‘Most of the Romans could not fight, trapped as they were in the middle of their own close formations. Hannibal's men killed all day long, tightening the trap until there was no one left alive. It was annihilation on a scale rarely seen before or since. Most battles leave many alive, at least those who run away, but these Romans were surrounded on all sides and had nowhere to flee to.’
The silence stretched for long moments as the two boys fixed the details in their minds and imaginations.
‘Our time is up today, boys. Next week I will show you what the Romans learned from this defeat and others at the hands of Hannibal. Although they were unimaginative here, they brought in a new commander, known for his innovation and daring. He met Hannibal at the battle of Zama fourteen years later and the outcome was very different.’
‘What was his name?’ Marcus asked excitedly.
‘He had more than one. His given name was Publius Scipio, but because of the battles he won against Carthage he was known as Scipio Africanus.’
As Gaius approached his tenth birthday, he was growing into an athletic, well-coordinated lad. He could handle any of the horses, even the difficult ones that required a brutal hand. They seemed to calm at his touch and respond to him. Only one refused to let him remain in the saddle and Gaius had been thrown eleven times when Tubruk sold the beast before the struggle killed one or the other of them.
To some extent, Tubruk controlled the purse of the estate while Gaius' father was away. He could decide where the profits from grain and livestock would be best spent, using his judgement. It was a great trust and a rare one. It wasn't up to Tubruk, however, to engage specialist fighters to teach the boys the art of war. That was the decision of the father – as was every other aspect of their upbringing. Under Roman law, Gaius' father could even have had the boys strangled or sold into slavery if they displeased him. His power in his household was absolute and his goodwill was not to be risked.
Julius returned home for his son's birthday feast. Tubruk attended him as he bathed away the dust of the journey in the mineral pool. Despite being ten years older than Tubruk, the years sat well on his sun-dark frame as he eased through the water. Steam rose in wisps as a sudden rush of fresh hot water erupted from a pipe into the placid waters of the bath. Tubruk noted the signs of health to himself and was pleased. In silence, he waited for Julius to finish the slow immersion and rest on the submerged marble steps near the inflow pipe, where the water was shallow and warmest.
Julius lay back against the coldness of the pool ledges and raised an eyebrow at Tubruk. ‘Report,’ he said and closed his eyes.
Tubruk stood stiffly and recited the profits and losses of the previous month. He kept his eyes fixed on the far wall and spoke fluently of minute problems and successes without once referring to notes. At last, he came to the end and waited in silence. After a moment, the blue eyes of the only man who'd ever employed him without owning him opened once again and fixed him with a look that had not been melted by the heat of the pool.
‘How is my wife?’
Tubruk kept his face impassive. Was there a point in telling this man that Aurelia had worsened still further? She had been beautiful once, before childbirth had left her close to death for months. Ever since Gaius had come into the world, she had seemed unsteady on her feet, and no longer filled the house with laughter and flowers that she would pick herself out in the far fields.
‘Lucius attends her well, but she is no better … I have had to keep the boys away some days, when the mood has come on her.’
Julius' face hardened and a heat-fattened vein in his neck started twitching with the load of angry blood.
‘Can the doctors do nothing? They take my aureus pieces without a qualm, but she worsens every time I see her!’
Tubruk pressed his lips together in an expression of regret. Some things must simply be borne, he knew. The whip falls and hurts and you must quietly wait for it to fall no more.
Sometimes she would tear her clothes into rags and sit huddled in a corner until hunger drove her out of her private rooms. Other days, she would be almost the woman he had met and loved when he first came to the estate, but given to long periods of distraction. She would be discussing a crop and suddenly, as if another voice had spoken, she would tilt her head to listen, and you might as well have left the room for all she remembered you.
Another rush of hot water disturbed the slow-dripping silence and Julius sighed like escaping steam.
‘They say the Greeks have much learning in the area of medicine. Hire one of those and dismiss the fools who do her so little good. If any of them claim that only their skills have kept her from being even worse, have him flogged and dumped on the road back to the city. Try a midwife. Women sometimes understand themselves better than we do – they have so many ailments that men do not.’
The blue eyes closed again and it was like a door shutting on an oven. Without the personality, the submerged frame could have been any other Roman. He held himself like a soldier and thin white lines marked the scars of old actions. He was not a man to be crossed and Tubruk knew he had a ferocious reputation in the Senate. He kept his interests small, but guarded those interests fiercely. As a result, the powermongers were not troubled by him and were too lazy to challenge the areas where he was strong. It kept the estate wealthy and they would be able to employ the most expensive foreign doctors that Tubruk could find. Wasted money, he was sure, but what was money for if not to use it when you saw the need?
‘I want to start a vineyard on the southern reaches. The soil there is perfect for a good red.’
They talked over the business of the estate and, again, Tubruk took no notes, nor felt the need after years of reporting and discussing. Two hours after he had entered, Julius smiled at last.
‘You have done well. We prosper and stay strong.’
Tubruk nodded and smiled back. In all the talk, not once had Julius asked after his own health or happiness. They both knew that serious problems would be mentioned and small problems dealt with alone. It was a relationship of trust, not between equals, but between an employer and one whose competence he respected. Tubruk was no longer a slave, but he was a freedman and could never have the total confidence of those born free.
‘There is another matter, a more personal one,’ Julius continued. ‘It is time to train my son in warfare. I have been distracted from my duty as a father to some extent, but there is no greater exercise to a man's talents than the upbringing of his son. I want to be proud of him and I worry that my absences, which are likely to get worse, will be the breaking of the boy.’
Tubruk nodded, pleased at the words. ‘There are many experts in the city, trainers of boys and the young men of wealthy families.’
‘No. I know of them and some have been recommended to me. I have even inspected the products of this training, visiting city villas to see the young generation. I was not impressed, Tubruk. I saw young men infected with this new philosophical learning, where too much emphasis is placed on improving the mind and not enough on the body and the heart. What good is the ability to play with logic if your fainting soul shrinks away from hardship? No, the fashions in Rome will produce only weaklings, with few exceptions, as I see it. I want Gaius trained by people on whom I can depend – you, Tubruk. I'd trust no other with such a serious task.’
Tubruk rubbed his chin, looking troubled.
‘I cannot teach the skills I learned as a soldier and gladiator, sir. I know what I know, but I don't know how to pass it on.’
Julius frowned in annoyance, but didn't press it. Tubruk never spoke lightly.
‘Then