reintroduced himself to the works of the great orators and was determined to take up his aborted legal career if he ever made it back to Italy.
The villa had been his sanctuary, a poor second to his family home in Ravenna, but a sanctuary nonetheless. And when he wasn’t reading Cicero or Cato or Plutarch, there were the letters from his family. Those from his mother and sisters were welcome but it was the missives from his father he would tear open, desperate for signs that his ire had dimmed. Recently, there’d been a few intimations that he’d begun to forgive Cassius’s indiscretions, but not one suggestion that he might release his son from military service: reverse his demand that Cassius serve five years.
Cassius had always known that was unlikely; his father was not one to go back on his word. He was a compassionate and loving man, but a true Roman patriarch, and he ruled his family with an iron hand. So when Cassius had disgraced himself with his aunt’s serving girl, Corbulo senior had taken swift, decisive action. His errant only son would – like his father – serve in the military, where he would learn the value of discipline and the paramount importance of doing one’s duty.
Recently there had been talk of a visit home, largely from his mother, but Cassius knew that once he set foot back on Italian soil, he would not be able to bring himself to leave again; and that would mean yet more disgrace.
He had resolved simply to live day by day – endure the weeks and months as best he could. All his family and friends knew what he had done, the price he had been asked to pay; and if he wished to return and regain their respect, he would have to see out the five years. There were still two and a half to go.
The truth was, having somehow evaded death during the siege of Alauran, he had been lucky to avoid further danger for so long. There was a strange kind of relief at being found out. To return home with tales only of a comfortable life in Cyzicus would have been its own particular kind of shame. His family still knew little of what had happened at Alauran; he had tried to write an account of those events a dozen times but the words simply never came.
Cassius stood. The darkness seemed suddenly oppressive. He picked up the satchel and the spear-head and looked down at the glowing embers of the fire. Small lumps of charred wood lay beneath a large log that had somehow failed to take light. As the moments passed, more of the embers holding the log in place burned away, until it suddenly thumped down, expelling charcoal and dust from the grate, extinguishing the flame.
III
Cassius hadn’t slept well since leaving Cyzicus; and that night he didn’t sleep at all. Even if the revelations of the evening hadn’t been enough to occupy him, there were in any case sufficient alien sounds to keep him awake. Not the low wheeze of Simo’s snoring – he was well used to that – but the night-time breeze created an eerie whistle as it brushed through the reeds and lapped the water against the bank. Worse still, Shostra and the innkeeper stayed up most of the night: drinking, singing and laughing. Cassius might have quietened them down if he’d thought there was any possibility of him actually falling asleep.
He rose shortly after the sun, deciding his time was better spent examining the materials Abascantius had given him. Knowing he would need Simo on good form in the next few days, he decided to let him sleep. Leaving his boots at the end of his bed, he pulled on his tunic, grabbed the satchel and headed downstairs. No one else was up.
He found a nice spot around the back of the inn where a path ran close to the water. He sat back against the rear wall and looked out at the lake. It was incredibly wide here; he couldn’t see the far side. A flat-bottomed boat was marooned on reeds just in front of him. Eating bright green weed from its hull were a duck and four chicks.
Cassius opened the satchel. First out
The villa had been his sanctuary, a poor second to his family home in Ravenna, but a sanctuary nonetheless. And when he wasn’t reading Cicero or Cato or Plutarch, there were the letters from his family. Those from his mother and sisters were welcome but it was the missives from his father he would tear open, desperate for signs that his ire had dimmed. Recently, there’d been a few intimations that he’d begun to forgive Cassius’s indiscretions, but not one suggestion that he might release his son from military service: reverse his demand that Cassius serve five years.
Cassius had always known that was unlikely; his father was not one to go back on his word. He was a compassionate and loving man, but a true Roman patriarch, and he ruled his family with an iron hand. So when Cassius had disgraced himself with his aunt’s serving girl, Corbulo senior had taken swift, decisive action. His errant only son would – like his father – serve in the military, where he would learn the value of discipline and the paramount importance of doing one’s duty.
Recently there had been talk of a visit home, largely from his mother, but Cassius knew that once he set foot back on Italian soil, he would not be able to bring himself to leave again; and that would mean yet more disgrace.
He had resolved simply to live day by day – endure the weeks and months as best he could. All his family and friends knew what he had done, the price he had been asked to pay; and if he wished to return and regain their respect, he would have to see out the five years. There were still two and a half to go.
The truth was, having somehow evaded death during the siege of Alauran, he had been lucky to avoid further danger for so long. There was a strange kind of relief at being found out. To return home with tales only of a comfortable life in Cyzicus would have been its own particular kind of shame. His family still knew little of what had happened at Alauran; he had tried to write an account of those events a dozen times but the words simply never came.
Cassius stood. The darkness seemed suddenly oppressive. He picked up the satchel and the spear-head and looked down at the glowing embers of the fire. Small lumps of charred wood lay beneath a large log that had somehow failed to take light. As the moments passed, more of the embers holding the log in place burned away, until it suddenly thumped down, expelling charcoal and dust from the grate, extinguishing the flame.
III
Cassius hadn’t slept well since leaving Cyzicus; and that night he didn’t sleep at all. Even if the revelations of the evening hadn’t been enough to occupy him, there were in any case sufficient alien sounds to keep him awake. Not the low wheeze of Simo’s snoring – he was well used to that – but the night-time breeze created an eerie whistle as it brushed through the reeds and lapped the water against the bank. Worse still, Shostra and the innkeeper stayed up most of the night: drinking, singing and laughing. Cassius might have quietened them down if he’d thought there was any possibility of him actually falling asleep.
He rose shortly after the sun, deciding his time was better spent examining the materials Abascantius had given him. Knowing he would need Simo on good form in the next few days, he decided to let him sleep. Leaving his boots at the end of his bed, he pulled on his tunic, grabbed the satchel and headed downstairs. No one else was up.
He found a nice spot around the back of the inn where a path ran close to the water. He sat back against the rear wall and looked out at the lake. It was incredibly wide here; he couldn’t see the far side. A flat-bottomed boat was marooned on reeds just in front of him. Eating bright green weed from its hull were a duck and four chicks.
Cassius opened the satchel. First out
Similar Books
