The Imperial Banner by Nick Brown

fingernails and the faint whiff of sweat, Cassius might have found her rather attractive. She ran a finger along his forearm.
    ‘I’m Sabina. What’s your name?’
    ‘Cassius.’
    Thanks to one of his more free-spirited uncles, Cassius had a little experience of such hostelries; and the girls who worked there. He was certain she would offer more than table service if the price was right. Sabina brushed her left breast against him.
    ‘You smell nice, Cassius. And I like your hair.’
    ‘I’m sure I look a complete mess. I’ve been on the move since breakfast.’
    ‘You look fine to me.’
    Despite a pang of guilt about what his mother would say if she could see him, Cassius admitted to himself that it was rather nice to have a little female company.
    ‘How tall are you?’ asked Sabina.
    He shrugged. ‘Tall.’
    Over her shoulder, Cassius noted one of the auxiliaries nudge his friend. The second man looked annoyed.
    ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘I gave you a good tip. Now you run off and leave me.’
    Sabina rolled her eyes and spoke without turning round. ‘That was an hour ago!’
    ‘Get back here, you cheeky cow, or you’ll not get another!’
    Cassius moved his head forward so that the Celt couldn’t see him speak. ‘And people say northerners are coarse . . .’
    Sabina giggled and ran a hand across his knee.
    ‘What’s that?’ demanded the auxiliary.
    Cassius leaned back and kept a straight face as he took another sip of wine.
    ‘Not bad this,’ he said, holding up the glass to Telesinus.
    ‘You’d best hurry, girl!’ shouted the Celt.
    Cassius removed Sabina’s hand from his leg and nodded towards the auxiliaries. ‘Perhaps you better—’
    ‘I’m staying here!’ she yelled, spinning round and placing a defiant hand on her hip. ‘Where I can talk to this nice
Roman
!’
    The Celt, whose chiselled features were surrounded by an unruly tangle of sandy hair, glared at her.
    Cassius caught his eye, then shrugged.
    ‘Pah!’ With a dismissive wave, the Celt turned back to the table and refilled his mug.
    Sabina smiled gleefully. ‘Good. Now we can talk. Will you buy me a lemon water?’
    ‘Very well.’
    Sabina leaned over the bar and ordered it. ‘Honey too, please.’
    Telesinus reached for a clean glass.
    Cassius nodded towards the Celts again. ‘Looks like he’s given up. You know these bowmen have remarkably strong wrists. I suppose if he can’t find any pleasure with you, one of his friends can oblige.’
    Sabina’s throaty laugh was so obviously tinged with mockery that Cassius knew instantly he had made a mistake.
    Stool legs screeched as the Celt sprang to his feet.
    ‘What was that?’ he demanded, striding towards the bar. ‘What did you say, Roman?’
    ‘Calm down, Estan,’ said Telesinus.
    Cassius turned to the Celt, who had stopped a yard away. He really was quite large: as tall as Cassius, with a remarkably sturdy chest and a thick neck. Intricate, dark green tattoos snaked up his forearms.
    ‘You said something about me. Admit it.’
    ‘Not I,’ Cassius said, with what he hoped was an appeasing grin. ‘Please, let me buy you a drink.’
    Estan hunched forward, eyes locked on Cassius. ‘Tell me what you said.’
    ‘Just a common joke: there’s a Greek, a Carthaginian and a—’
    The Celt poked Sabina in the shoulder. ‘You tell me.’
    ‘Why should I?’
    Estan plucked a silver denarius from a bag attached to his belt and held it up to the girl’s face. The other Celts and the serving girls had gathered behind him. Even the six drunks had quietened down. Sabina looked at the coin, then back at Cassius.
    ‘Don’t,’ he said.
    ‘Keep your mouth shut, girl,’ warned Telesinus, walking around the end of the bar.
    Sabina shrugged and took the coin. Then she told the Celt what Cassius had said.
    The dark auxiliaries erupted into a fit of hysterics.
    ‘You silly little bitch,’ Cassius snapped.
    Estan breathed in sharply through his nostrils and raised himself to