Free The Black Stone by Nick Brown Page A

little smile. ‘Absolutely – it means to be certain. Like a pledge or promise.’
    ‘It does.’
    ‘That’s what you said about the contest. You said you’d be there. Absolutely.’
    He stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
    ‘Indavara …’
    As Cassius flicked the rest of his wine into the fire, he heard the front door slam.
    The theatre was only a quarter full, which still amounted to over a thousand people. The steeply angled tiers of seating were arranged in a semicircle facing the stage. Most of the bowl-like structure was composed of the local black basalt but the colonnaded front was pale limestone, which helped the stage stand out in the gloomy dusk. There had been a brief, light rainshower earlier in the day but that was unusual for the season and unlikely to be repeated. Dozens of torches and lanterns were alight, shrouding the place in a greasy glow.
    ‘How about here?’ said Lepida as they walked down the central aisle. She was pointing at some empty seats to the right, about ten rows back. They would be close enough to hear the performance but also able to talk if they wished.
    ‘Fine with me,’ said Cassius. ‘Miss?’
    Helena gave a polite nod. She had said little on the walk over and Cassius guessed he would have to play the gentleman to make any progress. But – after what had been a fairly taxing day – he wasn’t actually sure he could be bothered. It was all very well messing around with tavern girls but relationships of any kind with young ladies were fraught with difficulty. It was hard to get your hands on them without at least hinting at the prospect of marriage and that was the last thing on Cassius’s mind. A bit of kissing and groping was usually as far as it would go, unless you got very lucky.
    He waited for his companions to sit down, then did so himself, careful to ruffle his cloak up under him. The ladies, of course, both had cushions with them, once again reminding Cassius how much he needed Simo. No one would bat an eyelid at a servant carrying a cushion for his master but an army officer simply couldn’t be seen with one, so he would have to contend with a cold backside for the evening. He had, however, remembered to wear an under-tunic, and the thick, woollen cloak would help too. The ladies were both in hooded capes and long stola that reached down to their ankles.
    ‘Lucky me,’ he said, ‘a thorn between two flowers.’
    Lepida moved in immediately, her left breast against his arm, the haze of perfume engulfing him. Cassius was glad she was sitting to the right – he wouldn’t have to look at that ghastly mole. During their last trip to the theatre, her hand had wandered up his tunic and he’d had to be quite forceful to fight her off. But tonight, with the fading light to cover them, he fancied he might not resist. The theatre had one notable advantage over other forms of entertainment; it was one of the few places where men and women were permitted to sit together.
    ‘Ah, I do love that scent,’ he said.
    Down on the stage, a lad was sprinkling saffron water: a long-standing theatrical tradition that could have unfortunate consequences – few actors managed to get through their career without an embarrassing fall or two.
    Lepida leaned forward to address her cousin. ‘Officer Corbulo did some acting as a youth.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘An ignoble profession, of course,’ said Cassius. ‘But I must admit I did enjoy it at times.’
    He stifled a grin – the main source of enjoyment had been the dressing up and spying on girls getting changed.
    Lepida continued: ‘He also has a remarkable memory for poetry.’
    ‘Please, Mistress,’ said Cassius, ‘you’re embarrassing me.’
    Fortunately, the play was about to begin and a corpulent actor in a green tunic had just appeared on the stage. Behind him was the first set; several screens decorated to resemble a forest. The actor held both hands high.
    ‘Pray, silence!’
    The hum of muted conversation died