Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (37 page)

“Why, to accompany you, my lord consul. We are to ensure that the Sacred Republic’s dignity is respected and its safety is secured at all times.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But I’m afraid the nature of my question is a little more specific. What I mean to say is, don’t you ever go off duty? Am I expected to feed the eight of you and put you up for the night?”

Corvus couldn’t be certain, but for a moment, it appeared that the faintest of smiles might have briefly threatened the dignity of Amorr. “Yes, my lord, we do go off duty on occasion. Tonight, we will do so once we deliver you to your home. Two of our fellows will stand guard outside your door. I sent a message to the commander when you were at the baths, so they should be in their position already.”

“Ah, good. It’s not that I should mind giving you all dinner, you understand, it’s just that I haven’t been home since the legion marched in Aprilus. For all I know, my wife has run off with a young lad from the theatre and the domus is empty.”

“In which case, we shall retrieve her for you, my lord.” Corvus couldn’t tell if Vecellius was joking or not. His face was about as expressive as a marble statue. “If that is the consul’s desire.”

The neighborhood in which he lived was much less fashionable than his brother’s. The houses were perhaps one-third the size, and they were built right next to each other. But it was a livelier place. Children were playing in the streets, and more than once a dog ran up to confront the two lines of armored men, barking madly before making a hasty retreat as the fascitors marched toward them without slowing. Corvus saw an old married couple walking slowly down the street in the opposite direction. He recognized Quintus Sabenus and his wife, who lived a few houses down from him. Risking the dignity of the Republic, he waved to them, and they waved back in a friendly manner without appearing to notice anything odd about the men accompanying him.

The two fascitors Vecellius had mentioned were indeed already standing outside the little wooden gate that marked the limits of his humble property. They looked slightly absurd in their full armor, towering over the two waist-high brick columns upon which the gate rested. But they drew themselves erect and saluted as he approached, every bit as crisply as he had ever seen their fellow fascitors do at the Forum or a Senate session.

“Thank you, Captain.” Corvus nodded to Vecellius. “I trust these gentlemen will be able to defend me in case one of those dogs we passed earlier realizes that I am no longer being guarded by your full complement and takes the opportunity to attack?”

“They will, my lord consul. And now that I am off duty, my lord, may I offer my congratulations on your victory over the goblin tribes?”

“Why, thank you, Captain. You may, indeed.” Corvus was surprised: For the first time that day, Vecellius actually resembled a human being more than an animated statue.

“My brother was a farmer up north,” Vecellius said. “Bloody breeds killed him and his family four summers ago. I don’t know if you recall, but that was when the raids got really bad. It’s good to see someone has finally given them some of their own back.”

Corvus nodded. “My condolences, Caius Vecellius. Perhaps it will ease your heart to know that every farmer who died in the raids was avenged ten times over. I’m afraid it won’t do your brother or his family any good, but there won’t be any goblin tribes raiding across the border for many years to come.”

“That’s good to hear indeed, my lord. I only wish I could have been there with you. Adete, consul.”

“Adete, Captain.”

Corvus was surprised to see no one in the house had seen him approach or had heard the squad of fascitors marching up the street. The foyer was empty, and there was no sign that there was anyone in the domus at all. A flash of irritation crossed his mind. It wasn’t as if he’d expected a civic festival to mark his return to Amorr, but he didn’t think it was unreasonable to anticipate at least a modicum of welcome in his own home after months of absence. Could it be that she had heard the news about Fortex and was angry with him? Or perhaps she really had taken a lover and left him. He didn’t think Romilia had it in her—but then, what betrayed husband ever did?

But betrayal or no, it was simply rude to fail to receive one’s lord and master, let alone consul of the whole damned republic, in this way! He’d sent her a messenger from the Forum, so she had to have been aware of his intended return tonight.

Then he heard something in the next room. Mastering his disgruntlement, he strode through the doorway, and his annoyance vanished in a flash.

There, laying on the floor in front of the fire, was his dear old friend, Marsra. The sound he’d heard was the thumping of the aged dog’s tail against the floor, stirred into action by the familiar sound of his master’s step. His muzzle was almost entirely white now, and his ribs showed on his age-emaciated body. His once-golden eyes had gone rheumy and blue, but the elderly dog nevertheless struggled to rise and welcome him. Corvus could feel tears spring to his eyes as he rushed to his faithful dog’s side and embraced him.

“Don’t rise on my account, old friend.” He kneeled down, curled his dog’s head under his chin, and inhaled the familiar scent of his short-haired fur, which had changed little in the fifteen years since Marsra had been a pup. The thump-thumping of the tail didn’t cease for a moment as Corvus rocked back and forth, holding the dog’s alarmingly thin body in his arms, delighted and surprised to discover he had survived Corvus’s latest absence. He hadn’t expected the dog to live so long. In fact, he hadn’t even expected the poor old beast to survive the previous winter, or the winter before that.

In campaigns past, Marsra accompanied him, running easily alongside his horse even at a canter, ranging back and forth along the line as if he was one of the scouts. But age had slowed him, and for the last five years, Corvus had been forced to leave his loyal companion home with Romilia when he left with the legions.

“How very glad I am to see you, little boy! I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you.”

“If I must come second in your affections, I am glad it is to one who loves you so very dearly.”

Corvus smiled. He didn’t look up at his wife. He didn’t want her to see the tears that were still in his eyes. Instead, he surreptiously wiped them on the dog’s silky-soft ears as he embraced the dog one more time, then kissed him on his slender, streamlined head. “When I left this spring, I had not thought I would see him again. We said our farewells for the last time, I thought.”

“He has missed you. For the first two months you were away, every time a horse rode past, his ears would perk up and he would make his way over to the door.”

“Once a legionary, always a legionary.” Corvus ran his hands over the dog’s long ears one more time, then rose to his feet. “Where is everyone?”

Romilia was wearing her hair pulled up and back in a style that reminded him a little of a tribune’s crest, and the dark kohl that lined her eyes made them look enormous and white. She was still beautiful, and in the dimming light of the setting sun, she looked barely older than the beautiful young girl she’d married. But her body was no longer slender and slyph-like. It was alluringly lush, rich with curves that pulled the white robe she was wearing deliciously tight across her breasts and hips.

“I sent them all away,” she said, smiling mysteriously. Her lips were painted too, he realized. “I wished to reserve to myself, and myself alone, the privilege of being the first to serve Amorr’s newest consul upon his return to the city. I have heard that it is a great honor to have a consul attend one’s table.”

“A very great honor indeed, I should imagine.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back and pressed her body against his for a moment. He ran his hands over her buttocks, which were still pleasingly taut, if no longer a mere handswidth across, but when he started to slip them inside her robe, she pushed him away.

“I think not, my lord consul! Surely you must be dreadfully famished after a long day consorting with senators and knights galore! Come into the triclinium, and I will see that you are refreshed.”

After many years in the field, Corvus knew an ambush when he found himself in one. He contented himself with one more kiss accompanied by a squeeze of her bottom that produced a noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeal, then obediently released her before following her into the triclinium.

There, he found a table set with flowers, fruits, a pair of goblets, and a flagon of what he presumed was wine.

She picked up the flagon, poured something red into the two goblets, then paused after she returned the flagon to the table.

“Forgive me, my love, but I really must ask. Our son is well?”

“Marcus is with his legion and in good health.” Corvus stretched out upon the solitary couch and sighed at the comfortable sensation. He hadn’t dined while properly reclining since Bergamum, and even there the couches had been strangely hard. “Or perhaps I should say Clericus, as the men have taken to calling him. I can’t say I’m fond of it, as agnomen go. But he seems to regard it as a compliment even if it wasn’t necessarily meant that way.”

Romilia laughed. “He would, wouldn’t he!” She offered him the goblet. “I will ask no more. Not tonight. But you will tell me everything tomorrow, do you understand?”

“I do indeed, beautiful lady.” He sniffed at the wine, then tipped back the goblet and took a healthy draught. “Ah! Now that is a distinct improvement on the horrors I’ve been drinking!”

“It is good, isn’t it?” She sipped at her own goblet and licked her lips. “It’s from one of Magnus’s southern estates. Julia gave me two amphorae to celebrate your consulship.”

“Only two? I assume these must be the dregs, then?”

“Of course. A lonely woman gets thirsty after spending the evening being pleasured by her household slaves, one after the other after the other.”

Corvus laughed as her eyes sparkled mischievously. “In that case, I’m surprised you managed to save me the one flagon.

“I was saving it for all the gladiators I was expecting tonight. Or was it the dwarven ambassadors? So many come though here in your absence, it is all but impossible to keep them straight.” She leaned over him and kissed him on the mouth. Her tongue tasted of wine and honey. “Drink your wine and have some fruit. You’ll like the little oranges, they’re very sweet.”

She walked out, throwing in an extra sashay in the correct assumption that he would be watching. Her hips were a little riper than he’d remembered, but that only made her more attractive as they accentuated the slimness of her waist. It was with some reluctance that he turned back to the table. He discovered that she was right: The little oranges were not only delicious but somehow complimented the flavor of the wine.

The thought of the wine reminded him that it had been a gift from Julia. It was clear, then, that Romilia didn’t know anything about their nephew. She must not even know that Fortex was dead. He wondered if he should tell her or not. Probably, he concluded after a moment’s thought, but he was loathe to break the lovely spell she was casting. Whether he told her now or in the morning, Fortex would still be dead and Magnus would still be caught up in his grief and fury. And Julia would still look like a shattered, elderly version of the woman she had once been.

That was what haunted him the most, more than the terrible images of his nephew’s headless body bathed in its own blood or the contemptuous barbs that his brother had flung his way. It was the hunched, painful way his sister-in-law held herself, as if her sorrow were a cancer eating her from the inside.

No, he was not going to tell Romilia anything tonight, he concluded. If she didn’t want to know more about Marcus tonight, then she certainly didn’t need to hear about Fortex right away either. When she appeared a few minutes later, bearing a silver tray upon which reposed a small roasted pig wreathed in aromatic steam, he was certain he had made the right decision.

The succulent young pig tasted even better than he imagined it would. It made the beef and pork upon which he’d been subsiding throughout the campaign taste like a half-cooked saddle in comparison. He discovered that he was famished, after all, and when he finally returned the carcass to the tray for the last time, it looked as if the crows had been at it for a week or more.

He dipped his fingers into the bowl of water his wife proffered, then lay back on the coach, very nearly satiated. They had spoken of trivialities only. In fact, she had done most of the talking, bringing him up to date on the various events in the lives of their eldest son, their two daughters, and the seven grandchildren that their three older children had presented them to date. True to her word, she did not ask further questions about their youngest son. Or, thank God, their nephew.

“Is there anything more my lord consul might wish?” Romilia said, suddenly playful.

“The pork was superlative. I think some sweets might not be amiss at this point. You truly don’t want to know what the goblin tribes consider dessert.”

“What sort of sweets would you prefer?” she asked him, slipping her robe from her shoulders. “I trust you didn’t find this sort of dessert while you were off among the goblins.”

He smiled and looked over the familiar curves of her body with shameless appreciation. Her stomach was still nearly flat, with the three soft white lines that rose up from beneath her belly that marked her as a mother. And if her breasts were not as buoyant as they had once been, they still filled him with longing.

“Oh, God, I’ve missed you, my love,” he whispered.

“Shhhh.” She pressed herself against him for a moment, then pulled away, but only so she could remove his toga, which she did with a wife’s practiced deftness. She ran her right hand lightly down his chest and beyond. He groaned as the delicious sensation caused him to lose all awareness of where he was, of who he was, of anything but the warmth of Romilia’s touch.

But that was as nothing compared to the pleasure that seemed to swallow him up as they moved together in the wild rhythm of the sweetest dance.