I watched them huddle together, talking among themselves, giggling and hatching some new mischief. One of them gave out a great hoot of laughter and threw his arm in a headlock around one of the others, and they wrestled together, ignored by the rest of the group who still listened to the big fellow. They might have been any group of normal young men having fun, except for the malevolent bearing of their leader. Plautus returned eventually, taking his time, and sat down. His cup was still full, and he looked into it as he picked it up. "These boys are armed."
"Aye, " I said. "And we are not. How long have we been soldiers?"
"Long enough to know better than to get caught like this. But we might still get away with it."
"I doubt it." I glanced towards the silent mansio behind us. The door was closed. "Have you noticed that no one has come out to greet these people?"
"Aye, I've noticed. Did they bother you while I was gone?"
"No. They've been ignoring me."
"Good, let's hope it stays that way. Just keep your temper in check." As he said this, my eyes were drawn across the yard to where the big, blond young man was climbing into the other chariot.
"Here comes the other one, " I said.
"That's all right. I expected it." He didn't look over. Instead he said, "Didn't you recognize him? Claudius Caesarius Seneca. Does it mean anything to you, apart from the fact that you know his brothers?"
I stared at him in amazement. "You mean that's the youngest brother, the wastrel?"
"That's the one. A real beauty. The pride of the family. How far is it from here to Londinium? Should we make it by tomorrow night?" I almost began to wonder if he was losing his mind, but then I realized that our tormentor was close enough to hear what we were saying. I nodded. "If we can make good time from here we should be able to do it easily." I fell silent as we waited for the repeat performance. The reins landed between us again. The young lout stood looking down at us silently, his hand resting prominently on his sword hilt, and then he turned and left. When he was gone I continued. "Of course. Quinctilius Nesca was the brother-in-law that Primus tried to have appointed Quartermaster. The Commander put a stop to his plans. But the landlord said these were Nesca's nephews."
"Two of them may be, but that young whoreson is a Seneca, not a Nesca. And he's the worst of the lot. Mad as a drunk Egyptian priest and ungovernable, even to his brothers."
Plautus's lower lip was pushed up over his upper one, a sign I knew well as an indicator of deep and rapid thought. "Believe me, Publius, I've heard about this swine. He's worse than Nero and Caligula combined, and he's the richest son of a whore in the whole Seneca family. In the whole Empire, for that matter. The face of a god, the personality of a pit viper and a lust to be famed as the most degenerate swine in history."
"Come on, you exaggerate. He can't be that bad. He's no more than twenty."
"Twenty-five if he's a day, and he's worse than I say." He looked over at the young man. "Yes, that's the boy." He stood up. "I'll be back. Get ready to leave. When I come back I'll have our horses and I'll have an arrow nocked. Can you guess who I'll be aiming at? They won't take chances against a drawn bow, but don't waste time. Be ready to get up on the table and onto your horse. I've already unhitched the one chariot and scattered the horses. I'll do the same with this one. Just stay relaxed and hope they keep on ignoring you. I'll be as quick as I can."
Once again he collected the reins and led the horses around the corner of the building as I sat staring in awe and fascination at the leader of the group across from me. Claudius Caesarius Seneca, the youngest son of the House that hated my best friend, descended of the noblest bloodlines and the wealthiest families of Rome.
I remembered Britannicus saying that he had inherited the fabulous wealth of his aged father. Under the terms of the old man's will, he was the sole heir. His brothers were already wealthy in their own right, and there had been no dispute over the terms. The Commander had gone on to say that the truly wealthy, those few people whose wealth defies credence, have their own laws and are untroubled by the laws of ordinary men. I suddenly became aware that all six of them were now staring at me, and my stomach tightened. One of them, one of the two without a sword, came towards me, swinging his hips outrageously, parodying a woman's walk. He stopped, his hand on his hip, and leered at me. The wretch had catamite written all over him, and I stared in disgust at his carmined lips and cheeks and lustrous eyes, shaded with kohl. But I had to admit, Plautus was right. With breasts, this boy would have been irresistible. He half turned and wiggled his fingers at his companions, and they all began walking towards me. I sat immobile, watching them approach, feeling an unusual and irrational fear writhing in my guts. And then, abruptly, I was angry again. Who were these Senecas that I should be in fear of even the youngest of them? These youths represented naked power, or one of them did, but what was that power really worth, here in the quiet heart of rural Britain? They did not know me, and had I not known their leader's name and his family's reputation, I would have faced them down alone. Four young louts and a couple of effeminate neuters!
Five of them stopped about five paces from me and stood watching with curiously apprehensive sneers as their leader approached me. He stopped right in front of me and looked me directly in the eye for the first time, I saw again the hostile, strange emptiness behind the bright blueness of the eyes, in a face that was now all too familiar.
"Move. We want this table." He reached out slowly, picked up Plautus's cup and, in a strangely formal gesture, extended his arm stiffly to one side and dropped the vessel to smash on the ground. I did not move. He reached for the jug of wine. I reached for it too.
"Don't be foolish!" The warning was a feral snarl. I dropped my hand and let him repeat the performance with the half-full jug, and then with my cup and the empty bowl that had held our plums. I still did not move, wondering what was taking Plautus so long. Seneca sighed. "I told you to move, old man."
He could not have chosen a worse phrase. All the resentment I had been feeling throughout the day seethed up and spilled over at the disdain in that "old man." I had the palms of my hands flat on the table and was halfway to my feet in wrath when his hand closed over the end of the cloth-wrapped cross that lay in front of me. Thinking of what the cross was meant for, fury washed over me that this animal should even think of touching it. I smashed my hand down on the cloth-covered shape, slamming it from his fingers back to the table top. Once he had felt the weight and shape of it, however, he took it for a weapon, and things began to happen very fast.
I heard the lightning slither of his sword whipping from its sheath, and the expression on his face told me I had little time. I launched myself backwards, kicking my stool away while managing to remain on my feet, and as I did so I heard the hiss of his sword point as it slashed through the air where my head had been. He came after me, around the table, and I kept going backwards, holding the cloth-wrapped cross in my right hand. Another slash, backhanded, brought his arm high for the killing stroke, and as it came slicing down I blocked it instinctively with Alaric's cross. The force of the blow almost knocked the cross from my hand, and I saw his eyes widen in shocked surprise. He had expected the clang of iron, not that solid clunk! And he had expected his sword to spring free! Instead, its tempered edge had struck deeply into the arm of the silver cross and lodged there. He was confused just long enough for me to realize what had happened, and to react ahead of him. Knowing what he did not, I threw myself at him, twisting around so that my right shoulder hit him solidly on the breastbone as I rammed my right arm straight out, away from him, twisting my strong smith's wrist to hold his clamped blade and jerk the sword hilt from his grasp. He went staggering as I took the hilt of his sword in my left hand and worked the blade free from its silver trap. His friends had not had time to react, but now they came surging towards me, the three who had swords unsheathing them. Then Plautus shouted, "Hold!" and an arrow zipped in front of me and smacked into the shoulder of one of them, knocking him sideways off his feet. All eyes swung to Plautus, who sat on his horse less than six paces away, a fresh arrow already in place and the feathers of a full quiver peeking above his shoulder.