The Eagles Conquest

The last elephant came ashore as the daylight faded, and the ponderous beasts were led away to an enclosure some distance from those of other animals who were afraid of the elephants. As Cato and the remaining legionaries watched them move off with their curious slow, swaying while the transports made way for yet more shipping – this time the smartly painted warships carrying the Emperor's household and entourage. across the gangways spilled the social elite of Rome: patricians in red 'triped togas, their wives in exotic silks and coiffured hair. After them came the lesser nobility, the men in expensive tunics, their wives in respectable stolae. Finally came the baggage, portered across the gangways by scores of slaves carefully supervised by each household's major domo to ensure nothing was broken.

As each household gathered in clusters along the jetty, clerks from the depot's headquarters scunied around searching for names on their lists and escorting their guests to the tented area prepared for them in a fortified enclosure appended to the depot. Few of the new arrivals deigned to look up at the legionaries lining the palisade. For their part the legionaries stared silently, marvelling at the flamboyant wealth of the aristocracy of Rome whose lifestyle depended upon the blood and sweat shed by the men of the legions.

As Cato's eyes drifted over the colourful throng on the jetty, a face in the crowd abruptly turned towards him in a way that instantly drew his attention. He felt his heart thrill inside his chest and was conscious of a rapid quickening of his pulse. His breath stilled as he drank in the long dark hair, held back by combs, the fine dark line of the eyebrows and the heart-shaped face coming to a gentle point at the chin. She was wearing a bright yellow stola that emphasised the slender curves of her body. There was no mistaking her, and he stared dumbstruck, wanting to call out her name but not quite daring to. She turned back to her mistress and continued their conversation.

Thrusting himself away from the palisade, Cato ran down the reverse slope in the direction of the depot's main gate, all the weariness of the past weeks swept from his body at the prospect of holding Lavinia in his arms again.

Chapter Thirty-Six

'Lavinia!' Cato called out as he pushed through the milling bodies of the Emperor's entourage, heedless of the astonished expressions and sharp curses that followed him. Ahead, a short distance off, he saw her a yellow stola flash between a gap in the crowd, and Cato pushed on towards it, calling out again, 'Lavinia!'

She caught the sound of her name and turned her head, searching for the source, and her gaze came to rest on Cato as he brushed between a senator and his wife twenty feet away.

'Cato?'

At Lavinia's side her mistress, the lady Flavia, turned to follow her gaze, Flavia's face broke into a smile as she, too, caught sight of the young man she had first met at the imperial palace ten years earlier. while she had been a minor figure at court, Flavia had taken an interest in the shy boy, and seen to it that he was given access to the palace library, and protected as far as possible from the endemic bullying amongst the imperial slaves. In return Cato had been utterly loyal to her ever since,

'I say!' the senator protested. 'Bloody watch where you're going, young man!'

Cato ignored him and ran the last few paces, arms outstretched as Lavinia's expression broke into a wide-eyed grin of delight. She squealed out a greeting and raised her arms, and an instant later was crushed in his embrace. It lasted only a moment before Cato pulled back, raising his hands to her cheeks, cupping her smooth skin and wondering once more at the dark, piercing beauty of her eyes. She smiled, and then couldn't help laughing at the pure joy of the moment, and he laughed with her.

'Oh Cato! I'd so hoped to see you here.'

'Well, here I am!' He leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth, before his cursed self-consciousness returned and made him aware of the surrounding crowd. He pulled back from her and glanced about. A number of people were staring at them, some in amused surprise, some frowning at the unseemliness of such behaviour in public. The senator was still looking angry. Cato flashed him an apologetic smile, and returned his eyes to Lavinia.

'What-what are you doing here? I thought you were on the way to Rome.'

'We were,' said Flavia, stepping round to one side of the couple. 'We'd just reached Lutetia when I received instructions from Narcissus to return to Gesoriacum and wait for the Emperor.'

'And here we are!' Lavinia concluded happily. Then she looked down and caught sight of the livid scar on his arm. 'Oh no! What happened to you? Are you all right?'

'Of course I'm all right. Just a burn.'

'My poor baby,' Lavinia cooed, and kissed his hand.

'Have you had it treated properly?' asked Flavia as she examined the scar. 'I know what these army quacks are like. I wouldn't trust them to treat a cold.'

The attention was making Cato feel embarrassed and he quickly insisted that all was well – yes, it looked bad, but it was healing; no, there weren't any other injuries; yes, he'd make sure he was more careful in future; no, it wasn't Macro's fault.

'And did you really miss me?' Lavinia concluded quietly, intently watching his expression.

'Do fish live in the sea?' Cato replied, smiling.

'Oh you!' Lavinia punched his chest. 'You could just say yes.'

'Well, yes then. I did. Very much.' Cato kissed her again, automatically ru

Cato shook his head.

'Well then,' Lavinia leaned forward and whispered in his ear, 'we'll have to sort something out a little bit later… '

'Look here,' Flavia intmded. 'I hate to interrupt this distastefully amorous reunion, but a more secluded venue would be appropriate, don't you think?'

The tents provided for the imperial entourage were luxuriously appointed, and for Cato, starved of such a lifestyle for almost a year now, a welcoming reprieve from the rough and ready accommodation of the legions. Lady Flavia, Lavinia and he were sitting on heavy bronze chairs arranged around a low table on which sweet pastries and savouries were artfully arranged on gold platters. Cato sat beside Lavinia, while her mistress sat on the opposite side of the table where the light cast by the oil lamps was dim.

'Nice.' Cato nodded at the ornately decorated snacks, mindful of the battered mess tin waiting for him back in his tent.

'Not mine,' said Flavia. 'My husband disapproves of fripperies. It's part of the service Narcissus has laid on for the Emperor's companions. In case we should get homesick.'

'Rather pretty, aren't they?' Lavinia smiled, flashing her perfect white teeth at Cato. She helped herself to a small filled pastry and bit into it. flakes and crumbs fell down her front and Cato's eyes followed them as her far as her breasts. And then flickered back to her face as he blushed.

'Pretty enough, my dear.' Flavia reached over and deftly flicked the crumbs from her handmaid's stola. 'But they're only snacks when all is said and done. One shouldn't be too concerned with appearances. It's the essence of a thing that matters. Isn't that right, Cato?'

'Yes, my lady.' Cato nodded, wondering why Flavia was attempting to warn him off Lavinia. 'But since the essence of a thing is a matter of conjecture, might we not be better off simply judging by appearances, my lady?'

'Think that if you will.' Flavia shrugged, unimpressed by his glib sophistry. 'But life will be a harsh teacher if you persist in such a view.' Cato nodded. He disagreed with her but was keen not to risk disturbing the happy ambience of their reunion. 'Might I have some more wine, my lady?'