Free Hero of Rome by Douglas Jackson Page A

man.’ Despite himself, Valerius was impressed. He considered the Celts rough tribesmen. A martial race of hut dwellers. Yet here was a Briton who had adopted Roman ways and already contributed to the new society that a Roman Britain would become.
    ‘Fortunate?’ Petronius gave a quiet belch. ‘He has a villa on his farm on the hill yonder,’ he waved a hand in the vague direction of the river, ‘and he owns property in town. So, yes, I suppose he could be called rich.’ He smiled and turned towards the neighbour on his left, leaving Valerius to study the figure across the table.
    The appellation ‘portly’ could have been coined for Lucullus, but he carried his bulk in a way that told you he took pride in it; that it was, in some way, a measure of his success and position in life. He was short and rounded, with a fringe of mousy hair which circled the back of his head like an untidy laurel wreath. Valerius noted that he shaved his face in the Roman fashion, yet it shouted out that it would never be complete without the moustache his people habitually wore. Lucullus met his eyes and raised his cup in salute. His smile took on a sad, almost resigned aspect. Valerius had seen the look before in clients he had represented in minor court cases – the clients who inevitably lost. In that instant something like pity replaced the natural disdain he felt for the Trinovante. He raised his own cup in reply and wondered what Lucullus was thinking. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.
    ‘You must come and visit my estate,’ the little man offered loftily in a clipped, unnatural Latin which had a curious singsong lilt. ‘The hunting is good. No? You are not a hunter, then? Perhaps a man of culture. I have many fine pieces – from Rome itself, and even from Aegyptus. The man who painted these walls painted my own. I have a copy of the surrender in my atrium .’
    Valerius knew he should decline the offer, but a beautiful face flashed into his head. She would be there, and this time she wouldn’t be able to run away. ‘If my duties permit it I would be happy to visit you.’ He became aware of a change in the atmosphere, as if a shutter had been opened to allow in the sun. The fixed smile disappeared and a different Lucullus emerged; a Lucullus whose eyes twinkled with surprise and genuine pleasure. ‘My estate manager will arrange it, then.’
    For the rest of the meal, Valerius found himself the hub of attention for the members of the ordo . Was it true that his soldiers were to waste their time building roads when they had so much to complete in Colonia? How did he think the town compared with Londinium? What was the latest news from Rome? There was a rumour that Burrus might be out of favour. Had he heard the druids were returning? It was true: Corvinus had it from a trader, who had it from a merchant, who had it from a customer, who had it from …
    He fended off the questions with polite, harmless non-answers until Falco concluded the proceedings. The banquet broke up with men leaving in pairs, one or two clinging to each other as a result of the effects of the wine. Valerius was surprised to see Lucullus walk out deep in conversation with Petronius.
    Falco insisted on accompanying him back to the camp. ‘Then I will guide you to the townhouse where you will stay while you are with us. It is owned by Lucullus, and very comfortable, but the ordo will provide the slaves. Better to be spied on by a Roman, eh?’ He laughed.
    ‘I thought your charter denied the Celts the right to own property in the town?’
    Falco gave him a sideways look. ‘The charter was drawn up in different times. Much has changed. It is true that technically no Briton should own property here, but if a man has money there are ways such technicalities can be circumvented. Third party agreements, for instance.’
    ‘And who would the third party be in this case?’ Valerius knew he was pushing the boundaries of their short acquaintance, but