Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “Centurion, would you care to wager on what the first thing I intend to do is once we meet my brother and make the necessary arrangements?”

  His tone as much as the words made me chuckle, but I demurred. “No, I think I have a fairly good idea what it will be. Now,” I nudged him in the ribs, “as far as the second? I think I have an idea about that as well.”

  He laughed, but then we were pulling up to the dock, and as the crewman brought us alongside, I realized we had not discussed how this was going to work, but when Ivomagus was the first to move and hop onto the dock, I made no attempt to stop him. Instead, I followed him, choosing to stand there as Ivomagus approached his brother. The pair of them stood there, looking at each other for what seemed to be a long time but was probably no more than one or two heartbeats before they practically threw themselves together, wrapping their arms around each other as Ivomagus, being a bit shorter, buried his head in his brother’s shoulder. Even if I could have understood them, I think they would have been unintelligible because of the way they babbled at the same time, and just as the first time they laid eyes on each other moments before, it was a moving scene, and it was quite loud. Women were wailing, and there were men who were openly weeping at the sight, and I do not believe I have ever felt more awkward than I felt during that moment. Motius was standing beside me, and I could sense him shifting uncomfortably as we were temporarily forgotten. Then Cogidubnus said something that made Ivomagus laugh, and he turned to address me loudly enough for me to hear.

  “My brother just made the same complaint that you did, Centurion! He says I stink so badly, it is making his eyes water!” It was neatly done, and it gave me a glimpse into their relationship, as the younger brother offered me, a stranger and potential enemy, an excuse for the tears streaming down the face of the Parisii king. Ivomagus also used it as the appropriate moment to introduce us, beckoning to me to approach, which I did, and there was a moment where Ivomagus was turned towards me and could not see his brother’s eyes, although I could because we were looking directly at each other, and there was nothing friendly there in his gaze. Naturally, I had worn my full uniform, including my decorations, which Alex had polished the night before in anticipation of this meeting, along with applying more dye to my red crest that signifies my rank as a Pilus Prior, but I had decided to leave the vitus behind, deciding that it would have no meaning on non-Romans, especially those with such limited contact with us.

  “Centurion Pullus,” Ivomagus began, stepping out of the way so we were facing each other, “this is my brother Cogidubnus, King of the Parisii.” Turning to his brother, he rattled off some gibberish, of which I only understood my rank and name as he indicated me with a hand.

  I instantly understood that, as awkward as it felt a moment earlier, it was even more so now. I certainly was not going to salute him, so I was actually about to extend my hand when, before I could do so, Cogidubnus said something to his brother, but keeping his eyes fastened on me, so I made sure to return the stare. Once the king was finished, I could tell that this was about to get worse, as Ivomagus hesitated, doing so long enough to the point where the king snapped something that caused his brother to stiffen.

  It became apparent why he did so when he turned, and said with obvious reluctance, “My brother, the King,” I knew his emphasis was no accident, “says that it is customary for any stranger who appears in our lands and meets the King to bow as a show of respect.”

  “That’s not happening.” The words came out before I even thought about it, and now Ivomagus looked as if I had just slapped him, but I was not finished. “I am a Centurion of Rome, and I am a representative of our Imperator, Tiberius Caesar Augustus, and neither the Imperator nor Rome bows to any king. I will not bow.”

  Now that I was done, Ivomagus appeared as if he was seriously considering leaping off the dock, swimming back to the ship and taking his place on the bench, and there was no missing the pleading tone in his voice.

  “Please reconsider, Centurion,” he begged. “This is a point of pride with my brother, and…”

  “And it’s a point of pride with me,” I cut him off, but I had an idea. “Your brother is an accomplished warrior, is he not?”

  “He is the greatest warrior of the Parisii,” he replied immediately.

  “Then tell him that while I am forbidden to bow to him, I will offer him the salute that we Romans use when we meet a great warrior like your brother.”

  It was thin; oh, it was very thin, but thankfully, Ivomagus did not hesitate or argue with me, instead turning back to Cogidubnus, whose eyes had never left me, and spoke rapidly. When he finished, the king said nothing; only then did I realize how deathly quiet it had become, as hundreds of people watched on, wondering what was about to happen. This time, I am certain that at least ten heartbeats of time passed before, with a barely perceptible nod, Cogidubnus agreed.

  What was this “warrior’s salute,” you may ask? And, if whoever of my descendants read this who may have served or are serving under the standard when they read this have the thought, “I’ve never heard of such a thing” …you would be correct. I made it up.

  I stiffened to intente, then offered the kind of salute all Romans make to a superior officer, thumping my chest with considerable force before I thrust my arm out rigidly, and if I made an extra effort to flex the muscles of my arm to make them stand out, it should be understandable why I did so. For his part, for the first time, Cogidubnus’ expression altered, and I saw what I took to be a bit of surprise, pleasure…then confusion. This was confirmed when, again without taking his eyes off me, he asked Ivomagus something.

  “My brother wants to know if it is required that he return this salute, Centurion.”

  “No,” I lied. “This is the way a Roman recognizes a great warrior. We do not expect him to return it in kind; just an acknowledgement is fine.”

  “Acknowledgment?”

  Gritting my teeth to hide my impatience, I said, “A nod will suffice.”

  Then it was over; Cogidubnus inclined his head in what I suppose one could call a regal fashion, and I dropped my arm. The collective sigh of what I suppose was relief from every onlooker made it sound like a gentle breeze, and it caused the king to offer a slight smile that lifted one corner of his mustache. With this out of the way, I had hoped we would be able to proceed to negotiate the terms of our exchange of slaves with resupply and repair. I quickly learned differently when, after a brief exchange, Ivomagus turned back to me.

  “My brother says that you must be very hungry and thirsty. I,” he added somewhat apologetically, “told him of our, I mean your…” he cocked his head, then said, “…I cannot recall the word.”

  “Predicament,” I offered, and he nodded.

  “Yes, your predicament, so he is offering his hospitality to you. He has ordered that a meal be prepared, and we can discuss matters over that.”

  “What about my men?” I asked immediately. “I’m not going to go off and stuff my face while my men are on that fucking ship starving.”

  I realized after it happened that I had used a vulgarity that is so common under the standard, but it appeared as if Ivomagus did not understand what “fucking” meant, at least in that context, because he turned and spoke to Cogidubnus, who looked irritated.

  Impulsively, I spoke up, “Tell your brother that as a great king and warrior, he knows the importance of taking care of his men before his own needs are seen to.”

  He listened, and for the first time, I saw an amused glint in his eye as he glanced over at me, but he also nodded.

  “He says that we will bring baskets of bread that can be rowed to the ship while we talk in a more…private setting.”

  Once again, I felt some sympathy for Ivomagus, but while this was not exactly what I had in mind, I also realized that refusing to bend would only make matters worse.

  “That is very gracious of him,” I answered. Turning slightly, I indicated the ship. “Just give me a moment return t
o the ship to tell my officers what is happening, then I will be happy to go sit with your brother and talk about what we need.”

  Once translated, the king nodded his permission, and I wasted no time, striding to the boat with Motius, who I had completely forgotten was there, joining me.

  Indeed, as we pushed away from the dock, he grumbled, “I do not see why you had me come along, Centurion.”

  I pretended to be surprised.

  “Why? Because I didn’t want to die alone, that’s why!”

  For some reason, he did not find this as amusing as I did.

  I only spent a few moments on the ship, huddling with Saloninus, Columella, and Mus, not as Tesseraurius but as the temporary Optio of the First, explaining what was happening.

  “Are you sure you can trust them?” Saloninus asked.

  It was a sensible question; it was also an unanswerable one, but I felt confident enough to say, “Am I sure? No.” I shook my head. “But I am sure that they’re clever enough to know that if they do something to me, they’re going to be responsible for the slaughter of every Parisii aboard this ship.”

  And with that, I walked back to the boat, telling Motius with a grin that he did not have to come with me this time.

  Just before I dropped down the rope ladder, Alex grabbed my arm and whispered, “Be careful, Gnaeus. Your men need you.”

  Since I did not know what to say, I simply nodded, then dropped into the boat and sat down as the crewman shoved away from the ship with an oar. Since we were not as heavily laden, we crossed more quickly, and I saw that the crowd had thinned considerably, but I had been so busy that I did not see whether the onlookers had dispersed on their own or if they had been hurried away by the king’s bodyguard. The brothers were striding down the street to the dock just as I stepped onto it, and I wondered whether Cogidubnus was going to insist on going through a repeat of the saluting nonsense. Fortunately, he did not; most importantly, they were leading a line of men, each of whom was carrying a basket, but it was Ivomagus who spoke first.

  “I need to warn you, Centurion,” he said apologetically, “that there may not be enough to feed all of your men. As you can see,” he indicated the collection of huts, two barns, and other outbuildings, “this is a small village. If we take enough for your men to eat, our people will have nothing to eat for several days.”

  It was yet another thing that should have occurred to me, but I also understood that Ivomagus was correct, so I tried to sound as gracious as I could.

  “Whatever you can spare at this time is appreciated, Ivomagus. Hopefully, where we go to effect the repairs will be able to feed us as well as provide materials.” I did not want to do so, but I added pointedly, “I know I don’t have to tell you what’s at stake for both of us.”

  He flushed and gave a curt nod, but when Cogidubnus apparently demanded to know what I had said, Ivomagus shook his head. The men walked to the boat and started loading the baskets, which we watched for a moment, then satisfied that all was going according to plan, I indicated that I was ready to go to wherever they had appropriated for our negotiation. I was completely unprepared when, following the pair, they strode over to where the king’s chariot had been turned about, which Cogidubnus hopped on, while Ivomagus walked to another one and did the same. Meanwhile, I had come to a complete stop, and I will say that I had no intention of jumping on what to my eyes looked like little more than a platform on wheels that was open on both ends, while the sides, which were made of wicker, probably came up to just above my knee.

  “Centurion!” Ivomagus called out. “My brother has asked that you ride with him in his chariot. This is a great honor!” He paused, then while it was slightly quieter, there was an emphasis there as he added, “And to refuse would be a great insult.”

  “Can’t we just walk?” I ventured, trying to hide my apprehension.

  “We will be using the lord’s hall, which is about a mile from here,” he replied. “Walking will take too long.”

  “Fuck me,” I muttered, but I was moving, ignoring, or trying to ignore the fact that Cogidubnus was making no attempt to hide his amusement.

  The chariot shifted under my weight and Cogidubnus wasted no time, snapping an order to his driver, who cracked the whip above the pair of horses, matching blacks, causing the chariot to lurch. This was when I was certain he was trying to embarrass me by pitching me out of the chariot, but I had a hidden ally, at least of a sort. Having just spent more than two weeks aboard ship, I had become, if not accustomed to, at least equipped to handle standing or walking on a surface that was constantly moving, so that before I had any thought to do so, my knees bent to lower my weight as I leaned in the opposite direction so that, while I was a bit wobbly, I was not pitched into the mud. My reward was the look of disappointment on the king’s face, which I pretended not to notice, not hard because, while it was much different than riding a horse, I reveled in the feeling of speed as the chariot bumped and bounced down the muddy track. We were out of the village almost before I could blink, and while most of my concentration was on feeling the moving wooden platform under my feet, I pretended to be more interested in the surrounding countryside, which seemed to be little better than marshy ground that still reminded me of the northern coast of Germania.

  Since Cogidubnus could not speak Latin, there was no need for conversation, and I spotted the thatched roof first, off to our right as the road bent slightly, until the entire building came into view. In appearance, it did not look much different than any of the dwellings in the village, except that it was larger and the roof was higher. There were several outbuildings, but it was the number of saddled horses left in a pen next to what had to be the barn that made me uneasy, which I tried not to let show. The stop was much smoother than the start, directly in front of the double doors to the hall, which were open so that I could see several long tables, while lamps were hanging from the support beams that held up the roof, which was peaked. I dropped onto the ground, then waited for the two Britons to lead me into the hall…and I almost dropped to my knees from the smell of roasting meat. This was when I knew this had been by design, a subtle but powerful attack on my resolve, as well as an attempt to disrupt my focus and concentration on what would be an important discussion. The only consolation was that I could see Ivomagus was no less affected; he even glanced over at me, and for a moment, we were more comrades than adversaries, united in our misery at the smell of food. My mouth filled so quickly that, before I could stop it, I felt a string of saliva escape out of my mouth and dribble down my chin, which certainly did not make me feel like a Centurion.

  Cogidubnus indicated a table that I suspected had been dragged to a spot in the middle of the hall. There were other men present, but they had already begun drifting towards the entrance as the three of us sat down, with the two Parisii on one side and me on the other. Rather than sit with both legs on one side of the bench, I straddled it with my right leg on the table side, because by doing so, it gave me free access to my gladius. I did not think it would be needed, but I did not want to risk it, and I saw that Cogidubnus did not miss this; fairly quickly, I would learn that he missed very little.

  He said something to Ivomagus, who asked me, “Would you care to eat first before we talk?”

  A part of me knew that I should have had the strength and discipline to say no, that we needed to discuss matters first, but almost as quickly, I convinced myself that by eating first, I would have more strength in the event things turned out badly, and whereas if they did, I may have ended up dying hungry. Perhaps it is what the philosophers call a rationalization, but it made sense at the time.

  I actually grinned at Ivomagus, answering, “If you’re willing to wait, I am.”

  He laughed, shook his head, and said, “No, Centurion. I am not willing to wait.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” I assured him.

  Before we were fed, a pair of women appeared from behind a partition at the far end of the hall, one
of them carrying a pitcher, the other three large wooden cups, and they wasted no time, setting one in front of us while the other filled the cups from the pitcher before setting it down. I was not sure if there was a ceremonial aspect to this; I got my answer when Cogidubnus picked up the cup and drained it without uttering a word, so I lifted it to my lips, as did Ivomagus, and our eyes met. We never spoke of it, but I am certain he had the same thought, that the likelihood of this being poisoned was such I need not worry, just as I had assured him the night before. I was slightly disappointed that it was water, although it was pure, quite cold, and only slightly less satisfying than the night before when I finally slaked my thirst. My cup was refilled by Ivomagus, and the same pair of women returned, this time with wooden plates and a platter of meat that I supposed had been sliced off the roasting animals. There was more than one kind, and there were cakes of some sort that tasted like oats, all of which I had to fight myself to consume slowly. We had only gone hungry for two days, but I had heard too many stories about what happened when men gorged themselves after being denied food for an extended period of time, and the thought of vomiting on a king during our negotiations did not appeal to me. It is probably not a surprise; if I had been asked, I would have said this was the best meal I had ever consumed, though not long after the last bite, I realized that having only water was a blessing, because I was beginning to feel quite lethargic, and I realized if there had been wine or mead, it would be worse.