Thrusting himself away from the palisade, Cato ran down the reverse slope in the direction of the depot's main gate, all the weariness of the past weeks swept from his body at the prospect of holding Lavinia in his arms again.
Chapter Thirty-Six
'Lavinia!' Cato called out as he pushed through the milling bodies of the Emperor's entourage, heedless of the astonished expressions and sharp curses that followed him. Ahead, a short distance off, he saw her a yellow stola flash between a gap in the crowd, and Cato pushed on towards it, calling out again, 'Lavinia!'
She caught the sound of her name and turned her head, searching for the source, and her gaze came to rest on Cato as he brushed between a senator and his wife twenty feet away.
'Cato?'
At Lavinia's side her mistress, the lady Flavia, turned to follow her gaze, Flavia's face broke into a smile as she, too, caught sight of the young man she had first met at the imperial palace ten years earlier. while she had been a minor figure at court, Flavia had taken an interest in the shy boy, and seen to it that he was given access to the palace library, and protected as far as possible from the endemic bullying amongst the imperial slaves. In return Cato had been utterly loyal to her ever since,
'I say!' the senator protested. 'Bloody watch where you're going, young man!'
Cato ignored him and ran the last few paces, arms outstretched as Lavinia's expression broke into a wide-eyed grin of delight. She squealed out a greeting and raised her arms, and an instant later was crushed in his embrace. It lasted only a moment before Cato pulled back, raising his hands to her cheeks, cupping her smooth skin and wondering once more at the dark, piercing beauty of her eyes. She smiled, and then couldn't help laughing at the pure joy of the moment, and he laughed with her.
'Oh Cato! I'd so hoped to see you here.'
'Well, here I am!' He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, before his cursed self-consciousness returned and made him aware of the surrounding crowd. He pulled back from her and glanced about. A number of people were staring at them, some in amused surprise, some frowning at the unseemliness of such behaviour in public. The senator was still looking angry. Cato flashed him an apologetic smile, and returned his eyes to Lavinia.
'What-what are you doing here? I thought you were on the way to Rome.'
'We were,' said Flavia, stepping round to one side of the couple. 'We'd just reached Lutetia when I received instructions from Narcissus to return to Gesoriacum and wait for the Emperor.'
'And here we are!' Lavinia concluded happily. Then she looked down and caught sight of the livid scar on his arm. 'Oh no! What happened to you? Are you all right?'
'Of course I'm all right. Just a burn.'
'My poor baby,' Lavinia cooed, and kissed his hand.
'Have you had it treated properly?' asked Flavia as she examined the scar. 'I know what these army quacks are like. I wouldn't trust them to treat a cold.'
The attention was making Cato feel embarrassed and he quickly insisted that all was well – yes, it looked bad, but it was healing; no, there weren't any other injuries; yes, he'd make sure he was more careful in future; no, it wasn't Macro's fault.
'And did you really miss me?' Lavinia concluded quietly, intently watching his expression.
'Do fish live in the sea?' Cato replied, smiling.
'Oh you!' Lavinia punched his chest. 'You could just say yes.'
'Well, yes then. I did. Very much.' Cato kissed her again, automatically running one hand down the small of her back to the swell of her buttocks. Lavinia chuckled. 'Jupiter! You just can't wait for it, can you?'
Cato shook his head.
'Well then,' Lavinia leaned forward and whispered in his ear, 'we'll have to sort something out a little bit later… '
'Look here,' Flavia intmded. 'I hate to interrupt this distastefully amorous reunion, but a more secluded venue would be appropriate, don't you think?'
The tents provided for the imperial entourage were luxuriously appointed, and for Cato, starved of such a lifestyle for almost a year now, a welcoming reprieve from the rough and ready accommodation of the legions. Lady Flavia, Lavinia and he were sitting on heavy bronze chairs arranged around a low table on which sweet pastries and savouries were artfully arranged on gold platters. Cato sat beside Lavinia, while her mistress sat on the opposite side of the table where the light cast by the oil lamps was dim.
'Nice.' Cato nodded at the ornately decorated snacks, mindful of the battered mess tin waiting for him back in his tent.
'Not mine,' said Flavia. 'My husband disapproves of fripperies. It's part of the service Narcissus has laid on for the Emperor's companions. In case we should get homesick.'
'Rather pretty, aren't they?' Lavinia smiled, flashing her perfect white teeth at Cato. She helped herself to a small filled pastry and bit into it. flakes and crumbs fell down her front and Cato's eyes followed them as her far as her breasts. And then flickered back to her face as he blushed.
'Pretty enough, my dear.' Flavia reached over and deftly flicked the crumbs from her handmaid's stola. 'But they're only snacks when all is said and done. One shouldn't be too concerned with appearances. It's the essence of a thing that matters. Isn't that right, Cato?'
'Yes, my lady.' Cato nodded, wondering why Flavia was attempting to warn him off Lavinia. 'But since the essence of a thing is a matter of conjecture, might we not be better off simply judging by appearances, my lady?'
'Think that if you will.' Flavia shrugged, unimpressed by his glib sophistry. 'But life will be a harsh teacher if you persist in such a view.' Cato nodded. He disagreed with her but was keen not to risk disturbing the happy ambience of their reunion. 'Might I have some more wine, my lady?'
Flavia gestured towards his cup and a slave with a decanter hurried from the shadows at the rear of the tent. Cato held out his cup and the slave quickly refilled it and stepped back discreetly, as still and silent as before.
'I wouldn't drink too much of that,' Lavinia said with a cheeky smile, and nudged Cato gently in the ribs.
'To you, my lady.' Cato raised his cup. 'To you, and your husband.' Flavia nodded graciously, and then leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the young optio. 'And is the legate enjoying a successful campaign?'
Cato paused before he replied. The campaign was undoubtedly a success as things stood, but he was still too close to the experience of how it had been won by the rank and file of the legions to feel much sense of triumph. Any success that future historians might lightly allude to when writing about the invasion of this island would never acknowledge the pain, blood, filth and soul-numbing exhaustion it had cost. A vivid image of Pyrax being cut down as he struggled to free himself from the mud flashed into Cato's mind. He knew that historians would regard the death of Pyrax as a pitifully insignificant detail unworthy of a place in history.
'Yes, my lady,' Cato said carefully. 'The legate has won his share of the glory. The Second has acquitted itself well enough.'
'Maybe. But I'm afraid the plebs want heroism, not competency.' Cato smiled bitterly. His newly acquired status as a Roman citizen technically ranked him as one of the plebeians that Flavia spoke of with such contempt. Yet the accusation was valid enough.
'The Second has proved itself in every battle it has fought in. You can be proud of your husband. And it's not as if the Britons aren't being helped.'
'No?'
'No, my lady. Time and again we've found that the Britons are using Roman slingshot and swords.'