Free The Blood Crows (Roman Legion 12) by Simon Scarrow

that seems to come through the door.’
    Portia raised her cup half-heartedly. ‘It would be more of a success if some of the trade actually stayed for a drink.’
    Cato glanced into the dregs of his cup. ‘Or even bought a round or two.’
    ‘So where are these troublemakers, then?’ a voice called out from the direction of the counter and Cato turned to see a burly, grey-haired man emerge from the door leading to the storeroom. The serving girl anxiously peered round from behind his back. The innkeeper glanced round the room where his customers were drinking peacefully, then turned on the serving girl. ‘Well?’
    She flinched back towards the door and he cuffed her hard about the head. ‘Stop wasting my time, you stupid bitch! Get in there and stoke up the cooking fire!’
    The girl reeled from the blow and then hunched down and scurried away to do her master’s bidding.
    Cato nodded towards the man. ‘The owner, and vendor, of the inn, I take it?’
    ‘That’s him.’ Portia beckoned to the innkeeper when she caught his eye. ‘Time, I think, to settle the deal, now that my dear son has agreed to invest in my new business.’
    ‘Invest?’ Macro echoed wryly. ‘It feels more like I’ve been mugged.’
    Portia ignored her grumpy son and smiled as the innkeeper made his way over to their table. He moved with the self-assurance of one who was used to command and did not tolerate any subordinate who caused even the least bit of trouble. His hair was thinning but the well-toned physique that had seen him through many a battle was still there. Cato had little doubt that he could swiftly sort out any customers who got out of hand on his premises. As he came close enough for his features to be clearly recognisable, Cato gave a small start of surprise and then called out a greeting.
    ‘Centurion Gaius Tullius!’
    The innkeeper slowed his pace and squinted at his customers, then his expression changed abruptly and he beamed happily.
    ‘Bugger me, if it ain’t Cato and Macro! What on earth are you two doing here? Thought the Second Legion had seen the back of you years ago.’
    ‘So it had.’ Macro grinned. ‘But it seems like you lads have been having a little difficulty with the locals and need to call on the services of some real soldiers to sort ’em out.’
    ‘Ah, get away with you!’ Tullis swatted Macro on the shoulder. ‘We managed well enough without you two troublemakers. Anyway, this is a turn-up, and I’m always glad to see old comrades. The gods know there are few enough of us about.’ He turned to Portia. ‘Oh, it’s you, ma’am. You with them?’ He winked. ‘Or are they with you?’
    Portia regarded him coolly. ‘If that’s supposed to be amusing, then I fail to see why. As it happens, Centurion Macro is my son.’
    Tullius turned to stare at Macro with a look of astonishment. ‘You have a mother?’
    He pulled up a stool and sat down. ‘Tullia!’ he shouted. ‘Bring another jar of wine. The good stuff! Wait . . . That Gaulish stuff’ll do! Anyway, what’s the story, lads? How come you’re back in this shithole? Can’t be because you like the weather.’
    ‘Shithole?’ Portia fixed him with a stare. ‘Is that why you’re selling up? I might have to knock a thousand or two off the price.’
    Tullius dipped his head in acknowledgement of his clumsy remark. ‘I’m selling up because I want to retire to some place warm in Campania, miss. There’s nothing really wrong with Londinium. There’s good money to be made here. I’m hardly likely to try and put one over the dear old mother of one of my former comrades in arms, am I? Besides,’ his tone hardened slightly, ‘I thought we made a deal.’
    ‘No. I made an offer. You said you’d think about it. And now, I’m having a rethink about the offer I made, in view of your eagerness to sell. I think nine thousand is a more reasonable price.’
    Tullius could not hide his surprise at the sharpness of her tone. ‘Fuck me,