Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (76 page)

AULAN

It was with more trepidation than relief that Aulan slid off his horse at the foot of the steep slopes of the Quinctiline and handed the reins to one of his father’s stable slaves. It was good to know that he wouldn’t have to spend another day in the saddle, fear his horse breaking down under their merciless pace, or get caught up in whatever plebian lunacy had caused the fires and destruction he’d seen riding through the Vicus Anser.

Still, he dreaded facing Patronus’s reaction to the news that the Valerian legion had escaped the traps set for it. Not being privy to his father’s plans, he had no idea if this was nothing more than a minor setback or a disaster that could trigger a civil war between the Houses Martial, but regardless, there was no chance that he would be pleased.

Aulan wasn’t much happier about the familiar climb uphill he now faced on legs that were bowed and aching from nearly two weeks on horseback. It had taken several generations of persistent effort, and ultimately an appointment as the pro-praetorial governor of Ptolus Trittica, for his great-great-grandfather to convince Quinctilius Quantuvis to sell him the great manor that now served as the heart of House Severus in Amorr. It held a commanding view of the western half of the city, one that was second only to that possessed by the Sanctiff in his palace atop the Viscusine. And while its location served as a useful reminder of Severan power to visiting clients and rivals alike, Aulan had come to loathe the tiring ascent from the base to the peak even as a child. Even if it weren’t for his reluctance to face his father, the long march uphill would have been very nearly the last thing he wanted to do.

“It’s not my fault,” he told himself as he removed his leather gloves and beat them against his thigh in a mostly fruitless attempt to shake some of the caked-on dust from them. “I wasn’t in command. I wasn’t even there, for the most part. And I didn’t have enough horse to hunt that damned legion without risk of being caught by their cavalry. Coming back here to give a few days’ warning was the only sensible thing to do!”

It had been the only sensible thing to do. He was sure of it. But if he was right, why had he spent most of the exhausting ride back to the city trying to convince himself? Why was he still trying to convince himself now? Perhaps, he thought, because in his place, Patronus would have simply stripped Falconius Buteo of his command and ordered the young Valerian tribune to surrender his legion by virtue of his own self-declared authority—and somehow it would have worked. Regulus, on the other hand, would have launched a bold, dashing, and suicidally insane attack with his badly outnumbered cavalry wing. In that case everyone, including their father, would praise his brilliant heroics despite the loss of all his men while accomplishing precisely nothing.

A pretty house slave’s double-take as he entered the front door and walked past her made him smile and helped distract him from his worries for a moment. She had the sort of dark, sensual eyes he hadn’t seen during several months in the north, and he made a mental note to discover her name in the unlikely event his father left him with his evening free.

He turned a corner, saw there was someone in the smaller of the mansion’s two triclinia, and frowned at whom he saw dining there. It wasn’t the sight of his older brother reclining on a coach that offended him, pompous ass though he was, but the six men with him whom he recognized as being men of the principalities, not the city. One of them might have even been a provincial, judging by the outlandish cloth cap he was wearing on his head as if he were some sort of jester.

“Have you turned merchant, then, Regulus?” Aulan asked, drawing himself to his full height and placing his hand on his sword hilt. “Or are you going considerably further afield these days in search of your debaucheries?”

“Aulan?” His brother’s eyes widened, and he was sufficiently startled for his eyes to sit upright with such suddenness that he upended a wooden cheese tray and sent its contents rolling across the marble floor. “Saint’s bones, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be with Falconius Buteo?”

Aulan scowled at his older brother, whose face was flushed with wine already though the sun was barely past its zenith. “I’m hardly going to discuss either House or legion business in front of your friends, Regulus. Who are they, and what are they doing here?”

“We are guests of your father, Lord Severus.” One man rose from the couch he was sharing with the man in the oversized cap and bowed to him. “Your lord brother has been kindly keeping us company as we wait for our audiences with the most noble princeps. I am Opelius Macrinus, and I am here representing the interests of the High Prince of Oscium, if it please you, my lord. Am I correct in understanding you are Aulus Severus, the younger?”

Aulan had no idea what the man was babbling about, nor was he pleased, but the idea that their presence here wasn’t Regulus’s fault did manage to penetrate the red fog of his irritation. And if they were indeed his father’s guests, then he had damned well better stop embarrassing himself. Even a son had no right to question the dominus of the household, still less if that dominus also happened to be the head of a patrician House.

“You are correct, sir. I apologize for my rudeness, Macrinus, and beg the pardon of you gentlemen, as well. I have been away from Amorr for some time with my legion and, as you can probably tell from the state of my attire, have only just now arrived in the city. I did not mean to be a bore.”

The Osciite and the other five men were quick to assure him that they had taken no offense and that it was indeed a veritable pleasure to make his acquaintance, however unexpectedly. And they were all obviously intrigued, Macrinus in particular, by the fact that Aulan was wearing leather armor bearing the unmistakable signs of a long and hurried journey. Given the practiced eye with which the Osciite looked him over, Aulan had little doubt that the man had identified him as a tribune and a knight.

He was tempted to ask the man what his business was that had brought him to the heart of House Severus, but resisted the urge, knowing that the attempt to pry would only make him look weak. And besides, if he cared to, he could learn it easily enough from his father or the one of the slaves later.

“Well, gentleman, if you don’t mind, I am eager to see my mother and sisters, so I shall take my leave of you now. Regulus, I imagine we shall see each other later.”

His brother waved a languid hand in dismissal. One of his reclining visitors sat up and poured yet more wine for him. It was just what Regulus needed, Aulan thought sourly. If they were lucky, he’d pass out before saying anything he shouldn’t.

“Lord Aulan,” he heard a familiar voice call.

He turned and saw Delmatipor, the majordomus, walking quickly toward him. The bald slave smiled broadly and held out his meaty arms to embrace him despite the immaculate white robes in which he was clad.

“Delma, your robes,” Aulan protested.

But the majordomus was having none of it.

“The laundry girls are too lazy anyhow,” he said, thumping Aulan’s back as he hugged him. “It’s good to see you back safely, boy. The household has been praying for you every night since we heard about the legion’s defeat in the north.”

Aulan grinned. Regulus was his father’s favorite and Tertius his mother’s, but he’d always been the closest to Delmatipor, the true master of the manor.

“Is it safe to assume you will profit from my return, Master Delma?”

“There may be a few guardsman who won’t be as delighted to see you as perhaps they should be, my lord.”

“I suppose it’s just as well I came home unannounced, then, isn’t it?”

Delmatipor only smiled and shook his head. “There’s no harm in it. You’ve been in the legions long enough now to know the way of it.”

He had a point, Aulan decided. “Yes, well, I suppose you must be right. It’s good to see you too, Master. Is my father here? And speaking of Father, who are those men drinking Regulus off his couch in the triclinium minus? Are they truly his guests?”

“I am afraid so, my lord.”

“What are they doing here?”

The majordomus spread his hands and shrugged. “I really couldn’t say, Lord Aulan. Your father trusts me to oversee his household, but he seldom confides in me with concerning Senatorial business, much less foreign affairs. Though I don’t think I would overstep myself to observe there have been a remarkable number of provincials passing through of late. If you’ll follow just me, I will take you to him, and you can ask him yourself.”

As they strode through the marble floored halls together, Aulan occasionally being welcomed home by slaves who recognized him, Delmatipor filled him in on the latest family gossip. He would not, however, reveal the name of the man Patronus had chosen as his sister’s betrothed, and Aulan’s curiosity grew with each stubborn shake of the majordomus’s head. The door of the scriptorium was closed, and to Aulan’s surprise, Delmatipor knocked rather than simply entering.

“We’ve had some unusual guests of late,” he replied in response to Aulan’s querying glance.

Aulan heard his father’s voice bark a less than courteous invitation to enter, and when the majordomus opened the door for him, he was astonished to see, seated across the desk from his father, a large man he had seen many times in the Forum, but one whom he would never have expected to make the arduous Quinctiline climb. He was too surprised to say anything, but fortunately, his father was nearly as surprised to see him.

“Aulan!” he exclaimed, rising from his chair. “You’re filthy, did you just arrive? You must have ridden hard—I only received your letter the day before yesterday. Delma, see that you make sure the boiler for the caldarium is stoked. I imagine he’ll be wanting to bathe soon.”

The other man had risen too. “You must be Severus Aulan,” he said, assessing him with the practiced eye of a former legionary commander.

“At your service, Senator.”

The big senator exchanged an amused glance with his father. “I take it he has not heard the happy news? You must address me as Magnus, my boy, as we are all but family now. Your sister will be marrying my youngest son, Sextus, in the spring.”

“That is…wonderful news indeed, Magnus. Please convey my sincere congratulations to your son.” Aulan managed to simultaneously smile and get the words out without either choking on them or glancing quizzically at his father. What the hell was he thinking, marrying Severa to a Valerian?

“Cool young customer, isn’t he?” remarked Magnus approvingly. “Patronus, if his commander can spare him an additional day or two, he might be the very one to seal the deal we were discussing.”

“Indeed,” his father commented noncommittally. “Aulan, did you bring any of your men?”

“A few,” he answered truthfully. He didn’t wish to mention in front of the head of House Valerius that in this case, a few happened to mean two squadrons. That would tend to raise serious questions as to why the legion to which those twenty men belonged were missing from their cavalry wing, and it wouldn’t take long for a well-connected retired general such as Valerius Magnus to find the answers.

“Consider it done,” Patronus promised Magnus.

Magnus had the good grace to bow slightly.

“Excellent. If your son has any interesting news of developments in the north, I should appreciate being informed of them at your earliest convenience. In the meantime, I will ensure that Sextus is on the tribunal ballot, as we agreed.”

“I rejoice to hear it” Patronus averred drily. “You will be at the next assembly?”

“I look forward to it, my lord princeps. Until then.”

“Until then.” Patronus gestured toward the majordomus. “Master Delmatipor will escort you to the gate, and if you should require anything further of House Severus, you have only to ask, Magnus.”

The Valerian nodded to the bald slave and preceded him from the room.

Aulan stared at his father in silent disbelief as Patronus went to the door and closed it, then turned around.

“You look rather like a fish, with that expression,” his father commented. “Albeit fish are seldom so covered in dirt, seeing as they tend to dwell in the water. You look as if you’ve ridden hard. What does ‘a few men’ mean?”

“Two squadrons.” It was easier to focus on the small things. “I’m sorry, Father, but as I wrote you in my letter, the Valerian legion escaped. The assassins missed two of the junior tribunes, who then contrived to get past Buteo and the Cynothii.”

“By digging a tunnel under the walls? How on Earth did Buteo miss that? Is the man a cretin?”

“No, but he was too confident in his position. Corvus’s son is the tribune commanding, I think, and the lad managed to cut me off from the legion when he captured Vestremer and his men. Vestremer was the captain of the Cynothii mounted infantry, which I really have to say were actually a rather good idea for all that it didn’t turn out well in this situation….”

“Aulan,” his father broke in.

“Right, I’m sorry. Anyhow, I was trying to work my way back to Buteo when, fortunately, one of my scouts spotted their outriders. I sent a pair of riders to see what was going on and saw that the whole bloody legion was on the move, marching west. As soon as I reported to Buteo to let him know which way they were headed, I rode hell for leather here to warn you. I didn’t dare try to shadow them, since Corvus established two wings of cavalry when he raised the legion, and I had only half a wing.”