Master and God by Lindsey Davis Page B

Gracilis had them whimpering. There had been rebellious mutters, comparing his treatment to that of Nero’s intractable general, Corbulo, who took troops who needed hardening up to an icy boot camp in remote Armenia, where several died of exposure and harsh treatment . . .
    Vinius and a few comrades had been watching. They were standing on the edge of the parade ground, letting the straining bunch of new boys know by means of ‘helpful’ comments that their performance did not impress. Vinius had now achieved his own acceptance, so he could enjoy handing out this welcome to newcomers. His scars had faded, but his battered face, once so handsome, was instantly recognisable; he in turn quickly remembered his one-time centurion. When Gracilis concluded the exercise, he called Vinius over.
    Formality was needed in public but once off duty they retired to the privacy of one of many bars near the camp. These were serious places where a capacity for hard drinking was the entry ticket, yet landlords knew they had to keep order or they would be closed down. The whole point of bringing the Praetorians all together in one place, back under the Emperor Tiberius, had been to impose more discipline than when they were originally billeted throughout the city and caused havoc. Guards were now discouraged from mingling with civilians. They had their own social venues. If members of the public accidentally wandered in they were served and no one bothered them, but the atmosphere soon persuaded them to drink up and leave.
    Gracilis and Vinius settled down. Gracilis bought the first round, claiming seniority. They caught up on news. For the centurion this merely consisted of listing his appointments. Vinius had more to say, explaining his sudden move to the Guards and his regret at leaving the vigiles. ‘I really miss being an enquirer. I’m just a face in the ranks now.’
    ‘Investigators work without much supervision?’ This mattered. A centurion’s assistant would have to know his thoughts before he had them, and act on his own initiative.
    ‘Complete independence. I loved it,’ answered Vinius ruefully.
    ‘Were you any good?’
    ‘Shaping up.’
    ‘What was involved?’
    ‘Monitoring undesirables – prostitutes, religious fanatics, philosophers, astrologers. I investigated pilfering at the baths. Crimes in the Forum, domestic disturbances, knife fights in bars, mad dogs, street ambushes at night . . . On a good day,’ he reminisced, ‘I’d have some charming young lady trip in to report a home burglary.’
    ‘I can’t remember – are you single?’ Gracilis noticed Vinius wore a gold ring, but that could mark the equestrian rank he had acquired from his father.
    A distinct shadow crossed the soldier’s scarred face. Vinius was polishing off a bowl of olives, not greedily but throwing them into his mouth with a relentless action that disguised emotion. ‘My wife died – the city epidemic. Our child too.’
    Gracilis could not fully interpret the expression Vinius wore. Arruntia and their young daughter had died very recently. Vinius was still suffering a lot of family blame. One of his aunts, speaking for them all, had attacked him bluntly for not making a home visit when his dependants were sick. His last contact with Arruntia had been a typical blazing row. The next time he showed his face was at the funeral.
    Losing his family had plunged him into guilt and despair. However, other women were disturbingly eager to console him. Foremost was a smart and sassy young matron called Pollia, supposedly his wife’s best friend. She had left her husband so was free to cosy up to the widower; she explained that immediate remarriage was the best way for Vinius to regain his equilibrium. He fell for it. His aunts were disgusted, though Pollia, a subtle operator, made him feel this was expected by everyone.
    I give it two months!
said her mother.
    They lived with Pollia’s mother. Too late, Gaius saw this as a mistake. Guilt