Conn Iggulden - The Death Of Kings

Tabbic's shop had been damaged toward the end of the riots two years before. Alexandria had helped him to rebuild, learning a little carpentry as he remade the door and workbenches. His livelihood had been saved by the timely removal of all the valuable metals to his own home above, well barricaded against the gangs of raptores that had run wild while the city was in chaos. As Alexandria approached the modest little premises, she resolved not to burden him with her irritation. She owed him a great deal, and not only for letting her stay safe with his family during the worst of it. It didn't seem to need saying, but there was a debt owed to Tabbic that she had vowed would be paid.

As she opened the oak door, the sound of high-pitched yelling filled the air. Her eyes glittered in satisfaction as she saw Tabbic was holding the struggling figure of Octavian in the air with one brawny arm. The metalworker looked up as the door opened, and turned the boy to face her when he saw it was Alexandria.

“You won't believe what this one just tried to sell me,” he said.

Octavian struggled even more ferociously when he saw who had come in. He kicked at the arm that held him suspended apparently without effort. Tabbic ignored him.

Alexandria darted across the shop to the two of them.

“Where's my brooch, you little thief?” she demanded.

Tabbic opened his other hand and revealed the silver eagle, which she took and pinned back in place.

“Walked in as bold as anything and told me to make him an offer!” Tabbic said angrily. Completely honest himself, he hated those who saw thieving as an easy life. He shook Octavian again, taking out his indignation on the boy, who whimpered and tried to kick him again, his eyes looking around for escape.

“What shall we do with him?” Tabbic asked her.

Alexandria thought for a few moments. As tempting as it might be to beat the boy all the way down the street, she knew her possessions could still be snatched up by his little fingers at any time. She needed a more permanent solution.

“I think I could persuade his mother to let him work for us,” she said thoughtfully.

Tabbic lowered Octavian until his feet touched the floor. Immediately, the boy bit his hand and Tabbic hoisted him again with casual strength, leaving him to dangle in futile rage.

“You have to be joking. He's little better than an animal!” Tabbic said, wincing at the white tooth marks on his knuckles.

“You can teach him, Tabbic. There's no father to do it, and the way he's going, he won't live to grow up. You said you needed someone to work the bellows, and there's always sweeping up and carrying.”

“Let me go! I'm not doing nothing!” Octavian yelled.

Tabbic looked him over. “The boy's skinny as a rat. No strength in those arms,” he said slowly.

“He's nine, Tabbic. What do you expect?”

“He'll run as soon as the door opens, I'd say,” Tabbic continued.

“If he does, I'll fetch him back. He'll have to come home sometime and I'll wait for him there, spank him, and turn him round. Being here will keep him out of trouble, and it'll be useful for both of us. You're not getting any younger and he could help me at the forge.”

Tabbic let Octavian touch the floor again. This time he did not bite, but watched the two adults warily as they discussed him as if he weren't in the shop.

“How much will you pay me?” he said, scrubbing angry tears out of his eyes with his dirty fingers, doing little more than smearing his face.

Tabbic laughed. “ Pay you!” he said, his voice filled with scorn. “Boy, you'll be learning a trade. You should pay us.”

Octavian spat a stream of oaths and tried to bite Tabbic once again. This time the metalworker cuffed him with the flat of his other hand without looking.

“What if he steals the goods?” he said.

Alexandria could see he was coming round to the idea. That was the problem, of course. If Octavian ran off with silver, or worse, the small store of gold that Tabbic kept locked away, it would hurt them all. She put on her sternest expression and took Octavian's chin in her hand, turning his face to her.

“If he does,” she said, fixing the little boy with her gaze, “we will have a perfect right to demand he is sold as a slave to pay the debt. His mother too if it comes to it.”

“You wouldn't!” Octavian said, shocked out of struggling by her words.

“My business is not a charity, lad. We would, ” Tabbic replied firmly. Over Octavian's head, he winked at Alexandria.

“Debts are paid in this city-one way or another,” she agreed.

Winter had arrived quickly and both Tubruk and Brutus were wearing heavy cloaks as they cut the old oak into firewood ready to be carted back to the estate stores. Renius didn't seem to feel the cold and had left his stump bare to the wind away from the sight of strangers. He had brought a young slave boy from the estate to place the branches steady for him to swing his axe. The boy hadn't spoken a word since his arrival at Renius's heels, but he stood well clear when Renius swung, and his wind-reddened face fought to conceal a smile when the blade slipped and sent Renius staggering and swearing under his breath. Brutus knew the old gladiator well enough to wince in silent appreciation of what would follow if Renius saw the child's amusement. The work was making them all sweat and breathe frosty plumes in the winter air. Brutus watched critically as Renius swung, sending two smaller pieces spinning into the air. He raised his own axe again, looking over at Tubruk.

“What worries me most is the debt to Crassus. Just the quarters alone cost four thousand aurei. ” Brutus swung smoothly as he spoke, grunting as the stroke fell cleanly.

“What does he expect in return?” Tubruk said.

Brutus shrugged. “He just says not to worry, which means I can't sleep for thinking about it. The armorer he hired is turning out more sets than I have men for, even after scouring Rome. On my centurion's wage, I'd have to work for years just to pay him back for the swords alone.”

“Amounts like that don't mean a great deal to Crassus. The gossip says he could buy half the Senate if he wanted to,” Tubruk said, pausing to lean on his axe. The wind swirled leaves around them. The air they pulled in bit at their throats with cold that was almost a pleasure.

“I know. My mother says he already owns more of Rome than he knows what to do with. Everything he buys makes a profit, which is all the more reason to wonder where the profit is in buying Primigenia.”

Tubruk shook his head as he raised his axe again. “He hasn't bought it, or you. Don't even say it. Primigenia is not a house or a brooch, and only the Senate can command it. If he thinks he is raising his own private legion, you should tell him to set a new standard on the rolls.”

“He hasn't said that. All he does is sign the bills I send him. My mother thinks he is hoping to secure her approval with the money. I want to ask him, but what if it's true? I won't prostitute my own mother to that man or anyone, but I must have Primigenia.”

“It wouldn't be the first time for Servilia,” Tubruk remarked with a chuckle.

Brutus placed his axe carefully on a log. He faced Tubruk and the old gladiator paused as he saw his angry expression.

“You can say that once, Tubruk. Don't do it again,” Brutus said. His voice was as cold as the wind that wrapped around them, and Tubruk rested again on his axe as he met the piercing eyes.

“You mention her a lot these days. I didn't teach you to drop your guard so easily with anyone. Neither did Renius.”

Renius snorted softly in reply as he kicked a piece of branch from under his feet. His pile of split logs was barely half the size of the others, though it had cost him more.