‘Is Julius back?’ Brutus asked.
Tubruk seemed to slump a little as if the axe had suddenly become heavier.
‘We had to raise a ransom for him when pirates took his galley. We’re still waiting to hear if he’s safe.’
Brutus looked at him in amazement. ‘Gods, I haven’t heard this! Was he wounded?’
‘We know nothing. All I’ve had was the order for the money. I had to pay for guards to load it onto a merchant ship at the coast. Fifty talents, it was.’
‘I didn’t think the family had that kind of money,’ Brutus said quietly.
‘We don’t now. All the businesses had to be sold, as well as some of the estate land. There’s just the crop revenue left. The years will be hard for a while, but there is enough to live on.’
‘He’s had his share of bad luck. Enough for a lifetime.’
‘I doubt he’ll be down for long. Julius and you are the same. Money can always be made again, if you live long enough. Did you know Sulla was dead?’
‘I heard. Even in Greece, the soldiers at the ports wore black. Is it true he was poisoned?’
Tubruk frowned for a second, looking away before replying. ‘It’s true. He made a lot of enemies in the Senate. His general, Antonidus, is still searching for the killers. I don’t think he will ever give up.’
As he spoke, he thought of Fercus and the terrible days that had followed after hearing he had been taken. Tubruk had never known fear like it, waiting for soldiers to march from the city and take him back for trial and execution. They had not come and Antonidus continued to question and search. Tubruk didn’t even dare look for Fercus’ family in case Antonidus was watching them, but he had sworn the debt would be repaid somehow. Fercus had been a true friend but, more than that, he had believed in the Republic with a passion that had surprised the old gladiator when he had first broached the plan for killing Sulla. Fercus had hardly needed to be persuaded.
‘… Tubruk?’ Brutus broke into his thoughts, looking curious.
‘I’m sorry. I was thinking of the past. They say the Republic has returned and Rome is once again a city of law, but it isn’t true. They sink their teeth into each other to prevent anyone taking over from Sulla. Only recently, two senators were executed for treason on nothing more than the word of their accusers. They bribe and steal and give out free corn to the mob, who fill their bellies and go home satisfied. It is a strange city, Marcus.’
Brutus put his hand on Tubruk’s shoulder.
‘I did not know you cared so much about it,’ he said.
‘I always did, but I trusted more when I was younger. I thought that men like Sulla and, yes, Marius could not harm her, but they can. They can kill her. Do you know that free corn wipes out small farmers? They cannot sell their crops. Their lands are put up for sale and added to the swollen holdings of the senators. Those farmers end up on the city streets being given the very corn that ruined them.’
‘There will be better men in the Senate in time. A new generation, like Julius.’
Tubruk’s expression eased a little, but Brutus was shocked at the depth of the bitterness and sadness he had seen revealed. Tubruk had always been a pillar of certainty in the lives of the boys. He struggled to find the right words to say.
‘We will make a Rome that you can be proud of,’ he said.
Tubruk reached up and gripped his outstretched arm.
‘Oh, to be young again,’ he said, smiling. ‘Come on home, Aurelia will be thrilled to see you so tall and strong.’
‘Tubruk? I …’ Brutus hesitated. ‘I won’t stay for long. I have enough coin to get lodgings in the city.’
Tubruk glanced at him, understanding. ‘This is your home. It always will be. You stay as long as you want.’
The silence stretched again as they walked towards the estate buildings.
‘Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you’d expect me to make my own way now. I can, you know.’
‘I know, Marcus,’ Tubruk replied, smiling as he called out for the gates to be opened.
The young man felt a weight lift from him. ‘They call me Brutus now.’
Tubruk put out his hand and Brutus took it in the legionary’s grip.
‘Welcome home, Brutus,’ Tubruk said.
He led Brutus into the kitchens while the water was heated for his bath, motioning him to a chair while Tubruk cut meat and bread for him. He was hungry himself after the axe work and they ate and talked with the ease and comfort of old friends.
The heat seemed to batter at his skin as Julius inspected the six new recruits. The African sun even made his armour painful to touch and anywhere the metal made contact with his skin was an agony until he could shift it.
Nothing of his discomfort showed in his expression, though the first doubts tugged at his concentration as he looked at the men he’d found. They were strong and fit enough, but not one of them had been trained as a soldier. For his plan to work, he needed a force of fifty at least and had begun to believe that he would get them. The trouble was, they needed to take orders and make war with the sort of discipline the Accipiter officers took completely for granted. Somehow, he had to impress upon them the simple fact that they would die without it.
Physically, they were impressive enough, but only two of the six had volunteered and these from the last village. He expected there to be more as they came to resemble a proper Roman half-century, but the first four had come because he had insisted on it and they were still angry. The second village had seemed happy to be rid of the largest of them and Julius guessed he was a troublemaker. His expression seemed set in a constant sneer that irritated Julius every time he saw it.
Renius would have beaten them into shape for him, he thought. That was a start. He had to think what Renius would do. Gaditicus and the others from Accipiter had followed him this far, hardly believing how easy it had been after the first settlement. Julius wondered how many Romans in all the hundreds of retirement farms had sons who could be taught to fight. There was an army out there and all that was needed was for someone to find them and remind them of the call of blood.
He stopped next to the troublemaker, and saw how the eyes met his with polite enquiry and not a trace of fear or respect. He towered over most of them, his limbs long and lithely muscled, shining with sweat. The biting flies that tormented the officers of Accipiter seemed not to trouble him at all and he stood like a statue in the heat. The man reminded him of Marcus to some extent. He looked every inch a Roman, but even the Latin he spoke was a corrupted mix of African dialect and phrases. Julius knew his father had died and left him a farm which he had neglected to the point of ruin. Left alone, he would have been killed in a fight or joined the pirates when the last of the money and wine ran out.
What was the man’s name? Julius prided himself on learning them quickly as he had once seen Marius could do for every man under his command, yet under the cool stare, he couldn’t think of it at first. Then it came to him. He had told them to call him Ciro, giving no other. He probably didn’t even know it was a slave name. What would Renius do?
‘I need men who can fight,’ he said, looking into the brown eyes that returned his glare so steadily.
‘I can fight,’ Ciro replied, his confidence obvious.
‘I need men who can keep their temper in a crisis,’ Julius continued.
‘I can …’ Ciro began.
Julius slapped him hard across the face. For a moment, anger flared in the dark eyes, but Ciro held himself