175360.fb2 Roman blood - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 29

Roman blood - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 29

'She's a beautiful animal.' He looked at Vespa with a farm boy's admiration.

'So,' I said, 'you come from Ameria?'

'Nearby. Just outside the town, at the foot of the hill.'

'Perhaps you could tell me how to find the home of Sextus Roscius.'

'Well, yes. Except that Sextus Roscius doesn't live there any more.'

'You mean the old man?'

'Oh, the one who was murdered? If that's who you're looking for, you'll find what's left of him in the family cemetery. He never lived in Ameria that I knew of, not since I was born.'

'No, not the old man; the son.'

'He used to live near my father's place, if you mean the one with the two daughters.'

'Yes, he has a daughter about your age; a very pretty girl.'

The lad grinned. 'Very pretty. And very friendly.' He arched his eyebrows in an effort to look worldly. The image of Roscia's naked body flashed through my mind. I saw her pressed against the wall, wilted with satisfaction, with Tiro on his knees before her. Perhaps Tiro had hot been the first.

'Tell me how to find his house,' I said.

He shrugged. 'I can tell you how to find it, but as I said, it's not his any more. They drove Sextus Roscius out.'

'When?'

'About two months ago.' 'And why was that?'

'The law, laid down from Rome. His father had been proscribed. Do you know what that means?' 'Only too well.'

He drew a finger across his throat. 'And then they take all your land and all your money. They don't leave the family a thing. There was some auction held down in Rome. My father said he wouldn't mind bidding on some of the land, especially the parcels next to ours. But he said it wouldn't serve any use. The auctions are always rigged. You have to be a friend of a friend of Sulla's, or else know the right man to bribe.'

Twice now I had been told the proscription story. It made no sense, but if it was true it would surely be a simple matter to prove Sextus Roscius innocent of his father's death.

'Tell me then, who lives there now?'

'Old Man Capito. Bought up the family house and some of the best farmland. My father spat on the ground when he heard he was going to be our new neighbour. All through the winter Capito allowed Sextus and his family to stay on. People thought that was only right, that Capito should take pity on him. Then he kicked them out for good.'

'And did no one take them in? Surely Sextus Roscius had friends who owed him some obligation.'

'You'd be surprised how fast a man can lose his friends when there's trouble from Rome; that's what my father says. Besides, Roscius was always a loner; I can't say that he seemed to have many friends. I suppose my father was the closest to a friend he had, us being neighbours and all. After Capito kicked him out, he spent a few nights under our roof. He and his wife and daughters.' The boy's voice trailed off, and I saw from his eyes that he was thinking of Roscia. 'But he didn't stay in Ameria for long. He headed straight for Rome. They say the old man had a powerful patroness, and Sextus was going to ask her for help.'

We rode on for a moment in silence. The wheels of the ox cart creaked and banged against the rutted road. The slaves trudged alongside. 'You told me the old man was proscribed,' I said.

'Yes.'

'And when that was announced, did no one protest?'

'Oh, yes. There was a delegation sent to Sulla and everything. But if you really want to know about that, you'd have to talk to my father.'

'What is your father's name?'

'Titus Megarus. I'm Lucius Megarus.'

'And my name is Gordianus. Yes, I'd like very much to speak with your father. Tell me, how do you think he would take it if you were to bring a well-met stranger home to dinner?'

The boy was suddenly wary. 'I think it might all depend.' 'On what?'

'From the way you talk, you've got some sort of interest in Capito and his land.' 'I do.'

'And whose side are you on?'

'I am for Sextus and against Capito.'

'Then I believe my father would be happy to see you.'

'Good. How much farther is your house?'

'Do you see that plume of smoke on the right, just over those trees? That's it.'

'Very close. And where is Capito's place?'

'A bit farther on, on the other side of the main road, to your left. We'll be able to glimpse the roof for a moment when we come around this corner.'

‘Very well. Do this for me: when you get home, tell your father that a man from Rome would like to speak with him tonight. Tell him I'm a friend of Sextus Roscius. I would wait until morning, but I haven't the time. If he could invite me to his table, I would be most grateful If I could sleep under your roof I would be doubly so; a stall in the barn would suffice. Would he be insulted if I were to offer money?'

'Probably.'

'Then I won't. This is where we part for a while.' As we rounded the bend I caught a glimpse through the trees of lowering sunlight on a distant red tile roof.

'Where are you going?'

'I'm going to drop in briefly on your new neighbour. There's probably no point in it, but I want at least to have a look at the place, and maybe at the man himself' I gave the boy a wave, then coaxed Vespa to a steady trot.

The house in which Sextus Roscius the younger had been born and raised and over which he had ruled in his father's absence was a grand example of the ideal country villa, an imposing mansion of two storeys with a red clay roof surrounded by a rust assemblage of sheds and bams. In the dwindling light I heard the ringing of cowbells and the bleating of sheep as the herds were led homeward. Workers were tramping in from the fields through the grape arbours; a long row of scythes seemed to float above a sea of leaves and tendrils. The sharp blades caught the last rays of the setting sun and gave off a cold sparkle the colour of blood.

The main house was in the midst of extensive renovations. A network of catwalks and netting obscured the facade, and symmetrical wings were being built onto each side. The new wings stood hollow and gaping in a state of half-completion. Peering through the skeleton of the left wing, I could see the beginnings of a formal garden behind the house, where a red-faced fighting cock of a man strode impatiently amid the earthworks and trellises, barking commands at a group of slaves. The slaves leaned upon their shovels and fingered their spades, wearing on their dirt-streaked faces the bored, humiliated expression of men who have been yelled at for a very long time.

The master continued to rant with no sign of stopping. He paced back and forth, waving his arms and strangling fistfuls of air. He was a man on the brink of old age, with white hair and a bent back. I could see his face only in glimpses as he turned back and forth. His skin was very weathered, pitted and scarred. Nose, cheeks, and chin all seemed to merge without distinction. Only his eyes were notable, glinting sharply in the fading light like the blades of the faraway scythes.

I dismounted and held Vespa's rein while I rapped at the door. The tall, thin slave who answered stared meekly at my feet and told me in a cowed whisper that his master was busy outside the house.

'I know,' I said. 'I saw him putting on a parade in the garden. But it's not your master I want.'

'No? I'm afraid my mistress is also indisposed.' The slave looked up, but not quite high enough to meet my eyes.

'Tell me, how long have you been Capito's slave?'