decoration on the walls. When he had laid down the plans for the great new theatre complex that he had bequeathed to the city, he had had the foresight to add a luxurious new townhouse beside it to replace his old, plain and small home, but now he was having second thoughts about his new residence. To have common plebs running shops in the front may well be a common, profitable and space-saving practice in busy cities, but he should have stipulated that the entire block was to be self-contained as his property alone. Even though the house was so new that it still smelled of paint and plaster, he could almost hear the chattering and busyness of the future tenants of the two shops that flanked his front door. Maybe he should forego the rent they would net him and simply seal them up, knocking through a door inside?
The great general stopped, his finger tapping his lip, his head tilted to one side.
He could hear people and activity in the left-hand of the two shops; it had not just been his imagination.
His jaw set in an angry fashion and he turned, striding back into the atrium where a surprised Julia raised an eyebrow at his expression.
"Something amiss, husband?"
"Someone's playing silly buggers in the empty shops out front." Raising his voice so that it could be heard through the peristyle and in the slave and servant quarters out to the back of the complex, he bellowed "Artorius?" - the name of the chief of his household security.
Within moments the stocky Sabine with a broken nose and scarred face appeared through the open doorway, three of his men at his heels. Artorius knew his master's moods and what his various tones of voice indicated, and that sharp command has suggested the need for muscled men.
"Dominus?"
"Come with me."
As the five men strode from the atrium towards the front door, Julia smiled a weary smile. "Do be careful, Gnaeus. You're not as young as you seem to think."
Pompey ignored the well-intended jibe and paused at the freshly-painted, bronze studded door, allowing Artorius to grasp the handle with its ornate lion head and swing the wooden leaf inwards. Inwardly acknowledging his wife's gentle reminder, he forced himself not to storm angrily out front before his men and waited until Artorius and two guards walked out, following them, with the last man taking up the rear place.
The street outside was as quiet as this region ever got during the daytime, with a few street sellers, the requisite number of beggars and whores, and the general populace going about their business. At this particular moment, however, their business seemed to be 'watching the front of the house of Pompey'. The general growled in irritation at the crowd of spectators that had paused and were observing his house.
Giving them but a moment's notice, he turned to see what had drawn their attention and his ire rose all the more.
While the house of Pompey was complete and freshly decorated, the two unoccupied stores that formed the frontage were still in the final stages of construction, their walls part plastered, the fronts still partly-bricked and partially still mere skeletal wooden structures.
The right-hand shop as he looked back towards his door was already near destroyed.
Three figures raged and fought around the small space, smashing wooden clubs into fresh plaster, waving knives, and shaking the timber frontage so that the tiles on the roof rattled. Two more combatants lay on the floor, plainly unconscious - possibly deceased.
Even as Pompey stared at the debacle, his face burning with anger, the larger, central figure managed to bring the odds closer, gripping one of his opponents by the shoulders and running him physically across the room, smashing his crown into the wall, behind which - in the general's house - stood the shelf that held the flowers Atia had sent. He could picture the ornate glass vase falling and smashing on the floor of his atrium.
Time after time his loved ones had warned Pompey about his
Learning to Kill: Stories