written a note explaining why you’re doing it in order to obviate any responsibility that might cling to myself and my colleagues. You can slit your wrists if you like, we’ve all the time needed to make sure you do the job right. Or perhaps a swift-acting poison would suit you better? I’m sure you’ve something suitable in your medicine pots. So, either you choose, or I will.’
He looked down at the doctor in silence for a moment.
‘Making sure that you’re dead before we leave isn’t going to do the lady’s husband much good, obviously, since it won’t bring her back, but it will stop him brooding on yet another person he needs to bring to bloody justice. It’s a long enough list without adding your name to it. And besides, nobody wants to spend the rest of their short span of days looking over their shoulder for the man who’ll end it for them, do they? Were you to have avoided death today you’d only have spent the rest of what’s left of your life dying small deaths a dozen times a day, every time someone caught your eye or jostled you in the street. This way really is so much kinder. So, what’s it going to be, Doctor?’
Scaurus took a sideways look at his subordinate as the two men sat waiting for their summons into the imperial chamberlain’s presence. Marcus kept his gaze fixed on the mural on the room’s far side, the painted figures illuminated by the soft glow of the late afternoon sun through a window above their heads, his lips twitching into a humourless half smile.
‘Don’t worry, Legatus. I’m not going to tear Marcus Aurelius Cleander’s throat out. Not today.’
The older man returned his own stare to the painting before them, grimacing at the artist’s representation of two lines of men facing off across an open piece of ground with half a dozen bodies strewn between the two forces.
‘I’ve often wondered just who advises these artists as to what happens in a battle. Anyone who’s never served the empire could go away with the impression that it’s a big game of push and shove, and that we all walk away afterwards.’
The two men stared at the bloodless scene in silence until Marcus turned his head to look at his superior.
‘Cotta told me what you did to Felicia’s doctor this morning …’
Scaurus shrugged, his smile bleak.
‘Disappointed you weren’t there to watch him die? We all take revenge in our own ways, and I knew that mine was likely to be a good deal more subtle than yours, and less likely to invite the attention of the city authorities. Whether we like it or not, our only outward reaction to this outrage has to be one of stoic acceptance of the fates that the gods visit upon us. And besides, your wife was a friend of mine too.’
A tunic-clad slave crossed the chamber and stopped before them with a bow.
‘The Chamberlain will see you now, gentlemen. Please follow me.’
As he led them towards the door that led into Cleander’s office, he spoke softly over his shoulder, a hint of caution in his voice.
‘I gather you’ve been away for a year, Legatus, in which case I should advise you that the chamberlain has come to favour open shows of respect in his audiences with supplicants such as yourselves. A bow, perhaps, or—’
Scaurus nodded tersely.
‘The power does it to them all, given enough time. And I do not consider myself to be that man’s supplicant …’
Ignoring the slave’s raised eyebrow, he led Marcus into the audience chamber past a pair of armed Praetorians who closed the doors behind them. Seated before them, on the far side of a desk large enough to have served as a bed for two people given a mattress, the imperial chamberlain was writing on a sheet of paper, intent on the words he was inking onto the smooth, pale surface. He spoke without looking up, the quill tracking across the silky smooth surface without interruption.
‘One moment, gentlemen.’
Scaurus stared hard at him for a moment before snapping to attention, his
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