Jack Ludlow: The Sword of Revenge

Titus experienced the first faint stirrings of resentment and he fought to remain still so that his feelings would remain hidden. Old enough to see his father as more than just a hero, he was aware, as any son must be, that he had had faults; but he had stood as a paragon compared to this man, who, if rumour was to be believed, had stooped to murder to gain his political ends. Now, by the tone of his voice, Lucius seemed to be implying that Aulus Cornelius would have remained a nobody without his help.

It was almost a surprise to Titus that he spoke; the words seemed to come out of his mouth unbidden. ‘I’m sure my father was properly grateful for the help he received from his many friends. They must take pleasure from the knowledge that they extended their trust to one of the most able men in Rome.’

The old man turned his penetrating gaze on the younger Cornelii. Titus had his father’s height and build, as well as his features: the thick, black hair of the younger Aulus, a straight and prominent nose and the kind of brow that denoted both brains and natural dignitas.

‘Properly grateful,’ said Lucius, rolling the words around his mouth, as though tasting them. Then he turned his attention back to Quintus, moving closer and placing a hand on his shoulder. ‘I have already said that I admired your father. I shall not labour the point, since that would only debase the sentiment. Above all things, Aulus was a practical man.’

Even the stony-faced Quintus flicked an eyebrow at the way Lucius had used the word ‘practical’, but he said nothing to interrupt; the importance of the man clutching his shoulder precluded comment.

‘The Forum Romanum was not his natural home. I’m not sure he always, for instance, grasped the importance of patrician loyalty. Sometimes it was hard to see him as what he professed to be, a member of the Optimates.’

Lucius noticed the shocked look on Quintus’s face and he turned sharply, as if aware that it would be the younger of the pair who would speak, and held his hand up as an instruction to remain silent. It was breeding rather than respect that made Titus hold his tongue.

‘I express myself in a lame fashion. I have rarely met a more upright man than Aulus Cornelius, incapable of subterfuge.’ He paused for a moment, then produced a thin smile. ‘Which is a handicap in politics. When I spoke of loyalty, I did not mean it in the personal sense. I meant adherence to a higher goal, namely the safety of the Republic. Aulus served Rome on the battlefield and I do not doubt that his sons will do their city the same service, but he was also needed in Rome. There are as many enemies in the city as there are on the frontiers. I asked you to call on me today so that I may be sure that you understand the nature of your inheritance.’

He was talking exclusively to Quintus now, again excluding Titus, but that was in order; the words he used could only apply to the new head of the Cornelii household. All the family responsibilities fell on Quintus’s shoulders, including firing the first shafts in the campaign to bring Vegetius Flaminus to justice.

‘But more important than that, I wish to stand in his place. You are heir to a great fortune and an even more illustrious name. You will both assume, in time, your place in the Senate. After that, with guidance, you could rise to become consul. I intend that you shall succeed and I hope that you will stand by me in the defence of everything that is sacred, and learn the art of politics at my side.’

Quintus bowed again and finally spoke. ‘I am yours to command, sir.’

Lucius ignored Titus’s frown, and patted his elder brother on the shoulder. ‘You gladden my heart by saying so, young man.’

Titus nodded to the various people they passed, who wished to greet the brothers, while also, they being in mourning dress, silently condoling with them. Quintus seemed not to notice, striding down the street with his mind on distant prospects. It was no secret he hankered after high office, that he longed to serve as a consul. Quintus’s whole life had been bent to that one supreme goal. His brother decided he should be brought back to earth, reminded of just how shabbily they had been treated.

‘He should have called on us, and paid his respects to our stepmother.’

‘Do be quiet, Titus.’

‘You don’t agree?’

Quintus stopped and faced his brother. ‘What if I do? Am I about to tell the most powerful man in Rome that he lacks manners?’

‘I think father would have found a tactful way of telling him!’

‘There’s a world of difference. They were of an age and had been friends for years.’

‘All the more reason for Lucius Falerius to call.’

Quintus frowned. ‘You’re just like father, you know, blind to reality. Lucius Falerius doesn’t call on anyone.’

‘So you are about to join his circle of arse-lickers,’ Titus snapped.

‘Don’t you dare address me like that again, brother. I would remind you that I am now head of the family and as such I have duties, one of which is to seek advancement.’

Titus was aware that he had gone too far; his brother’s elevation entitled Quintus to a degree of deference, yet he could not bring himself to actually apologise, though he did force himself to speak with a more measured tone.

‘I know that, Quintus, yet I would advise you to take care…’ Titus saw the angry glare in his brother’s eye, and spoke quickly to deflect it. ‘I have as much interest as you in the well-being of the family. I would beg you ask yourself one question. If Lucius Falerius values father’s memory and our future so much, why is it beneath his dignity to call? Or is it that he does not truly consider either of those things to be worth the trouble?’

‘If a man like that offers me his good offices, then I would not refuse. Neither would our father.’

Titus spoke softly to take the sting out of his words, taking a gentle grip on Quintus’s arm. ‘Father was the man’s equal, not his client. Do not lash yourself to Lucius Falerius any more tightly than he did.’

Quintus responded by pulling his arm free and striding off.

Marcellus Falerius felt his right arm go numb, but he was quick enough to transfer the stave to his other hand, dropping his head to avoid the follow-up blow. His opponent had stepped forward to deliver this, his leading leg bent to support the forward movement. Marcellus swung his stave up in an arc, stopping it just as it made contact with the leather pouch on the exposed groin, then he jabbed gently. Gaius Trebonius dropped his weapon and clutched at his genitals, more alarmed than hurt, speaking breathlessly. ‘It was an accident, Marcellus.’

‘No it wasn’t.’

‘Honestly!’

Marcellus jabbed at him again. ‘Don’t lie, Gaius. Never lie. You’re a Roman, remember.’

‘He’ll be a Vestal Virgin if you keep jabbing him there,’ said Publius Calvinus.

His twin brother, Gnaeus Calvinus, spoke too. ‘Marcellus is right.’

‘Go on Gnaeus,’ sneered Trebonius. ‘Lick his boots.’

Instead Gnaeus started to vigorously rub Marcellus’s right arm. ‘Did it hurt?’

‘No,’ he lied, since it stung badly; Gaius Trebonius had given it all he had, in total contravention of the rules of the game, though Marcellus blamed himself for leaving the arm exposed.

‘Why do you always cheat, Trebonius?’ asked Gnaeus.

‘It runs in the family,’ called Publius, who had picked up the fallen stave.

‘Publius!’ snapped Marcellus. ‘Gaius is in mourning for his grandfather, who I would remind you, died as a Roman should.’

The boy named swelled with pride then; the tale of his grandfather’s death at the hands of the Illyrian rebels was nearly as inspiring as that of Aulus Cornelius. He had faced the men who murdered him as a Roman proconsul should, exuding pride and indifference, with nothing in his hand except the axe and fasces that denote the power of the Roman imperium.