In the Shadow of the Wall (28 page)

The funeral was short but well attended. Every gladiator in the school was there, the guards as well, along with the slave girls who helped to run the school. Even Tygaeus the physician came. All six coffins were placed in one grave, an old ram was sacrificed by an even older priest andCurtius sent for a stone mason to carve an inscription on a simple headstone.

Afterwards Kallikrates and Curtius said their farewells to Brude, laughing together over Trimalchio’s instructions for him to collect his things from the school. “What have you got?” Kallikrates joked. “Sixteen sesterces and the clothes you’re wearing?”

“And he owes me four for them,” said Curtius glumly. Then he tried to pretend he was only joking when Brude insisted on paying him. They clasped hands again and, with a lump in his throat, Brude walked out of the main entrance of the school, carrying his wooden sword, his manumission papers and twelve sesterces.

He had nothing, but he had everything, for he was a free man.

Brude soon discovered that freedom was a relative term. Trimalchio was incredibly rich and loved to show off his wealth but, although he provided free food and lodgings for his retainers, he did not pay them very well. Brude was constantly at his beck and call, for everywhere Trimalchio went, whether in his carriage or in the small covered chair carried by eight slaves, he insisted on being accompanied by a retinue of guards. Most of the men he employed were old soldiers, veterans with grey hair and tired limbs who had taken money instead of land when they left the army and had managed to lose most of it through bad luck or bad judgement. But they were tough and uncompromising men who served Trimalchio well. They hated Brude.

They were not allowed to carry swords in the city but each of them usually had a short wooden cudgel, which could be deadly if used properly. Brude got one for himself and eventually had to threaten to beat one of the old soldiers to death to keep them from constantly antagonising him. He had quickly learned that Curtius had been right. Gladiators were popular as long as they were slaves who fought to entertain the crowd but, once out of the arena, they were despised almost as much as actors. He tried hard to keep to his promise of not fighting, but his patience was tested frequently. He assured the other guards that he intended to stay only until he had enough money to allow him to travel home in comfort but his life was full of tension. He was fairly certain that the only reason the men did not jump him as a gang was because they knew Trimalchio favoured him.

There were compensations, of course. He enjoyed visiting the baths, whether accompanying Trimalchio or on his own. And there was usually a woman available if he wanted one but, again, as Curtius had predicted, Poppaea, although she slept with him from time to time, soon moved on to other men.

Summer slowly turned to autumn and gradually the winter rains arrived. There was even some snow one day. Trimalchio did not venture far when the days were wet and cold. Brude realised that, after so many years of living in the heat, even he was feeling the weather cold when he kne it was nothing like the chill winters of the north. He decided he would go home in the springtime, for there was nothing to keep him in
Rome
. He had no time for the sycophants who flocked round Trimalchio and he was starting to despise himself for growing used to the luxury. In particular, he hated it when Trimalchio forced him to go to the amphitheatre so that he could give the fat man the benefit of his expertise as they watched the gladiators fight. On one occasion, Pollio was in the arena and Brude could hardly watch the combat. Pollio won, but was wounded again, this time on the arm. Brude felt helpless and angry watching Curtius lead the veteran gladiator from the arena. Trimalchio, of course, thought it was splendid entertainment.

Then, one dull day not long after the midwinter festival of Saturnalia, Trimalchio summoned Brude to his private room. “Marcus, my dear friend,” said Trimalchio, with a sad expression on his chubby face. “I have a great favour to ask of you.”

Brude wondered what was coming next. “What is it?” He could not bring himself to call Trimalchio by his
praenomen
of Publius. He did not feel close to the man at all and had no wish to seem too familiar.

“My former master, Gnaeus Vipsanius Aquila, the man who freed me years ago as a reward for my services, has asked a favour of me. I am, of course, duty bound to assist him.” Brude nodded. He had learned that slaves who were freed were still obliged to support their former masters. He felt no such compunction about being loyal to Trimalchio, although the fat man seemed to take it for granted that he did, for such was the Roman way. Roman society depended on patronage, even if there was no formal master/slave relationship. Wealthy men looked after the interests of their clients while, in return, the clients acted to support their patrons in their political ambitions. When a slave was freed, the obligations were even stronger, although Brude reasoned that, technically, it was the emperor who had freed him so he owed nothing to Trimalchio.

The fat man blinked as he tried to explain his predicament. “
Aquila
has a son, a young man who will be seeking a military post within two years.
Aquila
has requested that I allow you to work for him to train his son in the art of combat before he joins the army.” He went on, “
Aquila
’s first son was killed while with the army in
Judaea
and he wants to give his one remaining heir every chance of survival that he can.” Trimalchio clasped his hands together, almost pleading. “It is a most unusual request, I must say, but it is one I really cannot refuse. Would you do this for me, Marcus? Would you be prepared to leave my humble home to help my patron
Aquila
?”

Brude managed to stop himself from smiling. He had no idea who
font>
was, and he was still determined to leave for home in a few months, when the weather was easier for travelling, but even a few months away from Trimalchio’s house would be a bonus. “Yes, I will go to
Aquila
,” he said.

Trimalchio’s eyes filled with tears. In an uncharacteristic display of gratitude, he gave Brude two silver denarii as a farewell gift.

Two hours later Brude had found the home of Gnaeus Vipsanius Aquila, a large two-storey house near the Capitoline hill. A slave admitted him to the atrium. In the centre of the atrium was the impluvium, the small pool used to collect rainwater, and in the centre of the impluvium was a small bronze statue of an eagle with outstretched wings. Around the walls of the atrium were small niches in which stood carved busts. Brude recognised one of them as the emperor Septimius Severus with his curly hair and beard. The emperor’s image was everywhere in the city, of course. Nobody was allowed to forget who was responsible for maintaining the safety and security of the empire. The other statues were distinguished-looking men but he had no idea who they were. Above them, on the bare white wall, hung face masks of yet more men. These, Brude knew, must be the death masks of
Aquila
’s ancestors, kept so that they and their deeds could be remembered down through the generations.

Through a wide, open doorway, beyond the eagle statue, Brude could see the peristyle, a square garden courtyard, surrounded by columns. Beyond that, he saw the doors which led to the private rooms of the large house. Household slaves scurried silently about their duties and he saw immediately that this house was owned by somebody of more refined tastes than Trimalchio. It was elegant, yet functional at the same time, merely hinting subtly at wealth rather than screaming opulence as Trimalchio’s home did.

The slave showed him to one of the large public rooms off the atrium, and there he met
Aquila
. Trimalchio’s former master was a tall man with thinning grey hair, piercing blue eyes and a hawked beak of a nose, which Brude guessed had been the inspiration for the man’s
cognomen
Aquila
, or eagle. He was seated in a finely carved wooden chair but rose to greet Brude, his manner rather stiff and formal but very polite. He was wearing a toga of white linen with a thin purple stripe running down it and around its edges. There were two other people in the room.
Aquila
introduced them. “This is my son, Lucius,” he said, indicating a young boy of around sixteen years of age, with a mop of dark hair and the same eyes as his father. He was dressed in a white tunic of fine linen. Brude noticed that he was not wearing his bulla, the good luck amulet worn by all Roman children, indicating that Lucius had now come of age and was a citizen in his own right. “And this is Cleon, who keeps my business affairs in order,” said
Aquila
in a tone which suggested some affection for the man. Cleon, short and running to fat, with a balding head and a pock-marked face, nodded with a welcoming smile. He stood beside a wooden table which was covered in neatly stacked papyrus scrolls and vellum parchments.

Aquila
offered Brude a drink of watered wine, which he accepted. Cleon poured the drink into a fine silver goblet for him. Brude took the opportunity to look around the room, admiring the wall paintings, depicting mythical heroes and a fine mosaic on the floor showing Neptune, god of the sea, blowing a favourable wind into the sails of a large sailing ship. He took the wine from Cleon and, while he sipped it,
Aquila
studied him with an appraising look. “I take it Trimalchio has explained why I asked you here?”

Brude felt nervous being so close to the first really refined Roman he had met at close quarters but he managed to answer, “Yes, sir. He said you were looking for someone to train your son how to fight.”

Aquila
gave a slight nod. “That is correct. I am sure you understand that this is rather an unusual arrangement. Gladiators are not normally welcomed in polite society, as I am sure you have learned.”

Brude gave a rueful smile. “Yes, sir.” He interpreted
Aquila
’s words to mean that the nobleman did not regard his former slave, Trimalchio, as belonging to polite society.

“My son is destined for the military and then, hopefully, to a senatorial career. I have already lost one son and I wish to give Lucius the best possible chance of surviving whatever dangers he may face in the army, so that he returns home, a hero of
Rome
, able to begin his way through the career of honour.” The career of honour was the political path for the elite in Roman society. If selected, a Roman would hold a succession of magisterial posts, each one with more responsibility, culminating in the position of consul, the highest position a Roman could have, short of being emperor. Before he could start his political career, though, Lucius would need to demonstrate his capability as a soldier.
Aquila
went on, “Trimalchio speaks very highly of you but, more importantly, so does Lollius Curtius. He claims you are more than just a simple gladiator. What were his words, Cleon?”

“He said that Marcus Septimius Brutus is a thinker, sir,” said Cleon. “A man who tends to make the right choices.”

Brude was surprised that
Aquila
had spoken to Curtius. The old lanista was hardly the sort to frequent the same social circles. Then again,
Aquila
seemed like a man who would check things before making any decision. Probably, Brude thought, it was the freedman Cleon who had actually spoken to Curtius.
Aquila
nodded. “A thinker. He also says you are from
Caledonia
?”

“Yes, sir.” Brude knew that Romans had only a vague idea of places outside their empire. The Caledonii were just one of the tribes of the Pritani who lived north of the Wall but few Romans had ever heard of the Boresti, so Brude let the distinction pass.

“And your father was an important man?”

“He was the head man of our village,” said Brude, impressed at how much checking
Aquila
had done. “One of the leading men of our tribe.” And even if Broch Tava was only a small village, thought Brude, he was still important to me.

“So, a noble background,” said
Aquila
, his bright eyes still examining Brude. “And now a Roman citizen, freed by the emperor himself. I was at the Secular Games that day. You were rather lucky to win, were you not?”