Conn Iggulden: The Gates Of Rome

"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's 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 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. 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 spend time making him fit and hard as stone. Have him run and ride for hours each day, over and over until he is fit to represent me. We will find others to teach him how to kill and command men in battle."

"What about the other lad, sir?"

"Marcus? What about him?"

"Will we train him as well?"

Julius frowned further and he stared off into the past for a few seconds.

"Yes. I promised his father when he died. His mother was never fit to have the boy; it was her running away that practically killed the old man. She was always too young for him. The last I heard of her, she was little better than a party whore in one of the inner districts, so he stays in my house. He and Gaius are still friends, I take it?"

"Like twin stalks of corn. They're always in trouble."

"No more. They will learn discipline from now on."

"I will see to it that they do."

Gaius and Marcus listened outside the door. Gaius's eyes were bright with excitement at what he'd heard. He grinned as he turned to Marcus and dropped the smile as he saw his friends pale face and set mouth.

"What's wrong, Marc?"

"He said my mother's a whore," came the hissing reply. Marcus's eyes glinted dangerously and Gaius choked back his first joking reply.

"He said he'd heard it-just a rumor. I'm sure she isn't."

"They told me she was dead, like my father. She ran away and left me." Marcus stood and his eyes filled with tears. "I hope she is a whore. I hope she's a slave and dying of lung-rot." He spun round and ran away, arms and legs flailing in loose misery.

Gaius sighed and rejected the idea of going after him. Marcus would probably go down to the stables and sit in the straw and the shadows for a few hours. If he was followed too soon, there would be angry words and maybe blows. If he was left, it would all go with time, the change of mood coming without warning as his quick thoughts settled elsewhere.

It was his nature and there was no changing it. Gaius pressed his head again to the crack between the door and the frame that allowed him to hear the two men talk of his future.

"…unchained for the first time, so they say. It should be a mighty spectacle. All of Rome will be there. Not all the gladiators will be indentured slaves-some are freedmen who have been lured back with gold coins. Renius will be there, so the gossips say."

"Renius-he must be ancient by now! He was fighting when I was a young man myself," Julius muttered in disbelief.

"Perhaps he needs the money. Some of the men live too richly for their purses, if you understand me. Fame would allow him large debts, but everything has to be paid back in the end."

"Perhaps he could be hired to teach Gaius-he used to take pupils, I remember. It has been so long, though. I can't believe he'll be fighting again. You will get four tickets then; my interest is definitely aroused. The boys will enjoy a trip into the city proper."

"Good-though let us wait until after the lions have finished with ancient Renius before we offer him employment. He should be cheap if he is bleeding a little," Tubruk said wryly.

"Cheaper still if he's dead. I'd hate to see him go out. He was unstoppable when I was young. I saw him fight in exhibitions against four or five men. One time they even blindfolded him against two. He cut them down in two blows."