The Sword of Revenge (5 page)

Claudia had felt a genuine sense of grief at the news of Aulus’s death, and had cried copiously, earning jaundiced looks from both Quintus and Cholon, both of whom were aware of the cold way in which she had treated him while he was alive. She would not have demeaned herself by trying to explain and knew, in the future, if anyone talked of nobility, her thoughts would turn to him. But there was relief for him too, and the burden of loving her he carried; Aulus had died in battle, so his spirit, at least, would be at rest.

Listening one more time to a description of the events as described to the family was distressing. Cholon was subjected to a rigorous interrogation, because he had been there to personally observe the
actions of Vegetius Flaminus and if anything was to be done about the man, proceedings should be instituted before the triumphant general, waiting outside the city with his legion, entered Rome. Titus had a rather austere military directness, which precluded him from seeing the effect his questions were having on the tender-hearted Greek.

‘Please, Titus,’ said Claudia, for she had seen the chest heave, heard the quickly drawn breath as Cholon tried to hold back his tears. ‘Can you not see the distress you’re causing?’

The sound Quintus made was eloquent enough; the mere idea that a slave, even one now free, could have feelings worth consideration, was alien to him. Titus, made aware, walked over to put an arm round Cholon, wondering why the Greek threw his stepmother such a venomous look. After all, she had intervened to protect him.

‘Brother,’ Quintus barked, making no attempt to hide his impatience. ‘We are due to attend upon Lucius Falerius. It would not do to be late.’

‘I am told he often keeps people waiting, Quintus,’ said Claudia, with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. ‘Your father remarked on it more than once.’

‘Entirely due to the work he does on behalf of the Republic, Lady.’

‘True, albeit he had a very singular vision of the way things should be.’

Quintus gave her a look that was meant to convey that she, as a woman, could hardly understand such things. He called to Titus to follow him and Cholon, not wishing to be alone with Claudia, left on their heels.

‘The death of your father is a blow to the whole Republic. We shall wait a long time to see his like.’

Quintus Cornelius bowed in acknowledgement to Lucius Falerius Nerva, but added nothing to the older man’s commiserations. His host might be as thin as a sapling, yet his lively hazel eyes belied any thought that he might be weak and the grip he had given Aulus’s two sons upon their entry to his house had not lacked physical strength. ‘He laboured on behalf of Rome, without thought for his personal well-being.’

Titus, standing to one side, had the impression that Lucius was talking about himself, not his late father, as he wondered why he and his brother had been summoned here. Surely the senator, who claimed such close friendship to Aulus, would not have diminished himself if he had called upon them!

The older man turned to include Titus in his next statement. ‘You will both miss his guiding hand, will you not?’ The brothers murmured in assent, as Lucius, nodding sagely, laid a thin hand on Quintus’s shoulder. ‘Which is why I asked you here.
Since your father is gone, I wish to offer, in his place, my humble support. The path to prominence is strewn with pitfalls for the unwary. I betray no trust when I say that Aulus himself depended on my advice.’

Lucius half-turned, his eyes fixed on Quintus in a way that excluded Titus, this as the tone of the old man’s voice changed, taking on a harder edge than previously. ‘After all, it was I who secured his last two appointments to Spain and Illyricum, just as I supported him in earlier times, giving up my rights as senior consul when we served together so that he could take command in Macedonia.’

Titus experienced the first faint stirrings of resentment and he fought to remain still so that his feelings would remain hidden. Old enough to see his father as more than just a hero, he was aware, as any son must be, that he had had faults; but he had stood as a paragon compared to this man, who, if rumour was to be believed, had stooped to murder to gain his political ends. Now, by the tone of his voice, Lucius seemed to be implying that Aulus Cornelius would have remained a nobody without his help.

It was almost a surprise to Titus that he spoke; the words seemed to come out of his mouth unbidden. ‘I’m sure my father was properly grateful for the help he received from his many friends. They must take pleasure from the knowledge that they
extended their trust to one of the most able men in Rome.’

The old man turned his penetrating gaze on the younger Cornelii. Titus had his father’s height and build, as well as his features: the thick, black hair of the younger Aulus, a straight and prominent nose and the kind of brow that denoted both brains and natural
dignitas
.

‘Properly grateful,’ said Lucius, rolling the words around his mouth, as though tasting them. Then he turned his attention back to Quintus, moving closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘I have already said that I admired your father. I shall not labour the point, since that would only debase the sentiment. Above all things, Aulus was a practical man.’

Even the stony-faced Quintus flicked an eyebrow at the way Lucius had used the word ‘practical’, but he said nothing to interrupt; the importance of the man clutching his shoulder precluded comment.

‘The Forum Romanum was not his natural home. I’m not sure he always, for instance, grasped the importance of patrician loyalty. Sometimes it was hard to see him as what he professed to be, a member of the
Optimates
.’

Lucius noticed the shocked look on Quintus’s face and he turned sharply, as if aware that it would be the younger of the pair who would speak, and held his hand up as an instruction to remain silent.
It was breeding rather than respect that made Titus hold his tongue.

‘I express myself in a lame fashion. I have rarely met a more upright man than Aulus Cornelius, incapable of subterfuge.’ He paused for a moment, then produced a thin smile. ‘Which is a handicap in politics. When I spoke of loyalty, I did not mean it in the personal sense. I meant adherence to a higher goal, namely the safety of the Republic. Aulus served Rome on the battlefield and I do not doubt that his sons will do their city the same service, but he was also needed in Rome. There are as many enemies in the city as there are on the frontiers. I asked you to call on me today so that I may be sure that you understand the nature of your inheritance.’

He was talking exclusively to Quintus now, again excluding Titus, but that was in order; the words he used could only apply to the new head of the Cornelii household. All the family responsibilities fell on Quintus’s shoulders, including firing the first shafts in the campaign to bring Vegetius Flaminus to justice.

‘But more important than that, I wish to stand in his place. You are heir to a great fortune and an even more illustrious name. You will both assume, in time, your place in the Senate. After that, with guidance, you could rise to become consul. I intend that you shall succeed and I hope that you will stand by me in the defence of everything that is
sacred, and learn the art of politics at my side.’

Quintus bowed again and finally spoke. ‘I am yours to command, sir.’

Lucius ignored Titus’s frown, and patted his elder brother on the shoulder. ‘You gladden my heart by saying so, young man.’

Titus nodded to the various people they passed, who wished to greet the brothers, while also, they being in mourning dress, silently condoling with them. Quintus seemed not to notice, striding down the street with his mind on distant prospects. It was no secret he hankered after high office, that he longed to serve as a consul. Quintus’s whole life had been bent to that one supreme goal. His brother decided he should be brought back to earth, reminded of just how shabbily they had been treated.

‘He should have called on us, and paid his respects to our stepmother.’

‘Do be quiet, Titus.’

‘You don’t agree?’

Quintus stopped and faced his brother. ‘What if I do? Am I about to tell the most powerful man in Rome that he lacks manners?’

‘I think father would have found a tactful way of telling him!’

‘There’s a world of difference. They were of an age and had been friends for years.’

‘All the more reason for Lucius Falerius to call.’

Quintus frowned. ‘You’re just like father, you know, blind to reality. Lucius Falerius doesn’t call on anyone.’

‘So you are about to join his circle of arse-lickers,’ Titus snapped.

‘Don’t you dare address me like that again, brother. I would remind you that I am now head of the family and as such I have duties, one of which is to seek advancement.’

Titus was aware that he had gone too far; his brother’s elevation entitled Quintus to a degree of deference, yet he could not bring himself to actually apologise, though he did force himself to speak with a more measured tone.

‘I know that, Quintus, yet I would advise you to take care…’ Titus saw the angry glare in his brother’s eye, and spoke quickly to deflect it. ‘I have as much interest as you in the well-being of the family. I would beg you ask yourself one question. If Lucius Falerius values father’s memory and our future so much, why is it beneath his dignity to call? Or is it that he does not truly consider either of those things to be worth the trouble?’

‘If a man like that offers me his good offices, then I would not refuse. Neither would our father.’

Titus spoke softly to take the sting out of his words, taking a gentle grip on Quintus’s arm.
‘Father was the man’s equal, not his client. Do not lash yourself to Lucius Falerius any more tightly than he did.’

Quintus responded by pulling his arm free and striding off.

CHAPTER THREE

Marcellus Falerius felt his right arm go numb, but he was quick enough to transfer the stave to his other hand, dropping his head to avoid the follow-up blow. His opponent had stepped forward to deliver this, his leading leg bent to support the forward movement. Marcellus swung his stave up in an arc, stopping it just as it made contact with the leather pouch on the exposed groin, then he jabbed gently. Gaius Trebonius dropped his weapon and clutched at his genitals, more alarmed than hurt, speaking breathlessly. ‘It was an accident, Marcellus.’

‘No it wasn’t.’

‘Honestly!’

Marcellus jabbed at him again. ‘Don’t lie, Gaius. Never lie. You’re a Roman, remember.’

‘He’ll be a Vestal Virgin if you keep jabbing him there,’ said Publius Calvinus.

His twin brother, Gnaeus Calvinus, spoke too. ‘Marcellus is right.’

‘Go on Gnaeus,’ sneered Trebonius. ‘Lick his boots.’

Instead Gnaeus started to vigorously rub Marcellus’s right arm. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘No,’ he lied, since it stung badly; Gaius Trebonius had given it all he had, in total contravention of the rules of the game, though Marcellus blamed himself for leaving the arm exposed.

‘Why do you always cheat, Trebonius?’ asked Gnaeus.

‘It runs in the family,’ called Publius, who had picked up the fallen stave.

‘Publius!’ snapped Marcellus. ‘Gaius is in mourning for his grandfather, who I would remind you, died as a Roman should.’

The boy named swelled with pride then; the tale of his grandfather’s death at the hands of the Illyrian rebels was nearly as inspiring as that of Aulus Cornelius. He had faced the men who murdered him as a Roman proconsul should, exuding pride and indifference, with nothing in his hand except the axe and fasces that denote the power of the Roman
imperium
.

Publius pulled a face. ‘Officially, maybe, but I bet he’s really thinking how much closer he is to the family coffers.’

‘It makes no difference. I should have thought it was obvious that remarks about his family were unwelcome at any time, but especially now. I pray to the Gods that you never insult me that way.’

Marcellus turned and stalked across the open field, his boots sending up small puffs of dust. Gnaeus ran after him and Publius sighed. ‘There he goes, Trebonius. The most upright prick in all Rome.’

Gaius Trebonius laughed. ‘Speaking of pricks, do you think his boots are the only thing your brother licks?’

Publius swung the stave up and hit Trebonius hard in the groin. As he doubled over he brought it down on his neck. ‘The trouble with Marcellus is that he’s too soft. He turns the other cheek. If you’d struck me the way you hit him, I’d have taken your head off and I don’t mean the one on your shoulders. I’d make you scream like that horrible sister of yours.’

‘Pax!’ bleated Trebonius.

Publius lifted the stick and whacked him across the buttocks. ‘Come on, otherwise Timeon, our great and glorious teacher, will fetch you a dozen of those.’

The noise of the returning children briefly distracted Lucius and made him wonder whether such boisterous behaviour should be allowed. He had noticed that Timeon, the tutor he had engaged
to teach Marcellus and his neighbour’s children, had been less strict of late, ever since the time his son had seen fit to give the Greek a buffet around the ears. The boy had received a sound beating for that transgression but that was only half the solution; it could not be allowed to interfere with the pedagogue’s strict methods, which in the past had seen him employ a vine sapling with vigorous regularity. Timeon had cost a fortune to buy and if he was growing soft, not disciplining sufficiently the boys in his care – all of whose parents paid Lucius a good fee to share his services – he would have to be sold and replaced. There was only one way to bring up and teach a Roman, and that was with rigour, but he decided to let what he could hear be; it would not aid Timeon’s authority to have him intervene.