Brutus stretched his back muscles as he rode the last miles towards the fort. His century of extraordinarii were in formation behind him and he felt a touch of pride as he glanced to each side and saw the neat line of cantering horses. Domitius was in position on his right and Octavian held the line a few places along. They thundered over the plain together, raising a plume of dust that left the taste of bitter earth in their mouths. The air was warm around them and their mood was light. They were all tired, but it was that pleasant lethargy of skilled work, with food and a good night’s sleep only a little way ahead.
As the fort came into sight, Brutus called to Domitius over the noise of the horses, ‘Let’s give them a show. Split and wheel on my signal.’
The guards on the gate would be watching them come in, he knew. Though the extraordinarii had been together for less than two years, Julius had given him what he wanted in the way of men and horses, and he had wanted the best of the Tenth. Man for man, Brutus would have wagered on them against any army in the world. They were the charge-breakers, the first into impossible positions. Every one of them had been picked for his ability with horse and sword and Brutus was proud of them all. He knew the rest of the Tenth considered them more show than substance, but then the legion hadn’t seen a battle in their time in Spain. When the extraordinarii had been blooded and shown what they could do, they would justify their expense, he was certain. The armour alone had cost a small fortune: laced bronze and iron strips that allowed them greater movement than the heavier plates of the triarii legionaries. The men of Brutus’ extraordinarii had polished the metals to a high sheen and, against the glossy skin of their mounts, they glowed in the dying sun.
Brutus raised his hand and made sharp gestures to each side. He kicked his mount into a gallop as the group slid smoothly apart as if an invisible line had been drawn on the ground. Now the wind pressed against Brutus’ face and he laughed with excitement, not needing to look to know the formation was perfect. Specks of white spittle flew back from his horse’s mouth and he leaned forward into the saddle-horn, gripping with his legs and feeling as if he was flying.
The fort was growing with astonishing rapidity and, caught up in the moment as he was, Brutus almost left it too late for the signal to re-form the split square. The two groups swerved together only moments before they were changing their holds on the reins to halt, but there were no mistakes. As one man, they dismounted, patting the steaming necks of the stallions and geldings Julius had brought over from Rome. Only cut mounts could be used against enemy cavalry, as intact stallions could be sent berserk by the scent of a mare in season. It was a balancing act between taking the best for the extraordinarii and keeping the bloodlines strong. Even the local Spanish whistled and called when they saw those horses, their love of the breed overcoming the usual reticence they showed to the Roman soldiers.
Brutus was laughing at something Domitius had said when he caught sight of his mother. His eyes widened for a moment before he rushed under the gate arch to embrace her.
‘Your letters didn’t mention this!’ he said, lifting her up to her toes and kissing her on both cheeks.
‘I thought you might become overexcited,’ Servilia replied. They both laughed and Brutus put her down.
Servilia held him back at arm’s length and smiled to see him so full of life. The years in Spain had suited her only son. He had a force for life in him that made other men look up and stand straighter in his presence.
‘As handsome as ever, I see,’ she said with a twinkle. ‘I suppose you have a string of local girls pining after you.’
‘I daren’t go out without a guard to save me from the poor creatures,’ he replied.
Domitius appeared suddenly, moving between them to force an introduction.
‘Ah, yes, this is Domitius, who cleans the horses. Have you met Octavian? He’s kin to Julius.’ Grinning at Domitius’ appalled expression, Brutus had to wave Octavian closer.
Octavian was overcome and attempted a salute that ended in more confusion, making Brutus laugh. He was too familiar with the effect his mother could have to be surprised by it, but he noticed they were quickly becoming the centre of an admiring circle of the extraordinarii as they jostled to see the new arrival in their midst.
Servilia waved to them, enjoying the attention after the dull month at sea.
Young men were so peculiarly vibrant, untouched by the fears of age or death. They stood around her like innocent gods, and lifted her with their confidence.
‘Have you seen Julius, Mother? He …’ Brutus broke off at the sudden hush that fell over the yard. Three young women swept out of an archway and the crowd of soldiers parted before them. They were all beautiful in different ways. The youngest was blonde and slight, her cheeks lit with rising colour as she walked towards Servilia. At her shoulders were two others with features to make grown men weep into their wine.
The spell of their entrance was broken as someone let out a low whistle and the crowd came back to life.
Servilia raised an eyebrow at Angelina as they met. The girl knew exactly what she was doing. Servilia had seen that in her from the beginning. She was the sort of woman men fought each other to protect and her presence in a drinking house was usually enough to start a riot before the evening was over. Servilia had found her serving wine and giving away what men would pay well for. It had not taken much persuasion, considering the sums involved. Servilia kept two-fifths of everything Angelina earned in the house in Rome and still the young blonde was becoming a wealthy woman in her own right. As things stood, she would be looking to start her own establishment in a few years, and she would come to Servilia for the loan.
‘We were worried about you, mistress,’ Angelina lied cheerfully.
Brutus eyed her with open interest and she returned his gaze without embarrassment. Under the girl’s scrutiny, he could hardly confirm the suspicion that had come into his mind. Though he told himself he had come to terms with Servilia’s profession, the thought of his men knowing showed him he was not as secure as he’d thought.
‘Are you going to introduce us, Mother?’ he asked.
Angelina widened her eyes for a split second.
‘This is your son? He’s just as you said. How wonderful.’
Servilia had never discussed Brutus with Angelina, but was caught between exasperation at the girl’s transparency and a shrewder part of her that could smell the money to be made. The crowd had grown, around them. These were not men used to the attentions of young women. She began to suspect that from legion trade alone Valentia was going to be very profitable indeed.
‘This is Angelina,’ she said.
Brutus bowed and Angelina’s eyes sparkled at his courtesy.
‘You must join us at the general’s table this evening. I’ll raid the cellar for wine and we’ll wash the dust of the road off you.’ He held Angelina’s eyes as he spoke and managed to make the proposition sound remarkably sexual. Servilia cleared her throat to interrupt them.
‘Lead us in, Brutus.’
The extraordinarii parted again to let them through. The hot meal that awaited them in their barracks did not seem half as tempting as it had on the ride back, without the company of the women as a spice. They stood as if abandoned in the courtyard until the small procession had disappeared inside. The spell was broken then and they broke apart to care for the horses, suddenly brisk in their movements as if they had never been interrupted at all.
Despite Angelina’s protests, Servilia left her three companions in the rooms they had been given. Someone had to unpack the trunks and for that first night Servilia wanted her son’s full attention. She had not brought them to Valentia to find Brutus a wife from their number, after all.
Julius did not come down with the others, sending a curt apology with his personal guard when Brutus asked if he would join them. Servilia saw the refusal did not surprise any of