Chapter Three

The former general, Appius, sat on the balcony, enjoying the sunshine and the distant view of the sea. From the walled garden below the scent of jasmine drifted up to him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost believe he was back in his own home, overlooking the harbour of Cressia and the white cliffs of Dara Island. Appius sighed, his good humour evaporating.

This poorly constructed house, with its creaking timbers and draughts, was not his home. Accia was a frontier settlement, and the attempts by the outcasts to make the Stone settlement even a rough copy of the home city were almost pathetic. The houses were timber-built, and merely dressed with stone and plaster. The roads – save for the open area outside the Council building – were not paved, and there were no playhouses, theatres or arenas. The one bathhouse was still uncompleted – the funds having been delayed – and the race track boasted no seating.

The residents were the flotsam and jetsam of Stone society: corrupt politicians, exiled merchants, or criminals escaping justice. Even the three hundred soldiers stationed here were rejects, governed by officers who had committed some breach of discipline or were otherwise out of favour.

In the twenty-four hours Appius had been in the house of Barus he had already been visited by two disgraced citizens, the merchant Macrios – accused of bribery and fraudulent dealings – and Banyon, the former senator – whose nepotistic behaviour had been the talk of Stone. He had greeted them courteously, accepted their welcomes graciously, then bid them good day.

It hurt the pride of the old soldier that he was now one of them, a man living in disgrace in a frontier town, far from civilization. He wondered if they looked at him in the same way he viewed them. Did they wonder what grubby crime he had committed to be banished here? Appius shuddered inwardly. All his life he had fought to be a man of honour and dignity. He had never accepted a brass coin in bribes from merchants anxious to supply his Panther regiments. Not once in his adult life had he acted in petty jealousy, greed, or envy. Yet here he was, living among criminals and runaways in a shoddy replica of a Stone city. The plaster of the balcony balustrade was already cracking, and flakes had fallen to the terracotta tiles of the floor. He gazed out over the settlement. From here some of the houses seemed almost habitable, but he knew if he approached them he would see the same poor workmanship.

Spinning on his heel the old soldier strode back into the main room. The furniture, three couches and four deep chairs, had all been shipped from Stone, and their quality only made worse the contrast with the badly plastered walls and clumsily wrought ceiling. But then what carpenter or stonemason worth his salt would want to live here? he thought.