The Art of War

Chapter 24

Rome, 4 August AD 69

Caenis

I felt like a block of carved granite, set in the flimsy surround of the litter.

Outside was a violence I had seen often at a distance, but never this close, never this personal. Matthias was armed with a cudgel — Matthias!

He was a stranger to me, lost in a sea of silently fighting men, holding his own, but against unspeakable odds.

Long ago, Vespasian had offered me a blade and bade me carry it, ‘to protect my virtue’. I had laughed at him, poked his naked ribs, reminded him that slaves have no virtue to protect and if his name did not protect me, a blade was hardly likely to. ‘I’m not going to offer an assailant a weapon he may not have.’

It had sounded good, in the safety of his bed. Now, in the darkness of a hot summer night with men fighting outside, it was an offer I would have grasped with both hands, if only to make a clean end of myself before they came for me.

I lifted the hem of my stola and considered whether I could rip it and make a noose for myself as braver women had done before me. The first, yes, the second, no; I didn’t have that kind of courage. Not yet, anyway.

I made irrelevantly unfulfillable vows to myself that I would never again allow myself to be caught in a situation where I was so impossibly helpless. And then I sat still: helpless.

Outside, the grunts of exertion grew fewer and further between. A voice issued a stream of quiet orders; Pantera, I thought. He was speaking a language I had never heard before and it warped his voice from what I knew, but the tenor of command changes little from tongue to tongue and I had lived near enough to soldiers for there to be a certain security in it.

I was surprised to feel the litter twitch in that edgy, erratic way that meant four men had taken hold of the carrying poles, and lifted. A hand appeared at the flap, and after it Pantera’s dye-darkened face. At his side, held in a grip that looked likely to cripple, was a bearded ruffian who smiled at me convivially, ignoring the blade angled at his jugular. In his turn, Pantera ignored him; his attention, at least outwardly, was all for me.

‘Lady, I apologize for the inconvenient delay. Sadly I am unable to continue my duties as your bearer. Matthias will take my corner to deliver you home. It’s not far; a few hundred paces and we’ll have you safe, if such a thing exists in Rome tonight.’

The door flap dropped. He hadn’t asked for my permission. Why would he when he was so effortlessly in command? And Matthias had lowered himself to carrying my litter. Truly, the day had reached an unprecedented level of strangeness.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself the luxury of hating the man who had brought us to this, and his paid henchmen, and Vespasian, who sent him in the first place. It didn’t last long, but it filled me with a hot, red, savage rage, which sustained me round the corner into the Street of the Bay Trees, and on the hundred yards to the front door of my house.

Which was where I should have dismounted and dismissed the men. I had lifted the flap and was stepping out when Pantera’s hand caught my arm.

‘Stop,’ he said, and I did. ‘Someone’s in there. The door’s been unlocked.’

‘Guards?’ I asked, looking as far as I could up the empty street. ‘Where are the watchers?’

Pantera nodded. ‘Indeed. Where are the Guards? They may be the ones inside, but if not, they have taken themselves away. Or been ordered to leave. There are some things even paid watchers are better off not seeing.’

He gave orders again, one pitch above a whisper, and his four men — Matthias was his now, sprinting to obey — made a ring around me, facing out, cudgels hefted, while Pantera thrust his captive ahead of him as a shield and barged fast and hard in through my terrifyingly expensive, worryingly unbarred front door.