"They have done damage to you in the past?"
The mansio-keeper looked at him wryly. "Damage? Aye, sir, you might say that. Sometimes. In truth, almost always. They are very wealthy, and spoiled. They know no discipline. They seem to think they need none, with the people around here, anyway." He was still watching the small, distant group. "I beg your pardon, sir, but I must make preparations." He hurried away, and I turned to Plautus, who was eating one of the few remaining plums.
"We should get going. Are you about ready?"
He spat out the plum stone, stretched himself and broke wind loudly.
"For what? There's no rush, is there? It's a beautiful day, the sun's hot, we've still got a jug of wine, and I don't feel like moving."
I grinned at him, momentarily forgetting my bad humour. "Plautus, you're a pig sometimes. Look at you — you're unshaven, unkempt, and you fart and scratch and belch and spit as though you'd never seen a parade ground. If your recruits could ever see you off-duty, out of uniform, all their fears of you would drown in laughter."
He farted again, deliberately. "That's what furloughs are for, friend, to give a man the opportunity to cleanse himself of all the rust that builds up through disuse."
"That's what I said. You're being a pig."
He belched, and I laughed aloud as he went on.
"Well, at least I'm a placid pig, and I pay for what I eat and drink. I wouldn't want to be our host and have to depend on those bucks to do the same."
He nodded sideways, and I looked to see the two chariots come racing towards us. They clattered across the road and right into the front yard where we sat, and their occupants, six of them, spilled out shouting at each other and laughing and yelling for someone to look after their horses. They made a lot of noise. Or rather, five of them did. The sixth, who remained in the chariot, stood out from his companions in every way. He was taller than all the others, broad-shouldered and heavily but cleanly muscled, with thick, fair hair and a tanned, handsome face. He stood silent, and I thought at first he was smiling, for he showed white, shining teeth and very bright blue eyes. But he was not smiling. There was no humour in his face, and he was staring hard at Plautus. I felt a stirring of misgiving in the bottom of my gut.
"Come on, " I said to Plautus, who was unaware of the stare. "Let's drink up and move on. We'll take the jug with us. It's not going to be quiet around here for a long time now."
"Relax, man. They're just spoiled rich brats. They'll get bored and move on soon enough. Won't bother us if we don't bother them." He was looking at them as he spoke, and the silent one knew he was talking about them. He flicked his reins and walked his horses forward, right up to our table. Suddenly his five companions were silent, watching. Neither Plautus nor I reacted in any way other than to look at the three white horses that now stood within arm's reach of us. The chariot tilted as the driver stepped down, and I saw his sandalled feet approach on the side closer to Plautus. Plautus looked at me, his eyes expressionless, and took a mouthful of wine without swallowing, holding it behind pursed lips.
"You! Take care of these horses." The words were spoken in a flat, ominous tone filled with the threat of violence.
Plautus washed the wine around his teeth, swallowed it and grimaced, smacking his lips and then sucking them in to bite them between his teeth. The triple leather reins landed on the table between us. I raised my eyes and looked at the speaker, who ignored me completely. His eyes were fastened on Plautus, who sat immobile, side on to him, still looking at me as though the two of us were alone.
"I gave you an order, dung pile." No change in the tone of voice. None of the other five moved to approach, but now one of them spoke.
"Thrash him, Deus."
Deus? I looked more closely at the fellow they were calling God. At this proximity, he was even more impressive than he had appeared from a distance, but there was something in his face that told me he was older than he looked, and his expression recalled to me the junior tribune who had eaten Plautus's dung stew so long ago in Africa. It was that same look of intolerant, autocratic harshness, of implacable arrogance and intractability. And his eyes disturbed me. They looked, somehow, familiar.
Plautus spoke. "I was wrong. About the bothering. Stupid of me. It didn't connect." He put his goblet down very deliberately on the table top. "I will have some more, after all."
I was now experiencing the strangest feeling of being caught up in one of those Greek tragedies, as though we were all fated to perform some inexorable dance here, powerless to change the course of things. As I began to pour, the stranger started to reach for the jug, but Plautus's next words forestalled him.
"Look, stranger, " he said, his voice unruffled but pitched low for our ears alone, "if you really want me to, I'll break your arm right off and jam it up your rectum, but I'd rather not." For the first time, he turned and looked at the young man standing above him. "Now, I can see that you've put yourself in a situation where your friends expect to see you make something happen, so here's a suggestion. Walk away from us, right now, back to your friends, and leave us to enjoy our wine in peace. You do that, and I'll take your horses and see that they're looked after. Then I'll come back, we'll finish our wine, and we'll leave. That way, you will look good to your friends and nobody will get hurt. Agreed?"
The young man said nothing. He just stood there, looking down at Plautus with a strange, wild-eyed look that I still felt was strangely known to me. It spoke to me of insanity and yet familiarity. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked away, straight-backed in his rich, white Grecian tunic. I heard his footsteps pause at the rear of the chariot, and then continue.
"Beautiful, isn't he?" Plautus's voice was heavy with irony.
"I think he's insane."
"He is. Crazed as Caligula." He moved to get up. "As soon as I move these horses, it's a certainty they'll bring the other chariot over. Let them. Don't move. Don't say a word, don't get involved. Just sit where you are."
I stared at him. "Then what?"
"Then I'll come back and move the other one."
"Are you serious? Why bother? Let's just face them down and get it over with. If you move both chariots they're not going to stop there. That whoreson's looking for a fight."
"Let him look. He won't get one from me. And don't you antagonize him. It's me he wants."
"Why, Plautus? Does he know you?"
"No, but that doesn't matter."
"Then sodomize him! Let's just take them now and have done with it." I started to gather myself to rise, but he pressed me back on to my stool.
"Forget it! It's not worth it. Anyway, he's the sodomite. Take a close look at the two pretty ones with him. Slap tits on them and I'd bed them myself. Just stay there, and don't get excited." He gathered up the reins and led the horses away.
As the chariot cleared my line of sight, my eyes were on the group on the other side of the yard. They stood in a line, watching Plautus. None of them looked at me. Apart from a single dismissive glance from the big one, they had all behaved until this time as though I were not even present. I began to simmer resentfully.
The leader stood there, a pair of sword belts dangling from one hand. As soon as Plautus was out of sight around the corner, he threw one of the belts to a companion and slung the other across his own chest. Two more sword belts appeared from the bottom of the other chariot. Now four of the six were armed, and I was worried. My earlier eagerness to tackle them had vanished. Plautus and I were unarmed. Our weapons were with our horses. Lulled by the lushness of the summer afternoon, we had had no thought of violence here in this quiet mansio. The only item I had brought to the table with me was Alaric's cross, because it was too valuable to let out of my sight. It lay now on the table in front of me, wrapped in a square of cloth.