Roma Victrix (27 page)

‘We should get some food.' Lysandra raised her voice to be heard over the omniscient rumble of male conversation.

‘You're sure you want to stay here?' Murco tried again. ‘It might get rowdy.'

‘I am sure it might,' Lysandra responded. ‘But even if it does…

with my very own Castor and Polydeuces to protect me, what does that matter?'

‘Who's Polydeuces?' Murco was puzzled.

‘Pollux.'

‘Oh.'

The three made their way to the large bar, Lysandra flanked protectively by both men. ‘We need a room,' Cappa said to the fat, hot and overworked-looking man behind the counter. There was, Lysandra realised, no point in her asking – she had learned the place of women in backward Italia.

‘Keep it moving there,' the fat man bellowed at a slow-moving serving girl as she emerged from the kitchen. ‘I'll have the skin off your back, girl. Now,' he turned to Lysandra. ‘You three need a room.' He leered at Lysandra. ‘To share?'

‘That's right,' Cappa's voice was cold. ‘Is there a problem with that?'

‘Only if you keep my patron's up all night when you're fucking the shit out of your whore,' the innkeeper responded, plainly not in the least cowed by the bodyguard. Lysandra surmised that he had seen his fair share of hard men already that day.

‘She's not our whore. She's… my brother's daughter,' Cappa improvised, but the innkeeper's expression told all of them that he no longer cared. ‘One room, one night, with food and drink – plus stabling for three mounts.' The bodyguard opened his purse.

At the sight of the gilt-stuffed pigskin, the innkeeper grunted.

‘I'm Dulcis, by the way. And it'll be two sesterces each,' he said.

‘So twelve in all – the horses don't stay free.' As Cappa began to count out the money, the innkeeper went to his strongbox and returned with a key. ‘You're room sixteen,' he said. ‘I'll take those weapons now.'

‘I don't think so!' Murco was incredulous.

Dulcis sighed. ‘Look around you. The place is full of soldiers and the locals will be turning up soon. I can almost guarantee you that there's going to be a punch up. I could do without it getting bloodier than it has to. So everyone's parting with their blades, all right?'

‘No, it's not all right. We're looking after this girl, see.'

‘My way or the highway.' Dulcis folded his arms, pointedly ignoring the coins on the counter.

Lysandra sighed and lifted off her baldric. ‘There,' she said, annoyed by the man's attitude. He was, after all, only an innkeeper.

Perhaps he was bolstered by the custom he was getting and thus was taking a chance to get his petty revenge against a group of faceless patrons. It was typical behaviour of a common person, she decided. Any chance they had to exercise authority over their betters would always be taken.

‘I don't know…' Cappa began to reach out for the money.

‘Just give him your swords,' Lysandra said tersely. ‘All will be well.'

Cappa and Murco glanced at each other and then, with a great show of reluctance, handed over their blades.

‘
You're
protecting
her
?' Dulcis laced his tone with sarcasm. ‘Not often you see a woman tell her
uncle
what to do.'

‘It is not often you see a woman with a sword either, Dulcis.'

Lysandra had had enough of playing the quiet, dutiful niece. ‘We'll eat as soon as you can manage it. Meat – plenty of it. Barley if you have it. Wine and water. And some bread. See to it.'

Dulcis looked like he was going to take umbrage at her manner but evidently decided it was not worth the effort. ‘Find a seat,' he jerked his chin at the dining area. ‘We'll get to you as soon as we can.'

They did as instructed, weaving their way through the patrons till they found a booth that would seat four. At Murco's insistence she slid in first, protected by the wall on one side and the bodyguard on the other. Cappa sat opposite, as always alert for potential danger. These men were much more than hired muscle and as a consequence would be proportionately expensive. She was surprised that Memmius Grumio would know where to hire professionals like these, but this was waved away when she brought it up.

‘Grumio isn't paying us,' Cappa explained. ‘He just told his wife that so he'd look important. Titus is bankrolling this job. We served with him years ago and he had Grumio look us up.'

‘So you were soldiers.'

‘Praetorians,' Cappa grinned, allowing pride to creep into his voice. ‘Emperor's own bodyguard. But at the time, there was a new emperor every other month. Lucky for us we were with the old man Vespasian. We backed a winner.'

‘Indeed,' Lysandra smiled, touched that Titus had gone to such lengths to ensure that she was kept safe. ‘What are your instructions, then?'

‘To guard you,' Cappa stated the obvious. ‘We understand that your people have rented you a dwelling for you to use whilst you get yourself fit for the
ludus
. We can help with that, too. The pair of us have trained enough legionaries in our time. After that, we're to keep eyes on you even though you'll be part of the school at Paestum. Of course, we can't join you
in
there,' he added hastily.

‘Becoming gladiators is above and beyond the call of duty.'

‘I think you would be quite good at it,' Lysandra could not resist teasing him. She knew well that gladiators occupied an odd stratum in Roman society. They were at once revered and reviled – heroes and villains, they were to be admired but not aspired to. After all, most gladiators were foreign slaves.

‘Well, yes, I mean we can fight well enough, but you know we're… old now and I'm not sure…' Cappa trailed off and flushed whilst Murco burst out laughing at him, realising that Lysandra was making sport.

‘Food's here,' Murco said, sparing his friend's further blushes.

He smiled and winked at the blonde serving girl that brought their meal, but did not reach out and smack her on the rear as she leant over to deliver their plates, something of which Lysandra was truly appreciative.

She eyed the dark wine as Murco poured a strong measure for himself and Cappa, the back of her scalp tingling in maddening anticipation. However, as the lip of the jug hovered over her cup, she spoke up. ‘Just a touch – I'm on one to four from now on.'

‘
One to four,'
Murco was incredulous. ‘Hardly worth bothering if you ask me.'

‘I did not ask you, but the reason for it is that a little wine strengthens the blood. So one part wine, four parts water. Barley,' she gestured to her plate, ‘and a little meat keep the muscles strong and enable them to heal faster.'

‘Still,' Murco swilled the contents of his cup around under his nose and breathed in deeply, ‘wine should be enjoyed with the full taste.'

‘Barbarian.' Cappa shook his head.

‘There will come a day when people realise the folly of drinking watered wine,' Murco prophesised.

The conversations around them were becoming more loud and raucous now and Lysandra could pick out the Hellene accent under some of the men's Latin. As more drink was consumed, the pretence was dropped altogether and some of the soldiers began speaking in their own language. Soon the inn was vibrant with the sound of many tongues – which was disappointing because it served to drown out the musical Hellenic lilt.

‘It's like market day in here,' Murco said sourly. ‘Everyone should speak Latin, it keeps things easier.'

Lysandra glared at him. ‘Everyone should speak Hellenic. It is a much more expressive and beautiful language.'

‘Hellenic?'

‘Greek, you idiot!' Cappa supplied.

‘Huh,' Murco did not look convinced. ‘The Greeks are a bunch of…' he trailed off as Lysandra continued to glower in his direction.

‘A bunch of what?' she demanded, cross despite herself.

Someone close by them spoke up. ‘Artists, architects, philoso-phers, poets, lovers, fighters and great generals.'

Lysandra, Cappa and Murco all looked up at the speaker. He was not a young man, yet nor was he past his prime. Lysandra reckoned him about thirty-five. He wore an extravagant, sky-blue tunic which was decorated at the hems with the geometric patterns that one might see on a temple. He was, Lysandra reckoned, classically good looking in that shoulder-length blonde-haired blue-eyed way that some women liked.

‘You forgot sausage jockeys,' Cappa sniggered, and was rewarded by Murco's amused grin. ‘Fuck off, mate. We're trying to eat our dinner.'

However, the Hellene gentleman was not in the least shaken by this crude and typically Roman response. He smiled patronisingly at the bodyguard and then eyed Lysandra. ‘And how could I forget to mention, we have the most beautiful – and deadly – women in the known world. Tell me, good lady, do I have the honour of addressing Achillia of Sparta?'

Lysandra stopped with a spoonful of barley halfway to her mouth, flushing in embarrassed surprise. She was absurdly pleased to be recognised this far from home, but as she was about to respond, Cappa spoke up again.

‘This is our brother's girl, Lysandra,' he said. ‘You've got the wrong person.'

‘Lysandra is not a Roman name,' the man commented. ‘And if she's not Achillia, why did she look right at me as I spoke?'

‘All right…' As one, Cappa and Murco got to their feet, but the Hellene raised both hands in front of him.

‘There's no need for that,' his voice was steady and calm. ‘I've seen her fight before, that's all.'

‘Is there a problem here, sir?'

The confrontation between the three had attracted the attention of nearby soldiers and, seeing one of their own threatened, they put aside their drinks and rounded on the bodyguards.

Lysandra realised that it was her obstinacy that had landed them in this situation and now she must take responsibility for it. She had no doubt in her mind that Cappa and Murco would fight for her if only out of professional pride, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. And besides, she
was
Achillia of Sparta. ‘No,' her voice cut through the general hubbub. ‘There's no problem here.

These men are my bodyguards – I am Achillia.'

The Hellene glanced at his men. ‘It's all fine, lads – just a misun-derstanding.' The soldiers gave Cappa and Murco dirty looks which were returned in kind, but retreated back to their drinks at a jerk of their officer's head. ‘Now, let's start again, shall we? I am Euaristos of Larissa.'

He punctuated this introduction with a dashing smile which Lysandra returned. ‘Will you join us, Euaristos?'

‘Delighted to,' he replied, as Cappa slid reluctantly across to the bench to let him in. ‘And you are?'

‘Cappa. That's Murco. Don't get any ideas,' he warned. ‘I could snap your neck before you had a chance to squeak a warning to your thugs.'

Euaristos rolled his eyes. ‘I'm sure that if I
had any ideas
,' he mimicked the Latin accent, ‘I'd have called my men in way before now. I saw the lady fight years ago and have never forgotten it. It was,' he raised his cup, ‘like seeing art come to life.'

Lysandra found herself colouring at the compliment. ‘You are too kind,' was all she could think to say.

‘Not at all, not at all,' Euaristos ran a hand through his blonde hair. Lysandra noted that it was greying at the temples. ‘I spent some time in Halicarnassus and I never missed your shows. Your confrontation with Amazona was epic – it was a privilege to watch and I think it will never be bettered.'

At the mention of Sorina, Lysandra found that she still felt a stab of hatred towards the older woman, the weathered visage and rangy body of her former enemy still strong in her mind. She pushed the image aside. ‘It was a hard fight,' she said. ‘It was a shame that I failed to finish it, however.'

‘But there's something poetic in ending the way that it did, don't you think? Do you know what became of her?'

Lysandra shrugged. ‘After the bout, we were freed as you saw. She probably went back to whatever barbarian hole she crawled out of.'

‘And you retired a few years later: a terrible loss to the people who loved to watch you fight. Still,' he added ruefully, ‘the people aren't the ones putting themselves at risk, are they?'

‘Most people never see harm's way, that's for sure.' After having scrutinised Euaristos in silence for a while, Cappa now seemed to have decided that this foppish fellow was not a threat. ‘You don't look like much of a soldier on the outside, but you lead these men?'

‘Yes,' Euaristos smiled like a proud father.

‘Auxiliaries?' asked Murco, his voice laced with scorn.

‘
Mercenaries
,' the Larissan corrected. ‘Mostly from Hellas and the Aegean Islands – but we have a few foreigners in the company.'

‘This is Italia,' Cappa reminded him. ‘
You're
the foreigners.'

‘Of course.' Euaristos's tone was mild, but there was now a hint of iron in his eyes indicating that he would not take much more Roman rudeness.

‘What would a company of Hellene mercenaries be doing in Italia?' Lysandra interjected, hoping to curtail a confrontation.

‘We were serving in Judaea, seconded to the legions out there.'

‘What a
shithole
!' Murco's comment was full of meaning. ‘Maniacs, the lot of them.'

‘That's the truth.' Euaristos took hefty swig of his wine, squeezing his eyes shut as though banishing painful memories. Lysandra saw that, for the first time, Cappa and Murco were looking at him with something other than irritated loathing. ‘Our last job was to escort the taxes back to Rome, which we've done – and now we'll all be on our way home,' Euaristos added. ‘We've got full purses for a time, but you know what soldiers are like.'