Soon she and Quintus slipped into a flirtatious phase, although still part of the general conversation, now somewhat coarsened by the wine. Eventually it got late and the tavern keeper announced in a loud voice it was time to drink up and leave. Quintus said
“Let’s buy a couple of jugs here and go over to your house Lucia. We promise to be quiet.”
“You don’t have to be that quiet. My parents are staying with friends outside the city. They don’t like Triumphs and their crowds. My father’s an artisan; he makes shoes. We live over his workshop – not far from here.”
At that, Marcus called for the bill and two amphorae of wine. The four brushed by talkative patrons reluctantly spilling out into the smooth-stoned street, palely illuminated by a half moon struggling with clouds.
They were completely inebriated by the time they got to Lucia’s place, or at least the men were. She was fairly sozzled but steady. They entered the cobbler’s shop, which was dark except for some timorous light coming in from the moon. They could just make out sandals in various states of repair neatly arranged on benches by the wall. Lucia lit a small oil lamp and led the way up roughly made wooden stairs that creaked all the way to a suite of small rooms. They went into what seemed to be the main room and Lucia lit two large lamps which stood on metal stands. There was running water in the room, a luxury which indicated the family was doing well.
The room was bare of all but a few pieces of furniture – a reclining bed, three rough-sawn chairs and a low table. Shadows flickered across the walls which seemed to be painted red. Nothing covered the wooden floor. Quintus sat on the bed, Marcus and Gaius on the chairs.
Marcus put the amphorae on the table and Lucia brought some earth-enware cups. She sat down beside Quintus and everyone restarted the drinking campaign with raucous dedication.
All of a sudden, Quintus got up and took Lucia into the next room. Without those two, the party became quieter, lapsing into conversation about the Triumph. As Marcus was pouring another wine, Quintus called out in a thick voice;
“Gaius, you’re next. Come in”, and appeared at the door, smiling. Lucia protested “No. No. I don’t want that. What d’you think you’re doing Quintus?”
Quintus said, “It’s all right Gaius. Don’t worry. She won’t mind.” He took the cue and went into the bedroom. Screams came through the door, then muffled cries, and silence.
Marcus said “Is this right, Quintus? She obviously doesn’t want to do it with Gaius.”
Just as Quintus was about to reply, the front door burst open and six men appeared, armed with daggers. The companions had no weapons as they had just been in the Triumph.
“Tenement people; they must have heard her scream”,
Marcus said, as he picked up a chair and crashed it over the head of the leader of the pack. His dagger fell on the floor and Marcus picked it up. He thrust it at the second man, gashing him in the arm and moved back quickly. Gaius came dashing out of the bedroom dishevelled and stood still at the doorway. For a moment all was motionless, an eerie hiatus as everyone took stock of the opposition, trying to work out the best move. Although the companions were outnumbered and had no weapons except for Marcus now, the tenants were wary as they would have known they were up against trained fighting men.
Suddenly Marcus leaped to the right and, wetting his fingers with saliva, doused one of the lamps on the table. He tried for the second but accidentally knocked it on the floor. It rolled over to the corner. Flames began to lick up the dry timber wall. The little blaze distracted the intruders. They knew only too well the terrible scourge that fire can be in the wooden tenements.
Before the tenants could react, the three ran out of the door, down the lightless stairs, across the little shop and into the street, slamming the door behind them. They sprinted around the corner and along the cobblestone street until they felt safe enough to slow down to a walk. The moon had sunk leaving the night mercifully dark and the revellers had left the streets. There was not much they could do except go home and meet the next day to discuss a way out of the mess they were in.
The three met outside the Temple of Castor and Pollux at noon, hung over and worried. They sat on the wide marble steps off to one side, out of the way of the streams of people coming to worship.
Marcus was feeling awkward for not trying to restrain Gaius. Partly it was because he didn’t see clearly enough the seriousness of what was happening at the time and partly because of comrade solidarity. He was sharply mindful of the tradition of how soldiers fight primarily for their comrades, to support and be supported by them, to be seen favourably in their eyes, how this camaraderie forms the basis of honour, which Homer said, in the nearest the Greeks ever came to a religious book, is the essence of manhood, and how the highest decoration for valour is the corona civica – the crown of oak leaves which can only be won by saving the life of a comrade in battle.
Clearly anxious, Gaius said “How could she not expect something like that would happen? Shit, she was in a tavern of loose women; she was dressed sexy; she invited all three of us back to her place. We were all drinking – she was too. It was obvious she liked the attention, enjoyed flirting. It wasn’t only Quintus she flirted with. She did with you too Marcus, although not with me, I admit.”
“I agree”, said Quintus. “I thought she was up for it with all of us. Plenty of girls like her would be. Some say no only to go along with it once it gets started. How were we supposed to know the difference?”
Marcus was perplexed by the ambiguity and felt uncomfortable, like they all did. It was easy to see that Lucia liked Quintus and was willing to have sex with him. That much was clear. It turned out that her consent stopped with him, but the atmosphere was set by that time. Expectations were aroused, fuelled by the wine. In a sense she was complicit. But still the consent wasn’t there and that posed a problem. Something had to be done and done quickly.
“Look, we have to stop her going to the authorities,” Marcus said. “We’re all in this together. If there’s a trial we’re done for. Those tenants will support her, give her a good character reference. Besides, they heard her scream. It won’t just be her word against ours.
Even if the sentences are light our careers will be over. We all know how seriously the army takes moral character and relations with the public. The only thing we can do is offer her money. And it has to be a lot.”
The others agreed and pooled their resources. Next day Marcus appeared at the cobbler’s shop, this time with Owl’s Head hidden in his tunic. Fortunately, the fire had been put out before it destroyed the building. The door was locked. He knocked loudly and called out Lucia’s name.
After several anxious minutes, he heard the scraping of a key. The door opened tentatively. Lucia recognised him and scowled, starting to close the door. Quickly he stepped in to keep it open.
“Lucia, I’m very sorry for what happened last night. We’re not bad men; we just got carried away with the wine. I know we can’t rewind the threads, but I’m here to offer compensation and our apologies.”
“Why didn’t Quintus come? Why did they send you?” she said with a sour look.
“I don’t know exactly. He sends his apologies too and says if you aren’t too angry with him, he’ll come by later.”
This wasn’t true but he said it anyway, a little red-faced.
“In the meantime I’m to offer you this bag of denarii. I hope you’ll not complain to the authorities.”
She gasped at the amount, half the bonus Pompey awarded for the campaign and enough to set her up for life. Sullenly