Apart from using his hand, his only other form of sexual release had been to bed his father’s female slaves. Two or three of them were passably good-looking. In their lowly position, they could not refuse Carbo when he’d ordered them to his bed. During the months since his recovery from the pox, he’d used this power a number of times. The sex had been a real release, but he had found it hard to ignore their poorly concealed revulsion at his appearance. What Carbo really wanted was for someone to accept him as he was. He blinked. Stop thinking about yourself. Father’s problems are far more important.
‘There you are!’ he cried, glad to be distracted from concerns over his father. The Samnite was carrying a scutum that Jovian had used during his military service years before. Carbo reached out an eager hand.
Paccius didn’t give it to him. ‘Steady,’ he warned. ‘Knowing everything about your arms and equipment is just as important as learning how to use them.’
He knows best. Carbo nodded reluctantly. ‘Very well.’
Paccius tapped the metal rim that covered both ends of the shield. ‘What’s this for?’
‘At the top, it’s to protect against sword strokes, and at the bottom, it prevents wear from contact with the ground.’
‘Good. And this?’ Paccius pointed to the heavy central iron boss.
‘It’s decorative, but it’s also a weapon.’ Carbo threw his left fist forward. ‘If you punch it towards an enemy’s face, he’ll often lean backwards or to the side, exposing his throat.’ He followed through with a thrust of the gladius. ‘Another man down.’ He looked at Paccius proudly.
‘Nice to know that you sometimes pay attention to what I’m saying,’ was the Samnite’s only comment. ‘Let’s start with the basics: how to hold the shield correctly.’ He reversed the scutum and proffered its inner surface.
Carbo sighed. His impatience would get him nowhere. If he was to benefit from Paccius’ experience, he had to do it his way. He took hold of the horizontal grip. ‘What next?’
Finally, Paccius smiled. ‘Hold it up, so that I can barely see your eyes. Have your sword pointing forward from the right hip, ready to use.’
Carbo obeyed. At once his pulse quickened and the sounds of domestic life dimmed. Despite the peacefulness of their surroundings, he could imagine standing on a battlefield, with comrades either side of him. Yet the picture dimmed within a couple of heartbeats. Carbo scowled. It was highly unlikely that that would ever happen. Since they’d moved to the city four years before, his father had maintained that the best career for him to follow was not working the land, which is what their ancestors had done for generations, or joining the army, Carbo’s dream, but politics. ‘The days of citizen farmers are gone. The cut-price grain from latifundia, and from Sicily and Egypt, has seen to that.’ Jovian regularly lamented the changes in agriculture that had seen family farms all but obliterated by vast estates owned by the nobility. ‘Your mother’s brother Alfenus Varus, on the other hand, is making a name for himself in Rome. He’s a new man, but look at him — one of the foremost lawyers in Rome. He is fond of you too. With the gods’ help, he might take you under his wing.’ A lawyer, thought Carbo bitterly. He couldn’t think of anything worse. Training with Paccius might be the only military training he ever received. Without further ado, he determined to absorb every word that fell from the Samnite’s lips.
Before Paccius had made any serious attempt to teach the finer points of weapons training, he had Carbo run around the rectangular courtyard more than twenty times, carrying the gladius and scutum. When that was done, the Samnite began showing Carbo how to move in combat, both singly and when in formation. He repeatedly stressed the importance of holding the line and sticking with one’s comrades. ‘Contrary to what you might think, winning a battle is not about individual heroics. It’s about discipline, pure and simple,’ he growled. ‘That is what differentiates the Roman soldier from the vast majority of his opponents, and it is the main reason for the legions’ success over the last two hundred years.’ He pulled a face. ‘My people could have done with more discipline.’
Carbo redoubled his efforts, proudly imagining himself in the midst of any one of the armies that had variously defeated the other ethnic groups in Italy: the mighty Carthaginians and the proud Greeks. Deep down, however, his pleasure was constantly dimmed by the knowledge that it was all an exercise in fantasy. His father’s debts were what mattered right now. Yet he couldn’t stop picturing himself as a soldier. Paccius’ martial tales had stirred his blood since early childhood.
‘We had best finish now,’ said Paccius, glancing at the sky.
Carbo didn’t argue. His arms were burning and he was drenched in sweat. Although it was still bright, the sun had dropped below the level of the house’s red-tiled roof. It wouldn’t be long before his mother returned and his father would not be long after her. ‘Very well.’ He grinned his thanks. ‘You can teach me more tomorrow.’
‘Serious about this, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. I want to be a soldier, no matter what Father says.’
Paccius sucked his lip, thinking.
‘What is it?’ asked Carbo eagerly.
‘The best way of building up your general fitness would be to use proper training equipment, not these.’ Paccius lifted up the gladius and scutum without effort. ‘New recruits to the legions use wooden swords and wicker shields that are twice as heavy as the real articles. Obviously, we couldn’t practise with those here. But outside Capua, it would be a different matter.’
‘You mean the plain to the north of the walls?’ It was used similarly to the Campus Martius at Rome. There, the young men of the city, noble and commoner alike, practised all kinds of athletic activities. ‘We can’t go there. Someone would see us. It’d only be a matter of time before Father heard.’
‘I was thinking of the waste ground to the south, where the city’s refuse is dumped. No one will trouble us in a place like that,’ said Paccius with a sly grin.
‘Good idea. And I can tell Father that you’re going to teach me how to throw the javelin and discus, on the training area to the north. He couldn’t complain about that.’
‘I know a trader who’ll sell me the gear.’ Paccius turned to go.
‘Wait.’ Carbo hesitated. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing. Wait until tomorrow,’ Paccius warned. ‘You might not feel the same way after an hour at the palus.’
‘I will,’ vowed Carbo. ‘This goes far beyond your duty as a slave.’
‘Aye, well…’ The Samnite coughed. ‘I’ve been looking after you all these years. It seems stupid to stop now.’
Taken aback by the unexpected thickness in his throat, Carbo nodded. ‘Good. Tomorrow morning, then?’
‘Tomorrow morning,’ agreed Paccius. He walked off without another word.
A gust of wind carried down into the courtyard, and Carbo shivered, suddenly very aware of the sweat coating every part of his skin. It was time for a wash and a change of clothes. Thinking of his father’s task that day, he sighed. Jupiter, Greatest and Best, help us, please.
Carbo tackled Jovian the moment he returned. His father was a short man with thinning black hair and a kind face, which of recent days had been lined with worry. Carbo forgot all about that as he launched into an explanation of his idea. To his initial relief, his father had made no objection to the idea of Paccius training him in use of the discus and javelin. Guilt soon replaced Carbo’s delight, however. It was unsurprising that he’d had no resistance. Jovian’s visage had been grey with exhaustion — or worry.