LITMIR.BIZ

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are many bathhouses in Rome, my friend, but this particular one offers one other additional service.’ Septimus smiled as a goblet of wine was placed in his hand.

      The two women moved quickly and efficiently around the room, bringing food and wine at every summons, and their light and carefree conversation instantly put the men at ease. Within thirty minutes Atticus was consumed by an overwhelming sense of wellbeing and his mind, fogged by the numbing effect of wine, drank in the hushed feminine tones that seemed to fill the air. He raised his goblet to have it refilled, but this time it was taken from him and he was led from the bath by one of the young women to a small room off the tepidarium chamber. She quietly closed the door and turned to Atticus, slipping off her tunic as she did so. Atticus gasped involuntarily, her beauty and the potent aphrodisiac of youth combining to stir his desire. He became awkward in his haste, but the experienced young woman immediately took the lead and she guided him to a low cot in the corner of the room. She stroked his upper body and wound her fingers through the dense hair of his chest, skilfully controlling his desire before laying him down and straddling him, allowing him to relax completely, her movements slow and hypnotic.

      Afterwards the two lay entwined on the cot, her hands once more gently caressing his body with languid strokes. Atticus had never felt so sated and he drifted off into a deep sleep, every outside thought banished from his mind and the world beyond the walls of the bathhouse forgotten for the night.

      Septimus arched his back to stretch the muscles in his spine as he walked through the busy streets of Rome. They had both risen at dawn, both finding themselves alone in their respective rooms in the bathhouse. After dressing, Septimus had bidden a farewell to the woman who had first greeted them – with promises of a return – and they had walked, once more, out onto the bustling streets. Atticus could scarcely believe that the serene world of the bathhouse existed behind the walls of the building he had just left, so different from the dilapidated, frantic streets surrounding it, and the thought sobered him as they walked the short distance to the Forum Magnum, stopping a street vendor to buy some food, their appetites sharpened by the remains of the wine in their stomachs. They continued on in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

      ‘Just beyond this next street …’ Septimus said, suddenly breaking the quiet between them, returning their attention to the bustling activity all around.

      ‘What?’ Atticus replied, dragging his thoughts back to the moment.

      ‘… My home,’ Septimus smiled. ‘It’s just beyond this next street.’

      Atticus noticed his friend’s pace increase at the mention of his home and he adjusted his stride to match. The equestrian middle-class Caelian quarter was a world apart from the narrow streets and soaring apartment blocks of the poorer quarter and Atticus couldn’t help marking the differences in his mind.

      ‘Who’ll be home?’ he asked, realizing that in the ten months he had known Septimus they had never before discussed his family.

      ‘As far as I know, everyone, although I haven’t been home in over two years, so my parents and two older brothers will be there … and my younger sister will probably be at home.’

      Atticus noticed that Septimus’s face became solemn at the mention of his sister before his smile returned anew, and Atticus was left wondering what the family would look like: the women probably dark-featured like Septimus, and the men older versions of him.

      The streets passed quickly under their feet and before long they reached the entrance to the house, a modest stout wooden gate set into the whitewashed stone wall that ran along both sides of the residential area. A small tablet beside the door was marked with the family name ‘Capito’. Septimus banged on the door and stood back to wait. He was about to knock again when the gate opened abruptly and the arched entrance was framed by a man who stood with arms akimbo, his gaze intense, his chin thrust forward at the sight of unexpected visitors. The moment of recognition was marked by the man’s arms falling to his side and his face bursting into a happy smile.

      ‘By the gods … Septimus!’

      ‘Domitian,’ Septimus smiled, glad to see the senior servant of the house, a man he had known since childhood.

      The servant stood for a second before turning to run into the house to announce the unexpected return.

      As Septimus led them into the small courtyard, Atticus surveyed the simple, unadorned whitewashed walls of the interior building. To the left stood a small stable-house and two-storey barn, its open doors revealing the heaped straw and bags of grain within. Directly in front of them was the main family residence, again two storeys tall with shuttered windows opened across its broad front. In the centre stood the main door and, as they approached, Atticus could hear the shouts of delight within the house as news of Septimus’s return spread.

      Suddenly an older woman rushed out through the door towards them. She was tall and slim and her features were high, almost regal. She was dark, as Atticus had suspected, with large hazel eyes and black flowing hair. The woman wrapped her arms around Septimus and kissed him on the cheek, her delight at the return of her youngest son evident in the tears forming at the edges of her eyes.

      ‘Oh Septimus,’ she said, close to tears, ‘welcome home. Welcome home.’

      Septimus broke the embrace, embarrassed by the overt display of affection in front of Atticus. The captain could only smile. Beyond the trio, an older man appeared, and Atticus instantly knew it was his friend’s father. The resemblance was striking, the same broad build, the same unruly black hair, but Septimus’s father also had a vicious scar on the left side of his face, running from his forehead to his cheek, cutting through the eye, which had turned opaque and milky white. But for the injury, he was Septimus in twenty years’ time.

      Septimus shook his father’s hand warmly, legionary style, with hands gripping forearms.

      ‘Welcome home, son,’ the older man said, his voice deep and hoarse.

      ‘It’s good to be home, father,’ Septimus replied, standing tall before his father as he would before a senior officer.

      ‘Those markings on your armour,’ his father continued, his hand touching Septimus’s breast-plate, ‘are those the insignia of the marines?’

      ‘Of a marine centurion,’ Septimus replied proudly, this visit marking the first time he had stood before his father as a centurion, the same rank his father had achieved in the Ninth.

      ‘A marine centurion,’ the older man said dismissively, as if the first word sullied the second. ‘Better an optio in the Ninth where your rank commanded some respect.’

      ‘There is no dishonour in commanding the marines,’ Septimus countered, but his father ended the argument with a wave, his attention turning to Atticus, leaving Septimus with no choice but to introduce his friend.

      ‘Father, mother, this is the captain of the Aquila, Atticus Milonius Perennis, and Atticus, this is Antoninus and Salonina,’ Septimus said, indicating in turn his father and mother.

      Atticus nodded a greeting to Salonina before shaking Antoninus’s hand. The grip was hard and firm, the underlying strength of the man evident in the simple gesture.

      ‘Milonius … Greek?’ Antoninus asked, his expression inscrutable.

      ‘Yes,’ Atticus answered warily, ‘from Locri.’

      Antoninus nodded slowly, maintaining his grip on Atticus’s arm, his gaze penetrating, the handshake only breaking when Salonina turned and beckoned them all to follow through the main door. Beyond was the atrium, similar in design to the one at Scipio’s house, but more basic, the surrounding pillars plain and unembellished, the central pool simple and untiled. The group walked around the atrium and entered the room beyond, the triclinium, the main dining room of the house. A table stood in the centre of the room, flanked by three couches; the fourth side opened towards the kitchen door, through which slaves were ferrying fresh fruit and bread. The group sat down, with the father taking the head of the table with his wife to his right and Atticus and Septimus occupying

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