measures are necessary to restore the Republic. He will then dismiss his lictors and hand his extraordinary powers back to the Senate, like all our great Dictators of the past.”
So spoke the doting patrician niece. Her pessimistic, plebeian husband was far less confident. But he had many other things on his mind just then.
3
B Y THE NEXT MORNING I WAS A BIT fuzzy headed from the wine but otherwise ready to face another agreeable day of campaigning. Any day that began without the trumpets blowing to signal a dawn attack by the Gauls was a good day, as far as I was concerned. I left Julia snoring delicately and aristocratically behind me, splashed some water on my face, and went in search of breakfast. In my bachelor days I breakfasted in bed, but that luxury had gone the way of most of my bachelor habits.
Eating breakfast was one of those degenerate foreign practices to which I subscribed enthusiastically. Cassandra had laid a small table in the courtyard with melon slices, cold chicken, and warm, heavily watered wine. Nearby, Hermes, stripped to a loincloth, ran in place, warming up for a morning at the
ludus
. I noticed a slight hitch in his steps and looked for the cause.
“Come here, boy,” I said. Apprehensively, he came to mytable, and I saw that he had a fresh, two-inch cut high on his left thigh, neatly stitched.
“That’s Asklepiodes’ needlework, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes. He said it’s nothing, just a skin cut. Didn’t even nick the muscle. In fact—”
I brought my palm crashing down on the table, nearly upsetting my wine, which Hermes rescued. “I have ordered you
never
to train with sharp weapons! I’ll not have my property risked needlessly!”
“But all of the top men of the school—”
“You are none such! Practice with sharp weapons is strictly for veterans, the victors of many combats. They are men who earn fortunes by their skill and have no prospect of a future. As long as you belong to me, you are to stick to wooden swords. Sharp swords are for when we’re in a war zone.”
“It won’t happen again, I promise,” he said contritely. The evil little wretch was planning to disobey me at the first opportunity. He always did.
“It was Leonidas, wasn’t it?”
He looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“That backhand slice with the tip of the
sica
is his trademark. You were leading with your left leg and holding your shield too high. He always watches for that. If it had been a serious fight, he could have taken your leg off. The man’s won thirty-two fights that I know of. You have no business sparring with him. Stick to the regular trainers and students of your own level. Do you understand me?”
He hung his head with total insincerity. “Yes, sir.”
“Then be off with you, and thank all the gods that you don’t have to attend my morning calls.” He was out the front door without bothering to put on his tunic. I returned to my breakfast, not totally displeased. If a champion like Leonidas thought Hermes was worth sparring with, he must be coming along nicely. Leonidascould behead flies buzzing around his helmet. The nick on the thigh had been a well-meant warning.
My clients met me in my atrium, and we went off to my father’s house. As always it was mobbed with his clients. Since I was standing for office, I usually just paid my respects at the door, but this time his steward said that the old man wanted to speak with me. Knowing that this boded ill, I went in.
My father, the elder Decius, was one of the head men of
gens
Caecilia. He had held every public office including the Censorship and had commanded armies in the field, and his voice was one of the most respected in the
curia
. It was his continued longevity that kept me a legal minor. He could have manumitted me with a simple ceremony, but the old villain wasn’t about to relinquish his hold. I found him alone in his study.
“Good morning, Father! How—”
He whirled around, his face red except
So spoke the doting patrician niece. Her pessimistic, plebeian husband was far less confident. But he had many other things on his mind just then.
3
B Y THE NEXT MORNING I WAS A BIT fuzzy headed from the wine but otherwise ready to face another agreeable day of campaigning. Any day that began without the trumpets blowing to signal a dawn attack by the Gauls was a good day, as far as I was concerned. I left Julia snoring delicately and aristocratically behind me, splashed some water on my face, and went in search of breakfast. In my bachelor days I breakfasted in bed, but that luxury had gone the way of most of my bachelor habits.
Eating breakfast was one of those degenerate foreign practices to which I subscribed enthusiastically. Cassandra had laid a small table in the courtyard with melon slices, cold chicken, and warm, heavily watered wine. Nearby, Hermes, stripped to a loincloth, ran in place, warming up for a morning at the
ludus
. I noticed a slight hitch in his steps and looked for the cause.
“Come here, boy,” I said. Apprehensively, he came to mytable, and I saw that he had a fresh, two-inch cut high on his left thigh, neatly stitched.
“That’s Asklepiodes’ needlework, isn’t it?”
“Well, yes. He said it’s nothing, just a skin cut. Didn’t even nick the muscle. In fact—”
I brought my palm crashing down on the table, nearly upsetting my wine, which Hermes rescued. “I have ordered you
never
to train with sharp weapons! I’ll not have my property risked needlessly!”
“But all of the top men of the school—”
“You are none such! Practice with sharp weapons is strictly for veterans, the victors of many combats. They are men who earn fortunes by their skill and have no prospect of a future. As long as you belong to me, you are to stick to wooden swords. Sharp swords are for when we’re in a war zone.”
“It won’t happen again, I promise,” he said contritely. The evil little wretch was planning to disobey me at the first opportunity. He always did.
“It was Leonidas, wasn’t it?”
He looked surprised. “How did you know?”
“That backhand slice with the tip of the
sica
is his trademark. You were leading with your left leg and holding your shield too high. He always watches for that. If it had been a serious fight, he could have taken your leg off. The man’s won thirty-two fights that I know of. You have no business sparring with him. Stick to the regular trainers and students of your own level. Do you understand me?”
He hung his head with total insincerity. “Yes, sir.”
“Then be off with you, and thank all the gods that you don’t have to attend my morning calls.” He was out the front door without bothering to put on his tunic. I returned to my breakfast, not totally displeased. If a champion like Leonidas thought Hermes was worth sparring with, he must be coming along nicely. Leonidascould behead flies buzzing around his helmet. The nick on the thigh had been a well-meant warning.
My clients met me in my atrium, and we went off to my father’s house. As always it was mobbed with his clients. Since I was standing for office, I usually just paid my respects at the door, but this time his steward said that the old man wanted to speak with me. Knowing that this boded ill, I went in.
My father, the elder Decius, was one of the head men of
gens
Caecilia. He had held every public office including the Censorship and had commanded armies in the field, and his voice was one of the most respected in the
curia
. It was his continued longevity that kept me a legal minor. He could have manumitted me with a simple ceremony, but the old villain wasn’t about to relinquish his hold. I found him alone in his study.
“Good morning, Father! How—”
He whirled around, his face red except
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