‘Get back here, you cheeky cow, or you’ll not get another!’
Cassius moved his head forward so that the Celt couldn’t see him speak. ‘And people say northerners are coarse. .’
Sabina giggled and ran a hand across his knee.
‘What’s that?’ demanded the auxiliary.
Cassius leaned back and kept a straight face as he took another sip of wine.
‘Not bad this,’ he said, holding up the glass to Telesinus.
‘You’d best hurry, girl!’ shouted the Celt.
Cassius removed Sabina’s hand from his leg and nodded towards the auxiliaries. ‘Perhaps you better-’
‘I’m staying here!’ she yelled, spinning round and placing a defiant hand on her hip. ‘Where I can talk to this nice Roman!’
The Celt, whose chiselled features were surrounded by an unruly tangle of sandy hair, glared at her.
Cassius caught his eye, then shrugged.
‘Pah!’ With a dismissive wave, the Celt turned back to the table and refilled his mug.
Sabina smiled gleefully. ‘Good. Now we can talk. Will you buy me a lemon water?’
‘Very well.’
Sabina leaned over the bar and ordered it. ‘Honey too, please.’
Telesinus reached for a clean glass.
Cassius nodded towards the Celts again. ‘Looks like he’s given up. You know these bowmen have remarkably strong wrists. I suppose if he can’t find any pleasure with you, one of his friends can oblige.’
Sabina’s throaty laugh was so obviously tinged with mockery that Cassius knew instantly he had made a mistake.
Stool legs screeched as the Celt sprang to his feet.
‘What was that?’ he demanded, striding towards the bar. ‘What did you say, Roman?’
‘Calm down, Estan,’ said Telesinus.
Cassius turned to the Celt, who had stopped a yard away. He really was quite large: as tall as Cassius, with a remarkably sturdy chest and a thick neck. Intricate, dark green tattoos snaked up his forearms.
‘You said something about me. Admit it.’
‘Not I,’ Cassius said, with what he hoped was an appeasing grin. ‘Please, let me buy you a drink.’
Estan hunched forward, eyes locked on Cassius. ‘Tell me what you said.’
‘Just a common joke: there’s a Greek, a Carthaginian and a-’
The Celt poked Sabina in the shoulder. ‘You tell me.’
‘Why should I?’
Estan plucked a silver denarius from a bag attached to his belt and held it up to the girl’s face. The other Celts and the serving girls had gathered behind him. Even the six drunks had quietened down. Sabina looked at the coin, then back at Cassius.
‘Don’t,’ he said.
‘Keep your mouth shut, girl,’ warned Telesinus, walking around the end of the bar.
Sabina shrugged and took the coin. Then she told the Celt what Cassius had said.
The dark auxiliaries erupted into a fit of hysterics.
‘You silly little bitch,’ Cassius snapped.
Estan breathed in sharply through his nostrils and raised himself to his full height. One of his fellows spat on the floor by Cassius’s feet.
‘Now wait a moment,’ Cassius said. Before he could move, Estan swung a boot at the high stool. As it flew away, Cassius dropped like a stone, catching his head on the bar and landing heavily on the floor. Rubbing his head, he got to his feet and backed towards the other auxiliaries.
‘You men, I am an officer of the Roman Army. You must help me.’
One of the soldiers stood and saluted. ‘At once, sir!’
Cassius was all set to move behind him when the man sat down again and bellowed with laughter. The others joined in.
Cassius pointed to his tunic. ‘I am an officer. It is your duty to assist me.’
One of the men tilted his mug towards the Celts. ‘We know them. We don’t know you. We’re not Roman.’
‘I command you to help me.’
‘Somebody hear something?’ replied one of the men.
‘Not me,’ said another.
‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ Cassius told them.
‘You won’t be in a state to tell anyone anything,’ said one of the Celts.
Telesinus moved in front of Cassius. Sabina was now crying. Her employer pushed her over to where the other girls stood.
‘That’s enough, Estan,’ he said. ‘You-’
Telesinus never finished the sentence.
Estan barged him aside, stomped forward and drove both hands into Cassius’s chest, propelling him across the room. Cassius’s legs buckled as he hit a table, flew over the top of it and landed in a heap next to the wall. Though his shoulder now blazed with pain, he forced himself up straight away. He had to stay on his feet; if they got him on the ground he was finished. He reached instinctively for his dagger, then remembered it wasn’t there.
Why had he said that stupid quip? Why?
He glanced across at the door.
‘No you don’t.’
One of the Celts blocked his way.
Cassius held up his hands. ‘I apologise unreservedly. It was a harmless joke.’
‘How you Romans love to mock us,’ said Estan. ‘We’re good enough to kill for you and die for you but not good enough to earn your respect.’
Telesinus intervened once more. ‘That’ll do, Estan. You’ve had your fun.’
‘Skinny here seems very interested in how strong we are. I think it’s time for a little demonstration.’
Cassius decided to make a dash for the door anyway. He had barely taken a step before Estan grabbed his left arm and swung him back against the wall. The Celt gave an order in his own language and two of the others darted forward and took hold of Cassius. With a sly smile, Estan bent down and picked up Cassius’s cape from where it had fallen to the floor. He stretched it out, doubled it over, then began twisting the ends. Cassius tried to shake himself free but now both his arms were pinned to the wall.
‘I have money,’ he said, nodding down at his belt.
‘So have I,’ said Estan. ‘I don’t want your money. What I want is for you to understand the consequences of insulting the men of Caledonia. When this is done, I think you will.’
Estan had finished twisting the cape and he now looped it over Cassius’s head, crossing the ends in front of his neck. The other men took an end each and kept one hand on Cassius’s shoulders.
Cassius knew he had to call for help while he still could.
‘Simo! Simo!’
Estan nodded. The men pulled tighter and the cotton cut into Cassius’s neck. He tried to draw breath but no air came. He reached for the cape but Estan sent a knuckled punch straight down on to his right wrist. Cassius would have cried out had he been able.
Estan spoke again. The pressure eased.
‘Now listen. There is something I want you to say: “My name is Skinny. I am a Roman and I am nothing.”’
Through the fear and pain, Cassius was surprised to hear his reaction.
‘By Mars you’ll pay for this. I am an officer of the Imperial Army and I am here to-’
With a nod from Estan the two men pulled again.
‘No, no, no,’ replied the Celt. ‘That’s not what I said. You must repeat it exactly: My name is Skinny. I am a Roman and I am nothing.’
The cape slackened again.
‘I am here to see-’
Estan slapped him. ‘I might have to change your name to Stupid.’
Cassius coughed. Spit ran down his chin. Tears ran down his cheeks.
The Celts laughed, even as Telesinus again implored them to stop. Estan told the others to pull harder.
Cassius could feel the cape cutting into his skin. His windpipe felt like a stone being pushed into his throat. He was choking.
Why had he come in here alone?
Now he was going to die here. The cape bit at his neck. Black mist edged across his vision. He was choking.
‘Do you have my money?’
Cassius didn’t understand. They didn’t want money, did they?
‘Are you Corbulo? Do you have my money?’
It was a different voice; a new voice. Who here knew his name? Cassius wanted to speak but he couldn’t.