The Sword of Revenge (20 page)

‘The messenger has asked to speak with you alone, master.’

‘See him at the gate, Titus,’ said Claudia. ‘I have a morbid fear of anything Falerii entering the house.’

She meant it as a joke, but it was one of those sallies that contained a measure of uncomfortable truth. Titus stood up and donned his slippers, making his way out of the dining room, across the atrium, to the postern gate. The Falerii slave stood just inside the door, with two of Quintus’s slaves keeping an eye on him.

‘Please leave us alone,’ said Titus, softly.

‘A request from the most noble Lucius Falerius Nerva.’ The messenger hesitated, to see what effect
the name would have, plainly disappointed that it had none; the man before him did not even flicker one of those heavy, dark eyebrows.

‘What is the request?’ asked Titus evenly.

‘He asks that you call upon him tonight.’

‘I am occupied tonight, dining with my stepmother.’

The slave frowned. The idea that anyone could put dinner with their stepmother above a summons from the leading man in Rome was absurd. ‘I am empowered to say, by my master, that the request is of an urgent nature.’

‘It must be, but that doesn’t alter anything.’

‘My master also asked that I invoke the name of your father, the most noble Aulus Cornelius Macedonicus. It is in his memory that he asks you to call on him.’ Titus fought back his anger and the temptation to throw this messenger into the street; no good would come of taking his ire out on the slave. Besides, he was intrigued; Lucius could hardly be unaware of Titus’s feelings towards him. The slave continued, his voice somehow taking on the silky tones of his owner. ‘My master feels that he has failed his old friend, something he would wish to remedy.’

‘He’d be in for a long night, fellow,’ snapped Titus.

‘Can I carry back a positive reply, sir?’

The silence lasted for several seconds, before Titus nodded abruptly. The messenger turned and departed immediately, leaving him to shut the gate.

Lucius came out personally and led him into the study, begging him to sit before returning to his own chair behind the desk. They looked at each other without speaking for a few moments before his host opened the conversation.

‘Something tells me, Titus Cornelius, that you do not hold me in very high regard.’

‘If anyone is aware of the reasons for that, it would be you,’ replied Titus without rancour. He had decided, on the way here, that nothing Lucius did would make him lose his temper.

‘I will not seek to justify myself.’

‘You cannot.’

The older man smiled coldly. ‘You misunderstand. I mean that I don’t see the need. I sleep easily at night.’

Again they sat in silence, each weighing up the words that had been uttered, until Titus spoke, betraying a hint of impatience. ‘The hour is late, I have been forced to leave my stepmother in the middle of dinner. Pray be so good as to tell me why you asked me to call?’

‘I am grateful, Titus. Not everyone would abandon their stepmother to attend on me.’

The sarcasm was too much and Titus snapped out his reply. ‘I may well abandon you, to attend upon someone whom I do respect.’

The insult did not dent Lucius’s self-assurance one bit, his voice remained even. ‘I’m glad to see
you’re not made of stone.’ He picked up a roll from the desk and opened it. ‘You remind me of your father, Titus, and according to your various commanders, you are his equal as a soldier. They are full of praise for your military abilities.’

‘Have you been spying on me?’

Lucius sat back, his face a picture of mock amazement. ‘Spying? What an odd word to use. If I was going to spy, it would be on someone with the power to harm me. You don’t come into that category.’

‘Yet you seek information on me?’

‘Your father and I were good friends. Once, when we were young, we swore an oath in blood, to remain true to each other. Is it not fitting, given that oath, that I should seek news of his son?’

‘No!’

Lucius was still looking at the scroll. ‘You’re right, of course. I have far more important matters to attend to, the doings of obscure military legates, however brave, are of little consequence.’ Titus stood up abruptly, but Lucius looked up at him, still smiling. ‘Sit down, Titus. I am no more prepared to be insulted by your assumed probity than you are by my apparent duplicity. I called you here so that I can aid you. If you wish to leave, do so. If you want a political career to match your military one, sit down.’

Titus paused, then sat down.

‘Do I detect interest?’ said Lucius, eyebrows raised.

‘Curiosity,’ replied Titus. ‘You have said I remind you of my father. If I do, then like him, I cannot be bought.’

Lucius sighed. ‘We could sit here all night discussing the relative merits of political systems and the need for expediency, but I fear what fascinates me would doubtless bore you.’

‘Please come to the point.’

‘Very well. I think your brother is behaving badly. I think he has let you down, you and the memory of your father.’ Titus fought to keep his face a mask; they had been discussing that very point when Lucius’s messenger called. It was uncanny; it almost seemed like sorcery. ‘Do you agree?’

‘I make it a point never to discuss private family matters outside the home.’

‘Then you’re alone, it’s common gossip in the market-place.’ He held his hand up to stop Titus interrupting. ‘Are you aware that I have put my support behind Quintus in his bid for the praetorship?’

Titus raised his heavy eyebrows. ‘I know he’s exceedingly confident.’

Lucius bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. ‘I also intend to aid him to the consulship and, if he wishes the office, in time, the censorship.’

‘Why?’

‘That is not something I’m prepared to discuss. Let us see it as falling into the same category as your family matters. But I will say this. Rome needs good soldiers as much as good magistrates. Nothing would be worse for our city than inexperienced men being given command of armies during a serious war.’

There was a terrible temptation to bring up the subject of Spain, and some of the fools who had been sent there, but Titus kept quiet. Lucius knew more about that than he did himself, even if the old stringbag never left Rome. Perhaps different enemies threatened the Republic.

It was difficult to keep a tremor of excitement out of his voice as he asked, ‘You anticipate a serious war?’

‘We have a great deal, we Romans, so others are bound to try and take it away. I’m assuming that you, like your brother, wish to mix a career in the army with one in politics. No doubt you too would like to be consul one day?’

‘I doubt I have the ability,’ said Titus.

‘Your father said the same thing,’ Lucius snapped, ‘and it was just as foolish on his lips as it is on yours.’

It was time, Titus decided, to make the older man aware that he knew where this conversation was leading. ‘Are you offering me your support?’

Lucius waited a moment before speaking, weighing up his words. ‘You sound as if you’re prepared to reject it.’

Titus sat forward, the black look on his face emphasising his words. ‘I’m not prepared to do anything to get it, if that’s what you mean!’

Lucius sat back, but the movement had nothing to do with Titus’s aggressive statement.

‘I shall request that I be allowed to speak, for a while, without interruption.’ His guest nodded and assumed a more relaxed pose. ‘I have two concerns. One is Rome, and the other is the Falerii name and reputation. There are occasions when the two can be at odds. I have always put the
imperium
of the Roman state first and for that reason I engaged the interest of your brother. I have made certain commitments to him and in return he has promised me that, should I be unable to do so, through death or age, he will carry on my work.’

‘You don’t trust him?’

‘I ask you not to interrupt,’ replied Lucius sharply. ‘Your brother has the makings of a great public servant. I have no doubt at all, having spoken with him, that we are as one on the really important matters concerning the future direction of Rome, but his failure to advance you troubles me. It is wrong and he should be made aware of it.’

Titus interrupted again. ‘Why?’

‘There is no conflict. You deserve advancement. Rome needs magistrates like you. It can only be personal dislike, or envy, or some other such useless emotion, that prevents him from doing his duty as head of the family.’

‘You could just tell him.’

Lucius’s self-control slipped at that point. ‘Fool!’

‘Have a care, Lucius,’ shouted Titus, coming halfway out of his seat.

The older man put up both his hands in an act of submission. ‘You are right, I should not address you so, Titus, but you are too direct, again too like your father. What if I say these words to your brother, in private, and he tells me, with all due respect, to mind my own business?’

‘You clearly have reasons for not doing so, but I cannot fathom them.’

‘Nor shall I bother to explain, but I wish to tell your brother, in no uncertain terms, that he is wrong and in a way that makes use of the message. My son Marcellus dons his manly gown tomorrow. I formally request that you attend the ceremony.’

‘And?’

‘You will discover that tomorrow, if you choose to attend. All I ask is this: that in public, you treat me as a friend. I would also like you to be generous to Marcellus. I doubt it will be an onerous task. After all, my son quite admires you.’

‘Your son barely knows me.’

Lucius picked up several scrolls. ‘Not so. He has read these a dozen times. Why, he will probably bore you with details of your own heroic exploits.’

Coming of age, in a patrician family, was as much a public as a private ceremony. It was certainly enough to induce a high degree of nervousness in Marcellus. The slightest mishap that could be laid at his door would shame his father and all the Falerii ancestors. Lucius had drummed into Marcellus that nothing counted so much as the family genius, the blood-line and fame by which they achieved and maintained prominence, so he shivered slightly in the early morning light as, for the last time, he donned the smock of a boy, purple-bordered and short. Slaves placed garlands about his shoulders as the noise grew, this coming from the crowd gathered outside the house to witness the event. His father’s friends and clients, each one greeted by the host, were arriving at the house, filling the atrium with the noise of their conversation, as they prepared for the procession to the temple.

Titus killed the conversation with his late entrance, for it was no secret that he held himself at a distance from this house and all it stood for. Lucius made his way across to the gate to greet him, taking him by the hand in a powerful grasp. Titus,
not certain why, responded in kind and Lucius turned and looked at Quintus, who had been one of the first guests to arrive. His face was set like a mask, but he recovered quickly, moving over to the gate, to remove the burden of his brother from Lucius.

‘Guard him well, Quintus,’ said Lucius, in a voice just a shade too loud. ‘Titus may well be our conscience.’

Quintus was angry but he dare not let it show; only the tightness of the lips indicated his mood. ‘I confess I’ve shamefully neglected my brother, Lucius. Like you, I have too many responsibilities and he is somewhat tardy himself. He’s been home for a week and we’ve yet to discuss his future.’

‘A glittering one, I’m sure,’ Lucius added smoothly. Another guest, a grey-haired senator, arrived, flustered at being late. Lucius detached himself and went to greet him, waving aside his protestations of regret.

‘Was this your idea, brother, or did Lucius Falerius think it up?’

Titus looked at Quintus, assuming a puzzled expression. ‘Whatever are you talking about?’

Lucius came to fetch his son personally, looking him up and down to ensure he was correctly attired. ‘Time to go, Marcellus. Remember you are a Falerii.’

‘Yes, father.’

‘I have invited someone special, just for you.’ Marcellus looked confused. ‘You must promise not to bore Titus Cornelius by asking him too many questions after the ceremony.’

‘Titus Cornelius, here?’

‘It must be a fine thing to be a hero, even in the eyes of a silly child. Still, he’s destined to be a great Roman general, so I suppose it’s fitting.’

The procession made its way out into the street, Marcellus at the head. The crowd greeted him with a roar, as if their reward depended on it. They were not yet sated with these ceremonies, which would go on throughout the month of March. People in the market-place flocked to see, since the Romans dearly loved display. They made their way to the Capitol where, flawlessly, Marcellus sacrificed the bull, immediately donning his white manly gown. Back at the house the guests were invited to give their congratulations to the boy personally. Titus, when his turn came, was struck by the youngster’s height and build, so different from that of his father. His black hair was lightly curled, contrasting sharply with his chalk white gown, the eyes were dark brown and steady, the smile warm and without guile. He was forced to wonder how such a slippery customer as Lucius, thin as a sapling, could have produced such a handsome, outgoing fellow.