefield…’ He made that same weighing gesture with his cupped palm. Castus spat air between his teeth, then tugged at the horse’s bridle and walked on, the others following him through the open cordon of Praetorians and down the road.
Silence for a time, all of them eager not to appear to be hurrying. Castus saw Sabina touch her face with a trembling hand.
‘What a charming character,’ she said after a while. Her voice was taut, but she managed to sound calm. ‘Friend of yours?’
‘I brushed up against him once or twice,’ Castus replied. Now that the moment had passed he felt the rage hot inside him, the shaming sense of powerlessness. He knew that he should thank her, but could not find the words.
Another hundred paces, and they entered the spill of torchlight. The walls of the town were before them, with the horse lines and pavilions of the retinue set up all around it.
‘Well,’ Sabina said, turning to him. ‘Thank you for escorting me.’ She paused a moment, her arms across her chest, her eyes holding his gaze. The slaves were gathered behind her, shuffling with the baggage. Castus could only nod curtly.
‘I hope we’ll meet again soon,’ she said. And then she turned and walked away.
Castus hefted the bag of despatches on to his shoulder. He thought of the cold bath that awaited him. ‘I hope so too,’ he said quietly.
12
‘Constantine Augustus! The gods preserve you for us! Your salvation is our salvation!’
The collective salute died away in echoes as the eight Protectores advanced and dropped to their knees on the cold marble. On the far side of the audience chamber of the emperor’s private apartments, Constantine was seated beside Maximian on a low dais. To one side stood Probinus, the Praetorian Prefect. To the other side stood a heavy-fleshed eunuch with a shaven head; the same eunuch Castus had seen in the hunting party back in February – the one who had shot and killed the man that had tried to murder Constantine.
‘Rise, and stand before your emperor,’ Probinus said.
They stood, eyes to the floor, while the two men on the dais inspected them. Castus barely heard the voice of the Praetorian Prefect telling them what he already knew: all eight would be attached to the household of former emperor Marcus Aurelius Valerius Maximianus, father of the nobilissima femina Fausta, until such time as the Sacred Presence once again required their services. Several of the men stirred, breathing deeply as they absorbed the news. Aside from Brinno, Castus had told none of the others what he had heard.