Roma Victrix (36 page)

But he also had debts to pay, not least to Settus, without whom he would have never had the chance to rebuild a life; Valerian determined that the best way to do that was to ensure that he did not fritter away his money.

Ezra was at his usual stall and his swarthy face creased into a grin when he saw them approach. ‘Valerian,' he smiled in greeting.

‘Ezra,' Valerian sat on the client's bench and was joined by a surly-looking Settus. ‘This is my friend – and your newest client – Settus.'

‘Greetings, Settus,' Ezra's smile turned a little oily as he could not fail to see the hostility etched all over the Roman's face.

Settus did not respond at first, but merely dumped his bulging money sack on the table. ‘I've counted it,' he announced. ‘I know
exactly
how much is in there, Jew, so if there's any funny… fuck!' he yelped in outraged pain as Valerian kicked him under the table.

‘There won't be any funny business,' Ezra seemed to take the overt hostility in his stride. ‘I know that Judaeans aren't always trusted by you Romans but, as Valerian here will testify, I only care about making money for my clients and myself. Money doesn't have prejudice; it doesn't care where it comes from or who it goes to.

You'll see a return on your investment.' He turned his attention to Valerian as he too placed a sum on the table. ‘This is lighter than usual,' Ezra observed with a frown.

‘I have a debt I must pay off,' Valerian replied. ‘How are my funds doing?'

Ezra began an extensive monologue of errata detailing the various investments he had placed and their subsequent profits and losses.

All the while, Settus made a show of being bored by the whole thing, looking around, fidgeting and tapping his fingers on the table until the Judaean had finished his summary.

‘I've made some notes for you,' Ezra slid over a writing tablet.

‘Just the top-level numbers. How is your work going?' he asked as Valerian took the wooden book and dropped it into his satchel.

‘Good,' Valerian replied. ‘More than good. My boss, Maro, has seen that I'm more useful to him as a planner and organiser than I am cleaning floors, so I've risen fast these past months. My wages and responsibilities have increased, as have Settus's here. I feel like a new man if I'm honest, Ezra.'

The
argentarius
looked at him from under his fierce brows. ‘You look like one,' he said. ‘Not the same soldier that came to me those months back. Your wounds are all healed.'

Valerian forced a smile. ‘Most of them anyway.' The truth of it was that, though physical hurt usually went away, he feared that he would always relive Dacia in his nightmares. ‘My thanks to you, Ezra.'

‘God be with you, Valerian. And you, Settus,' he added.

Settus looked as though he was going to tell the Judaean where he could shove his god, but a warning glance from Valerian cut off any further rudeness. The former
optio
satisfied himself with a dismissive grunt and made off as quickly as he could.

Valerian raised his hands. ‘I apologise for him, Ezra. He's a simple man, but a good friend to me. He… is a Roman at heart.'

Ezra chuckled. ‘We are all God's children, Valerian. I take the rough with the smooth – and his money is as good as yours.'

‘There is one other matter I wanted to discuss with you,' Valerian glanced over his shoulder to see where Settus was. He was lurking not far away and, as soon as their eyes met, Settus began to pantomime a rapid drinking motion. Valerian held up a hand indicating that he should wait before turning back to the Judaean.

‘Well?' Ezra clearly wanted to get onto other matters.

‘I've met a girl,' Valerian confessed. ‘She's in my thoughts often, so I want to start putting a marriage pot aside so I can… buy her out of her contract. Just in case I decide to take things further.'

‘You've fallen for a prostitute?' Ezra's eyebrows shot up. ‘It's your money, Valerian, but I'd advise against this. I'm sure she's a nice girl, but really… you know that she probably tells you the same thing she tells everyone else.'

‘She's not a prostitute,' Valerian felt his face grow hot. ‘She works at the arena. And I'm not certain yet – just want to ensure that I have the money if it comes to it.'

‘I see,' Ezra obviously did not believe that story but had decided not to push matters. ‘I'll work it out for you then.'

Valerian nodded his thanks and made after Settus. He had not shared his feelings towards Pyrrha with the veteran for fear of being mocked – not that that would be fair, seeing as how Settus had gone as far as to tattoo himself for his barbarian wife. But Settus did not play fair and would take the rise out of him mercilessly for pining over a girl he hardly knew.

But Valerian knew himself well enough to realise that he
did
have feelings for her, a fact that had been emphasised since she had left the Flavian with Illeana. He kept thinking of their conversation and wishing that it had not ended on a sour note, even if it had been his own fault. Partially at least – the Venus-like power of Illeana would render any man her slave. Yet it was Pyrrha that dominated his thoughts, not the stunning
Gladiatrix Prima
. Of course, he knew that thinking of marriage was more than a little premature, but he had to plan for any eventuality.

Perhaps it was just a foolish fancy of a man so down on his luck that he would look anywhere for solace and companionship. On the other hand, he had never thought about any woman so much as he did Pyrrha. Worse, he worried about her constantly: he knew that she was well trained, but the very idea of women fighting was scandalous in the first place and he had seen enough of the Flavian's fighters come back from a spectacle mutilated to know that the danger to her was very real. He wished he could go and see her, just to ensure that she was safe, but Maro would never allow him the time and if he wanted to woo her, he had to keep his work and his prospects alive. For now, he had to be content with fretting.

‘I'm glad that's sorted,' Settus said as he caught up to him. ‘I'm off for a drink, are you joining me?'

‘I'd love to, but I need to attend to some business first,' Valerian replied, pushing thoughts of Pyrrha from his mind. ‘You'll be there all day I take it?'

Settus just gave an extended and hugely exaggerated gasp like a man who had just supped on ambrosia. ‘You know me. I'll be the last man standing.'

‘I'll be along later if I can.' Valerian clapped him on the shoulder and made off through the crowded streets, the way as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Like Settus, he had dressed well, but now that he came close to his destination he began to feel a little self-conscious. Despite the fact that he had recouped a small part of his fortune and was no longer teetering on the precipice of poverty, he was still little more than a plebeian who sold shit for a living. Still, better that than the grain dole.

Valerian gathered his courage as he approached the gates of his old home, steeling himself as the doorman eyed his approach.

‘Can I help you?' he asked.

‘Yes. I would like to see the
dominus
please.'

‘You're not one of his clients,' the man clearly knew his work well.

‘That's true,' Valerian replied. ‘But this is a matter of business regarding the slave, Tancredus.'

The doorman looked vaguely surprised. ‘I'll ask if the
dominus
will see you. He's a busy man. Who are you?'

Valerian gave his name and watched the fellow trot off and stared at the house he had grown up in, lost in thought. Things had gone so badly wrong because of the gods-cursed Dacians. Over the past months he had tried not to fall into bitterness, but seeing the old place again made him realise just how far he had fallen. It angered him that there was no way he could even the score. No matter what he did and where he went, the spectre of that awful battle and its aftermath would always be with him.

The doorman returned, key in hand. ‘He'll see you,' he announced, unlocking the gate. ‘But do try and keep it short – as I say, he's a busy man.'

Valerian nodded. ‘Of course.'

The doorman led him across the small garden to the
vestibulum
, the entry hall, and into the house proper, Valerian noting the changes to the décor inside and the different statuary the new owners had put in place. The house smelled different, he thought.

‘In here.' The doorman showed him into the
tablinium
where his father had once worked day and night. The desk was still the same one, ancient and sturdy.

The
dominus
looked up as Valerian entered. ‘I cannot spare you much time,' he said. ‘I am Quinctilius Spurius Nolus. You are...?'

‘Valerian, sir.'

Nolus looked him in the eye. ‘Just Valerian?'

‘For now,' Valerian replied, causing the other man to smile slightly.

He was handsome and young, and in another life they may have been friends.

‘What business do you have with my slave, Valerian?'

‘I owe him a debt, sir. He… helped me recently, and I have come to repay him,' Valerian patted his satchel.

Nolus leant back in his seat. ‘I wondered why a slave as long in the tooth as Tancredus did not have enough coin with which to buy himself free – now I realise why. You don't look like you've got any barbarian in you, Valerian – you're not a relative, surely?'

‘No, sir. Tancredus…' he trailed off, wondering how he could explain without shaming himself. But of course, his punishment was to endure shame; when they stripped him of his material wealth and title they had also stripped him of his dignity. The truth, then, would out. ‘Tancredus was once
my
house slave. This was… I used to live here. Before the recent war.'

Nolus was of the equestrian class, schooled in the ways of politics and law; in those twin arenas, the slightest change in expression could be read and seized upon by an opponent and turned to his advantage. Yet Valerian's admission caused him to raise his eyebrows in surprise. ‘This was your home?'

‘It was, sir.' Valerian swallowed. ‘I was stripped of my rank and privileges after the disaster at Tapae. As the Fates would have it, I was the highest ranking officer to survive and as such had to pay the price of failure.'

‘I am surprised that they did not ask you to fall on your sword,'

Nolus said, evidently a man who had never had to face such a decision.
Virtus
was still his after all.

‘It was proposed, sir,' Valerian replied. ‘But I chose to live,' he spread his hands. ‘I was captured after the battle and subsequently escaped. The Dacians put me through the mill and then men who were not on that bloody field made the suggestion of my suicide.

It was my feeling that they had no right to decide my fate. Dacia took enough away from me – almost everything. But not my life – and I will rebuild it.'

Nolus steepled his fingers as he regarded Valerian. ‘Bureaucrats and play-play soldiers make the decisions that we must abide by.

They're often wrong.'

‘You've served as tribune, sir?'

‘In Germania, yes.' He looked as though he was about to say more, but caught himself, once again putting up the wall that had just been ever so slightly breached. ‘Speaking of Germania, there is the matter of Tancredus.'

‘Yes, sir. I have his money here and would like to give it to him.

I had thought to approach you about buying him free myself, but it occurs to me that he is old and may not wish to leave the house he has spent so long in. Even as a slave – this is still his home.'

Nolus got to his feet, his expression grim. ‘Tancredus is very ill,' he said. ‘The surgeon says he will not survive this day. I am sorry, Valerian.'

The words hit like a hammer-blow in the chest. Valerian cast his eyes to the floor, seeing the mosaic of Perseus turning the Kraken to stone. He had played on it as a child and recalled Tancredus scolding him to leave his father in peace. Now Tancredus would soon pass across into his barbarian underworld and another piece of Valerian's old world would die with him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, composing himself. ‘May I see him, sir?'

To Valerian's surprise, Nolus put a consoling hand on his shoulder.

‘Of course. He is in his quarters. Though you know the way well enough, my staff do not know you. I shall take you there myself.

Come.'

In silence, the two made their way through the familiar yet different interior. Much had changed, the imprint of the Spurii slowly but surely blotting out that of the Minervii. Before this news, Valerian supposed the inevitable erasure of his name would have bothered him, but now all he could think of was his failure to do right by Tancredus. If the old man had not loaned him his savings, perhaps he would have bought his freedom and now be in fine fettle. Instead, he had continued to work himself to the grave whilst Valerian had put his own interests first. As such, the shame he felt on entering the small room was almost unendurable.

Tancredus lay on a pallet, his eyes half closed, his breathing slow and wheezing. The cubicle reeked of the sickly sweet smell of decay, the same smell that rotting corpses gave off on a three-day-old battlefield.

‘I'll give you a moment,' Nolus said and moved off.

Valerian went to the pallet and knelt by it. ‘Tancredus,' he whispered.

The old man's eyes flickered and then opened fully. He smiled, stretching the skin of his already taut visage. ‘Valerian,' he croaked.

‘It is good to see you, boy. I knew you would come. I waited for you.'

‘I'm sorry, Tancredus,' Valerian said. ‘I should not have left you like this. I should have come sooner. It is my fault you are sick, but I will ask Nolus if I can buy you free…'