The Eagle in the Dovecote Read online

  Volumnia gritted her teeth. She so wanted to tell her mother what she knew about Caius, about the future glory the Sibyl had prophesied. But Aemilia had spent years worrying about the Sibyl’s scroll and Volumnia would never hear the end of it if she told her mother how she had travelled to Cumae alone while pregnant to visit the Sibyl herself. She would forever be reminded of the danger she had put herself in, with Aemilia rolling her eyes and covering her open mouth, and what the Sibyl had said would be received with horror too. Volumnia could just imagine the scene, and it was one she could well do without.

  ‘Caius needs me,’ was all she said in a tone that put an end to their conversation.

  They reached the forum and pushed their way through to where the slaves were sold. Mother is right about one thing, Volumnia thought, I do seem to run through slaves quickly. Some she sold on because she found them lazy or insolent, but the slave she had come to market to replace had died of an infected foot, the appendage having turned green and giving off a vile smell.

  Volumnia had made a mental list of the qualities she wanted in a slave this time: it was to be young, female, docile and with good teeth. But such slaves were very expensive, and she hoped she would be able to haggle a reasonable price with the slave trader if she found a slave that matched her specifications.

  The slaves were being paraded on the wooden platform. Most of them were male, Volumnia saw with dismay, and her hopes sank. She told the slave trader, holding her hand over her mouth and nose because he stank of garlic and onions, about the type of slave she was after, and he disappeared into a leather-covered cart at the back of the platform. A moment later, he reappeared, pulling a young girl behind him.

  ‘This is what you want, lady,’ he declared, pushing the girl forward. He lifted her dirty tunic to show off her muscular thighs and Volumnia nodded satisfaction, then asked to see her teeth. The trader stuck his fingers in the girl’s mouth and pushed her jaws open.

  ‘Well, what d’you think?’ the slave trader asked when Volumnia had thoroughly examined the girl.

  Volumnia was about to reply when there was a sudden hubbub in the forum, a shouting and calling, a shifting of bodies and craning necks. Aemilia, being the taller, stood on tiptoe to get a better view.

  ‘What is going on?’ Volumnia asked crossly.

  Aemilia shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. There’s a body being carried on a bier, but I don’t think it’s a funeral, the body isn’t shrouded. It’s a woman, though, I can see. Her dress is stained. I think it’s blood.’

  The purchase of the slave forgotten for the moment, and annoyed at receiving this information second-hand, Volumnia forced her way through the crowd in the direction everyone was staring. The slave trader began protesting at Aemilia about having his time wasted, but she waved him away and followed after her daughter.

  A heavily laden cart prevented the women from moving any further. Undeterred, Volumnia climbed onto it and pulled Aemilia up behind her. They had a good view from this position, far better than if they had stayed on the ground. Volumnia narrowed her eyes to see better. Her mother had been right; it wasn’t a funeral, despite the body. The body had been borne into the forum by slaves but there were two men by the bier, patricians judging by their clothing, and one of them pointed for the slaves to lay the body on the ground before the rostra.

  Volumnia frowned. ‘Isn’t that Collatinus?’

  ‘Is it?’ Aemilia asked eagerly, recognising the name. ‘Who’s that with him?’

  ‘I think it’s Lucius Iunius Brutus, the king’s nephew. Caecilius says he’s the idiot of the Tarquin family. The princes are always playing jokes on him.’

  ‘Poor man,’ Aemilia tutted.

  ‘Oh, listen to you,’ Volumnia said scornfully. ‘If the man is an idiot, then he won’t feel any hurt, will he?’

  But Aemilia wasn’t listening. ‘Oh, Volumnia,’ she gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. ‘I think that’s Lucretia.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘You know her. Lucretia, Collatinus’s wife. You met her at Menenius Agrippa’s a few months ago when he had that party.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I remember her. She told me she rises at four every morning to do her spinning and asked if I wanted to join her. As if I would want to do that.’

  ‘Oh, hush, Volumnia. I wonder what happened to her? Perhaps she was attacked. Some villains trying to rob her, I expect.’

  They fell silent as Brutus patted the air, asking for silence. The crowd obeyed and Brutus, in a voice cracked with emotion, began to speak. He told a terrible story, of how his friend’s wife, Lucretia, had been violated by Prince Sextus, the youngest of the king’s sons, and how, unable to bear the shame, she had killed herself before his and her husband’s very eyes. Women in the crowd began to cry and men murmured grimly.

  Volumnia shook her head. ‘The stupid bitch.’

  ‘Volumnia!’ Aemilia cried.

  ‘Well, she was. It wasn’t her fault she was raped, was it? Why kill yourself for something someone else has done?’

  ‘She was ashamed.’

  ‘The shame was the prince’s. What Lucretia should have done is told her husband to revenge her by killing him. Not that Collatinus could get away with killing the prince, of course, the king would see to that. But that’s what I would have told him if he had been my husband. Collatinus would have kept his honour that way.’

  ‘Oh, do be quiet,’ Aemilia snapped. ‘I can’t hear what Brutus is saying.’

  Brutus, for all his reputed idiocy, commanded the attention of the entire forum. The story of Lucretia’s rape was only the prelude to his main point, which was that Rome had no need to endure the rule of the Tarquins any longer. Rome, he said, did not need a king, especially a king such as Lucius Tarquinius, who ground his own subjects under his heel, bled them dry of their hard-earned money and then took advantage of their sons and daughters, husbands and wives. Brutus was calling for nothing less than a revolution, and Aemilia and Volumnia listened open-mouthed. Was this really happening? their eyes asked silently as they looked at one another.

  The mood of the crowd quickly changed from grief to anger. Brutus had moved the crowd to his purpose; there were shouts of agreement, cries of outrage, and both Aemilia and Volumnia suddenly felt exposed and very vulnerable on the cart.

  ‘We must get away from here,’ Aemilia whispered in her daughter’s ear and clambered down from the cart.

  Volumnia climbed down too. The crowd was all bustle, but somehow, they reached the edge of the forum and hurried into the almost deserted Via Sacra.

  ‘We cannot really be in any danger, can we, Mother?’ Volumnia asked, hurrying to keep up with Aemilia. ‘We are not Tarquins.’

  ‘You don’t know the mob,’ Aemilia said grimly. ‘We are patricians and that will be a good enough reason for them to attack us. Hurry, Volumnia. We’ll go to your domus, it’s nearer.’

  They reached the Marcius domus and Aemilia banged on the door. The slave waiting behind it opened it at once.

  ‘Put the bar down,’ Aemilia instructed him as soon as they were inside, and he slid the heavy wooden bar into place. ‘Make sure all the doors are barred.’ The man looked to Volumnia for permission, received it in a curt nod, and scurried off to obey.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mother?’ a high-pitched voice asked. Caius had come into the atrium and was looking at his mother and grandmother with shrewd, dark eyes.

  Volumnia went to Caius and took him into her arms. ‘There is trouble in the forum, Caius. Your grandmother and I had to rush home.’

  Caius pulled away and looked at her severely. ‘Did someone threaten you?’

  ‘No, my love,’ she assured him, tucking his hair behind his ears.

  ‘But they might have done,’ Aemilia said, sinking onto a stool and fanning herself. It had been quite a dash from the forum, and she was hot and sweaty. ‘It makes you wish Caecilius was not away from home so much, doesn’t it, Volumnia? After all, if he were here, he would be able to de
fend us. As it is...’. She let the sentence hang, her meaning was clear.

  ‘Father is away at war, Grandmother. Besides, you don’t need Father,’ Caius told her with conviction. He looked up at Volumnia. ‘I’ll protect you.’

  He meant it too; Volumnia saw the determination in the young, black eyes. His jaw was set, his fists clenched, and she had no doubt he would have rushed out into the streets with his wooden sword and attack anyone who dared to touch his mother. Impulsively, she kissed him. ‘I know you will, Caius, but I’m sure we are safe in here.’ She glanced at Aemilia, who was still looking worried. ‘We mustn’t fret, Mother. This whole silly affair will blow over, you’ll see. The king will hear what Brutus said and will have him executed for daring to speak so, and then everything will carry on as before. Now, Caius, my love, let us show your grandmother how clever you’ve become with your sword.’

  I must be getting old, Caecilius thought ruefully as he looked out across the camp and cursed the Rutuli for this latest war. He seemed to like being on campaign less and less these days. Time was when he would have given anything to leave Rome to fight in a battle. Now, he woke up each morning missing his domus, the delicious food and fine wine, the slaves who knew his likes and dislikes without having to be told and, to his surprise, he found he was missing Volumnia and Caius. Yes, he was definitely getting old.

  He walked up and down the lines of ranked men, feigning interest in the state of their weapons and armour and trying to ignore their discontent. Time was when the men kept their complaints between themselves, the officers only hearing of them third hand, but lately, the men had become bold and made their complaints directly to him. The complaints were always the same: they were tired of soldiering, tired of being away from their homes, tired of seeing their farms run into the ground because they were not there to see them managed properly. The men had Caecilius’s sympathy. He had seen his own estate and farm diminish because of these seemingly endless campaigns of the king. King Lucius always seemed to be at war with someone and Caecilius was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t a better way for Rome to be. He finished his inspection quickly and headed for his tent.

  His friend Pamphilus caught up with him. ‘All done?’

  ‘For today,’ Caecilius said, screwing up his face as smoke from the campfires got into his eyes and stung them. He rubbed his knuckles into the sockets. ‘Any idea how much longer we’ll be here?’

  ‘None at all,’ Pamphilus shook his head. ‘Bloody waste of time, don’t you think?’

  Caecilius shushed him. ‘Not before the men.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense, Cae. They’re all saying the same thing.’

  ‘And if your words get back to the king?’ Caecilius raised his eyebrows at Pamphilus. ‘Do you want to explain to King Lucius why you are discontented?’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ Pamphilus said sulkily, fully aware of how ruthless King Lucius could be to those who displeased him. He glanced over Caecilius’s shoulder and frowned. ‘What’s this now?’

  Caecilius turned and saw one of the men he had dispatched the day before to Rome with letters for the Senate ride into the camp, his horse sweating and straining. The man looked agitated. Caecilius and Pamphilus hurried over to him.

  ‘What news?’ Caecilius asked peremptorily.

  The man dismounted and saluted Caecilius. ‘There is trouble at Rome, sir,’ he said, struggling to catch his breath.

  ‘What trouble?’ Caecilius demanded.

  ‘Lucius Iunius Brutus has addressed the people from the rostra. He brought the body of Collatinus’s wife into the forum and laid it out for everyone to see. He said she had killed herself because she had been raped by Prince Sextus and couldn’t bear the shame.’ The man dropped his gaze. ‘That’s what he said, sir.’

  Caecilius met Pamphilus’s eye. They both knew Prince Sextus had often taken women without their consent, but he had mostly confined himself to low-born women and so no one had minded. But if he had raped the wife of Collatinus, a patrician, then that was a different matter.

  ‘What else did Brutus say?’ Caecilius asked.

  The man looked uncomfortable as he replied. ‘He said the king should be deposed, sir. He was trying to rouse the people.’

  ‘By all the gods in Hades,’ Pamphilus breathed. ‘The nerve of the man.’

  ‘Sir, I must tell the king what has happened,’ the man said, pointing at Lucius’s tent.

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Pamphilus said, taking a step towards the tent. He halted. ‘Cae, are you coming?’

  ‘Not just yet,’ Caecilius said quickly. He gestured at his men, who had gathered to listen to the soldier’s news. ‘I will settle the men first. Stop any rumours from spreading.’

  Pamphilus nodded, and he and the soldier hurried away. Caecilius addressed the men, told them there was nothing to worry about and to get about their business. Many of them gave him mutinous looks, but they turned away and returned to their duties. He watched them go, his brain working.

  Caecilius didn’t know Brutus well, but he had always suspected Brutus was not quite the idiot he played. He had seen the shrewd, calculating look in Brutus’s eyes when Titus had used him as the butt of their jokes, had seen the resentment swallowed down. Titus had also admitted to him one night when he had had too much to drink that the king had ordered the killing of Brutus’s brother many years earlier, and in Caecilius’s opinion, that was not the sort of thing that could be forgotten or forgiven. He knew he would never do so. If he were Brutus, he would have sought out every opportunity to avenge himself on the king.

  And now, it seemed Brutus had seized his chance. But was the rape of a patrician’s wife by the youngest son of the king enough to make the people rise up? Caecilius thought it might be. He felt sure the people were ready to rise up at the slightest provocation if the grumbling of his men was anything to go by. Lucius was not loved. He was feared. Worse, he was hated, he and all his family. If King Lucius really was in danger, where did that leave Caecilius Marcius, a loyal supporter of the king and close friend of Prince Titus?

  Knowing he should present himself to the king, that any delay on his part would look like disloyalty, Caecilius made his way to Lucius’s tent. He heard raised voices before he had even given the password to the guards and been allowed to enter.

  The soldier was standing before the king. He looked terrified, and Caecilius could not blame him. Lucius was not against killing him for being merely the bearer of such ill news. Caecilius saw Lolly, the king’s wife, who was sitting in a chair at the side of the tent, narrow her eyes as he entered. He knew Lolly didn’t like him. The feeling was mutual.

  ‘I need more information,’ Lucius said, starting to pace up and down the tent and forcing Pamphilus to step hurriedly out of his way. ‘How serious is this? Is it just that idiot Brutus making a nuisance of himself or what?’

  ‘I don’t know, my king,’ the soldier said, ducking his head, bracing himself for the blow he thought would follow. He looked up, surprised, when it didn’t come.

  Caecilius stepped forward, determined to grab this opportunity. ‘I can find out, my king. I’ll go to Rome and make enquiries.’

  ‘Why you?’ Lolly asked sharply.

  ‘Why not me, lady?’ Caecilius asked as innocently as he could. ‘Am I not as good as any that might be sent?’ He returned his gaze to Lucius. ‘Of course, my king, if you would rather I stayed here, then here I will stay. But I feel I could do you good service in Rome.’

  Lucius stared at him for a long moment, gnawing on his bottom lip. He looked across to Lolly and shrugged. ‘I see no reason why Caecilius should not go.’

  Lolly gave Caecilius a long, examining look, then shrugged agreement.

  ‘Caecilius,’ Lucius said, ‘you go to Rome and you find out what exactly is happening. Discover what that fool Brutus is up to. Come back as soon as you know, is that clear? I won’t have you lingering in Rome while we kick our heels here.’

  ‘Of course, my king,’ Caecilius
bowed his head. ‘I shall leave at once.’

  He turned, catching sight of Lolly’s scowling expression as he strode out of the tent.

  7

  The leather tent flap snapped open and Lolly stormed in. ‘Really, the manners of your men are deplorable.’

  ‘They’re soldiers, my dear,’ Lucius said, not looking up from his stool at the tent’s small table. ‘What do you expect?’

  ‘I expect them to show respect for their queen.’ Lolly looked over his shoulder at the letter he was reading. ‘News?’

  Lucius grimaced. ‘It’s confirmed. The gates of Rome have been barred, and no one is allowed in or out without a permit from the Senate.’

  ‘Did Caecilius send that?’

  ‘No. It came from a merchant who got out just before the gates were closed. He was told he would not be allowed to re-enter without permission. He asked who he should apply to for permission and, listen to this, Lolly, he was told only Lucius Iunius Brutus could give permission.’ Lucius screwed up the papyrus and threw it across the tent. ‘Curse that man. To think he has turned Rome against me.’

  ‘I told you to be careful of the Brutus family,’ Lolly said, bending to pick up the papyrus and smoothing it out. ‘You did have the brother killed, after all.’

  ‘But Brutus knew nothing of that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure. There was always a look about him I didn’t like. Sly, I thought. There was more going on in that woolly head of his than we thought.’

  ‘He’s an idiot.’

  ‘Not such an idiot if he has been able to convince others to rise against us.’ Lolly read a few lines of the letter, then tutted. ‘So, Caecilius has neither returned nor written, despite your orders.’

  ‘He may not have found anything out yet,’ Lucius said. ‘This merchant came away from Rome two days ago. Caecilius may have been too late to get in the gates. He may have nothing to report.’