The Field of Swords

‘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 the men at the table and wondered again at the changes Spain had wrought in them.

In Servilia’s honour, the meal was a mixture of local dishes, served in an array of small bowls. The spices and peppers made Octavian cough until he had to be thumped on the back and given wine to clear his throat. He had been in awe of Servilia from the first moment in the courtyard and Brutus teased him subtly, while Servilia pretended not to notice the boy’s discomfort.

The room was lit with warm, flickering lamps, and the wine was as good as Brutus had promised. It was a pleasant meal and Servilia found that she was enjoying the banter between the men. Domitius allowed himself to be persuaded into telling one of his stories, though the conclusion was spoiled slightly as Cabera called it out with enthusiasm, then thumped the table in amusement.

‘That story was old when I was a boy,’ the old man cackled, reaching over to take a portion of fish from a bowl near Octavian. The young man was about to take the same piece and Cabera slapped his fingers to make him drop it, scooping up the rich flesh as it fell. Octavian scowled at him, clearly stifling a response as he remembered the presence of Servilia at the table.

‘How did you come to be with the Tenth legion, Domitius?’ Servilia asked.

‘Brutus arranged it when we were down in the south fighting Spartacus. I’d let him win a couple of practice bouts out of fairness, but on the whole he saw that he could benefit from my training.’

‘Lies!’ Brutus said, laughing. ‘I asked him in passing if he would be willing to transfer to the new legion and he practically bit my arm off in enthusiasm. Julius had to pay a fortune in compensation to the legate. We’re all still waiting to see if he’ll be worth it.’

Domitius waited patiently until Brutus was drinking from his wine cup.

‘I’m the best of my generation, you see,’ he told Servilia, watching in amusement as Brutus fought not to choke, turning red in the process.

The sound of footsteps made them all look up and the men rose together to welcome Julius. He took his place at the head of the table and signalled for them to sit. Servants brought fresh dishes and Brutus filled a cup with wine, smiling when he saw Julius raise an eyebrow at the quality.

The conversation began again and as it did Servilia caught Julius’ eye and inclined her head slightly. He copied the gesture, accepting her at the table, and she found herself letting out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

There was an authority to him that she couldn’t recall seeing before. He didn’t join in the laughter, merely smiling at the more outrageous chatter. He punished the wine, Servilia noted, drinking as if it was water and with no obvious effect, though a slow flush appeared at his neck that could have been from the evening heat.

The high spirits at the table were quickly restored. The camaraderie between the men was infectious and after a while Servilia was engaged in the stories and humour with the others. Cabera flirted outrageously with her, winking at inopportune moments and making her snort with amusement. Once as she laughed she caught Julius’ eye again and the moment seemed to freeze, hinting at a deeper reality behind the lively façade of the meal.

Julius watched her, constantly surprised at the effect she had wrought on the usually sombre gathering. She laughed without affectation and in those moments he wondered how he could ever have found her less than beautiful. Her skin was dark and freckled from the sun and her nose and chin a little too strong, yet still she had something that set her apart. The calculating part of him saw how she transferred her attention to whoever spoke, flattering them simply by the interest she showed. She was a woman who liked men and they sensed it. Julius shook his head slightly. His reaction to her disturbed him, but she was so different from Cornelia that no comparison occurred to trouble his thoughts.

He had not been in female company for a long time and then only when Brutus managed to get enough drink in him that he didn’t care any more. Looking at Servilia reminded him of the world outside his soldiers’ rough gatherings. He felt unbalanced with her, out of practice. The thought crossed his mind that he should be careful to keep a distance. A woman of her experience could very well eat him alive.

He shook his head to clear it, irritated with his weakness. The first woman to sit at their table for months and he was reacting with little more sophistication than Octavian, though he hoped his thoughts weren’t so obvious. He’d never hear the end of Brutus’ mockery if they were. He imagined the amused taunts with a shudder and pushed his wine cup away firmly. No matter what, she was hardly likely to show interest in a friend of her son. It was ridiculous even to entertain the idea.

Octavian interrupted Julius’ musings as he reached across the table to offer Servilia the last morsel of a herb dish. The young Roman had grown in strength and skill under the tutelage of Brutus and Domitius. Julius wondered if Octavian would have so much to fear from the apprentices in the city as he’d used to. He doubted it. The boy seemed to thrive in the company of the rough soldiers of the Tenth and even copied the way Brutus walked, to his friend’s amusement. He seemed so young, it was strange to think Julius had been married when only a year older.

‘I learned a new feint this morning, sir,’ Octavian said proudly.

Julius smiled at him. ‘You’ll have to show it to me,’ he said, reaching over to ruffle the boy’s hair.

Octavian beamed in response to the small show of affection. ‘Will you train with us tomorrow, then?’ he asked, readying himself for disappointment.

Julius shook his head. ‘I’m going out to the gold mines with Renius for a few days,’ he said, ‘but perhaps I will when I come back.’

Octavian tried to look pleased, but they could all see he took it as a straight refusal. Julius almost changed his mind, but the dark humours that plagued him eased back into his thoughts. None of them understood his work. They had the light spirits of boys and that carelessness was no longer a luxury he could afford. Forgetting his earlier resolution, Julius reached for his cup and emptied it.

Brutus saw the depression settle on his friend and struggled to find something to divert him.

‘The Spanish swordsmith will begin working with our legion men tomorrow. Can’t you delay the trip until you’ve seen what you paid for?’

Julius stared at him, making them all uncomfortable.