‘That’s right.’

‘I take it he’s billeted in the town?’

Labienus nodded. ‘He’s taken over a slave trader’s house for himself and a rather pretty young wife he’s just married. A very nice little filly.’

Marcus felt his anger rise at this disrespectful reference to Portia.

‘The little filly is my niece,’ Caesar said sharply. ‘Very well, my men and I shall stay with her. Once you’ve given the orders I want a full report sent to me in Ariminum. I need to know the names of my officers and the strength of the units chosen for the job. Also, I’m expecting a man to arrive here in a few days’ time. The lanista of the school Brixus ran away from. Clodius is searching for him now. He’ll send the man here as soon as he is found.’

‘Yes, Caesar. I’ll send him to you the moment he arrives.’

‘Good, then that concludes our business.’ Caesar stood up, followed by Festus and Marcus. ‘Now let’s find a decent bathhouse in the town and get ourselves cleaned up before we descend on Portia and her husband.’

‘Uncle Cams!’ Portia beamed as she saw him enter the atrium. She flew across the tiled floor and hugged him tightly as Caesar laughed. Caesar was wearing a tunic borrowed from one of Ariminum’s magistrates, and a slave had cleaned his boots while he and the others had been through the town’s largest bathhouse. The steam, massage, scrape and cold plunge had left Marcus feeling clean and refreshed, and he and Festus were wearing the spare tunics from their saddlebags.

‘Easy there! You’ll crush my ribs.’

Marcus and Festus stood at the threshold looking on, and Marcus felt a pang of envy that he was denied a family. Until he had tracked down his mother and set her free, there would be none of the simple pleasures of such a homely scene.

Caesar took her shoulders and eased her back as he beamed down at her. ‘How is my favourite niece?’

‘I’m your only niece.’ She punched him lightly on the chest.

‘Well, there you are then. Still my favourite. And how are you adapting to married life? Where is that husband of yours, young Quintus?’

Marcus saw her smile waver for the briefest instant before she replied. ‘Oh, he’s down at the officers’ club. They’ve set themselves up in an inn on the harbour front. They’re very busy at the moment, as you must know. Getting the army ready for the new campaign. I suppose they are entitled to a bit of fun now and again. But we’re happy. Very happy. Although I know that I will not see him for a long time when you take the army north, into Gaul.’ Her smile faded as she took his hand. ‘Please don’t give the order too soon.’

‘My dear, empires are not won by men who stay at home with their wives.’

‘And men who win empires are not born if their fathers are never at the side of their mothers,’ she shot back.

‘Hah! You have a sharper mind than half the men in the Senate, and a sharper tongue than the rest of them. But enough of that. I have a surprise for you, just in case you were missing Rome.’ He stepped aside to reveal his two companions. ‘Here’s Festus, and Marcus.’

‘Marcus!’ Portia smiled and stepped towards him and took his hands, at arm’s length, gave a squeeze and then released them. ‘You look well. Fully recovered from the fight with that awful thug Ferax?’

‘Yes, mistress,’ Marcus replied formally, as was the expected custom between them in front of others. ‘I am well. It is good to see you again.’

‘Then perhaps we can talk a little later on, when you have all been fed?’

Caesar coughed. ‘I’ll eat later. There’s something I need to attend to first. This officers’ dub, where is it exactly?’

‘Must you go already?’ Portia frowned.

‘I have much to do. We are on the march against the rebel slaves the day after tomorrow. I need to look at my officers. See what they’re like and choose those who will accompany me. I won’t be too long, I promise. Meanwhile, you can see that Festus and Marcus are fed, and plague them with questions about events in Rome since you left. I know it’s only been a few months, but they’ve been filled with incident.’

‘I will ask. But tell me, how is Lupus? I thought you’d need your scribe at your side.’

Caesar pursed his Ups. ‘Marcus is my scribe now.’

‘Oh. Why not Lupus? I thought he was good at his job.’

‘He is… was. We lost Lupus on the journey here.’

‘Lost?’

‘We were ambushed by brigands. Lupus was killed.’ He cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘The others can tell you the story. I must go.’

Caesar kissed her on the top of her head and turned away to stride through the door into the street. The doorman closed it behind him and Portia was left with the others. She looked from face to face. ‘Poor Lupus… Come then, to the triclinium. I’ll have food and drink brought for us and you can tell me what happened.’

The triclinium of the slave-dealer’s house overlooked a long colonnaded garden with a water channel running down the middle, crossed by two small wicker bridges. Dusk had fallen over Ariminum and the air was chilly, so a fire had been lit on a brazier in the middle of three dining couches. Small tables had been set in front of each and a woman slave in a plain brown tunic brought small platters of sliced sausage, olives, honeyed bread and delicate pots of fish sauce to drizzle on their food, together with glass goblets and ajar of watered wine.

For a while they talked light-heartedly about affairs in Rome and the latest scandal to emerge from the world of chariot racing where one of the owners of the blue team had been accused of bribing a stable boy from the green team to poison the feed of the best horses. As a result the races had been cancelled for two months until tempers between the teams’ supporters calmed down.

‘It’s an outrage,’ grumbled Festus, an ardent follower of the blue team. ‘Typical of the greens. They lose several races and of course it’s someone else’s fault. Never mind the fact that Barmoris can’t drive a chariot to save his life.’

‘Oh dear.’ Portia made a sympathetic expression. ‘It does seem to have upset you.’

Festus stared at her. ‘Upset? This is not some minor matter, mistress. We’re talking about chariot racing.’

‘Of course, I’m sorry.’ Portia reached for a dish of stuffed olives and held them out as a peace offering.

‘Thank you, but I’ve eaten enough.’ Festus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘If you don’t mind, it’s been a long day. I’m tired. I think I need a good night’s sleep.’

Portia nodded. ‘As you wish.’

Rising from his couch, Festus bowed his head curtly and strode out of the room. Portia could not help smiling, and once he had gone she shook her head and muttered, ‘What is it with men and chariots?’

Marcus shrugged. Despite having lived in the capita! over the last year he had never quite understood the passions evoked by the sight of four teams racing round the Great Circus. He broke off another hunk of bread, dipped it in the fish sauce and began to chew. There was a brief silence as Portia slowly pushed a slice of sausage round her platter with the point of her knife. At length she cleared her throat and spoke without looking up. ‘So, what happened to Lupus?’

Marcus finished chewing and swallowed. ‘As your uncle said, he was killed in an ambush.’

‘I know what he said,’ she replied tersely. ‘I want to know what happened.’

Marcus paused to recollect the ambush before he responded. ‘We were caught in a narrow pass and hopelessly outnumbered. Caesar decided our only hope was in cutting our way through the brigands. So we charged them and escaped. Lupus was bringing up the rear when the avalanche struck.’

‘Avalanche?’

Marcus nodded. ‘It looked like half the mountain was coming down. It fell into the pass and blocked it, burying everyone in its path.’