Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  I signaled my tacit acceptance of his argument by asking, “What about just our tunics with baltea and gladii?”

  “Maybe,” he frowned, but I heard the doubt there, and he pointed out, “except that’s essentially the same problem. And,” he added, “I actually think that that’s worse than wearing your armor, because they’ll not only take it as a sign you don’t trust them, but you’re going to be easier to hurt or kill.”

  “Fine,” I sighed, knowing he was correct. “Tunics it is.”

  When the time arrived for us to depart for the hall, I pulled Saloninus aside.

  “I’m not going to order you, and if you decide you want to come, I swear I won’t hold it against you,” I told him. “But since we’re not going to be wearing our armor or carrying our gladii, I believe we need to think about what might happen if Cogidubnus does have something planned.”

  “I’ll stay here,” he said immediately. “It makes the most sense.”

  I did not try to hide my relief, although I did ask, “Are you sure?”

  “You said that they’re bringing meat and mead here?” I nodded, and he grinned. “I’d rather be here with these misbegotten bastards, Pullus. At least I can understand what they’re saying.” He paused, then added, “Most of the time.”

  This made me laugh, and I led Columella, Mus, Herennius, Gemellus, and Tetarfenus out of camp, where Ivomagus was waiting, with seven horses.

  “Centurion Saloninus is going to remain behind,” I told him, lying casually, “in order to make sure the men don’t do something stupid if they have too much mead.”

  I was watching carefully, but he did not seem disturbed, and in fact, he said, “That makes sense.”

  I swung up onto the horse, hiding my amusement at the sight of the others trying to pretend they were experienced horsemen themselves, yet they managed to crawl aboard, and we moved off at a trot as they clung to the reins of their horse with a death grip. We heard the sound of the feast even before we came within sight of the hall, the sounds of singing drifting across the evening air. It was a warm, clear evening in late summer, and while it was not getting dark as late as it had been earlier, I still realized that we would be undoubtedly feasting well past midnight. We had just trotted into the yard outside the hall when a woman came bursting into view from inside, and one shoulder of her gown had slipped off to the point where one breast was plainly visible. It might have been a woman trying to flee from being raped, but the fact she was laughing hysterically, and was followed by a young warrior who was in a similarly festive mood told the truth of the tale.

  Despite his clear discomfort from bouncing up and down as we trotted to the hall, I glanced over at Mus, who was wearing a broad grin as he said, “If that’s what’s waiting for us, Pilus Prior, I may not be getting on that ship tomorrow!”

  I laughed, and we drew up, dismounted, then followed Ivomagus into the hall. To say that it was already raucous would be an understatement; a quick glance at the reddened faces of the mustachioed and bearded Parisii, almost all of them holding a cup of some sort, laughing uproariously at something one of their comrades had said made me wonder if we were significantly late to this feast that was supposed to be in our honor.

  Perhaps Ivomagus saw my expression and correctly discerned my thoughts, because he had to lean closer to be heard, “Cogidubnus let his men start early.”

  “Obviously,” I said, but he was already moving, beckoning us to follow him into the hall, where he led us down the central aisle to where two long tables were placed, perpendicular to the three rows of tables that ran the length of the hall from front to back.

  Cogidubnus was sitting in a large chair with a carved wooden back that boasted the swirling patterns that we had seen on other things around Petuar, and there was an empty chair on either side of him. My assumption that one of those seats was reserved for me turned out to be correct, but I was somewhat unhappy when I saw Ivomagus point to an empty bench at the first table of the perpendicular middle row.

  “These seats are reserved for your officers, Centurion,” Ivomagus almost had to shout, then pointed to the chair to Cogidubnus’ right, “and that is your seat. My brother is giving you a very high honor!”

  “Please tell your brother that I am very appreciative,” I told him, as Columella and the others happily dropped down onto the bench Ivomagus had designated; I suspect the fact that seated across from them were six women and not men had something to do with it. That they were all very comely, and like the first woman we had seen, wore gowns where the neck was much lower than what we were accustomed to, at least with women who did not service the Legions, meant that I was suddenly ignored. Moving around the table, Cogidubnus stood as I approached him, and surprising me a great deal, he thrust his arm out.

  “My brother wants to welcome you in the Roman manner,” Ivomagus translated his brother’s words. “He says he believes that you clasp forearms. Is this true?”

  “It is,” but I was reaching to clasp his forearm as I did so, not surprised to feel the hard muscles of his forearm while I watched his own eyes widen slightly, which is not an unusual reaction when a man is able to comprehend how large my arms are by grasping one of them. It was why I grinned as I said to Ivomagus, “Tell your brother that he has a strong grip, but I would expect that from a warrior like Cogidubnus.”

  I could see this pleased him, and we mutually released our grasp, exchanging another grin as we both rubbed our forearms. Then he turned to face the hall and the other guests, none of whom seemed to be paying much attention to their Roman guests. This was about to change, when Cogidubnus began to bellow, although once the tumult died down, he lowered his voice to just a shout. As he spoke, Ivomagus whispered in my ear.

  “He is welcoming you and your officers,” he translated. I heard my name, but then Cogidubnus stopped; I could see he was clearly embarrassed, and I knew why.

  “This,” I used one hand to indicate Columella, “is Optio Gnaeus Columella, of the Second Century, Fourth Cohort.” I knew they had no idea what anything other than the names meant, but it was a habit, and I moved my hand with each one. “This is acting Optio Gnaeus Mus of my First Century, Fourth Cohort.” Next, I pointed to Gemellus. “This is the Signifer Servius Gemellus of the First Century, Fourth Cohort, and this,” I indicated Tetarfenus, “is Sextus Tetarfenus, Signifer of the Second Century, Fourth Cohort.” Finally, I finished with, “And this is Vibius Herennius, the Tesseraurius of the Second Century, Fourth Cohort.”

  The crowd had fallen mostly silent, and there was an awkward pause as Cogidubnus inclined his head in thanks before continuing, although very quickly, he got back into the spirit of the thing.

  “He is saying that, while we have heard many tales of Rome and how…” Ivomagus faltered, and I glanced over to see him looking uncomfortable, but what he came out with was, “…unruly her Legions are. But,” he hurried on, “as we have seen with the Centurion and his men, they have been respectful guests of the Parisii.” Suddenly, Cogidubnus stopped, and he turned back to me, his eyes gleaming with amusement. I quickly learned why, as Ivomagus translated, “There is one thing, however, that I must tell you all, something that Centurion Pullus did.” I was certain that my heart had suddenly stopped, while I tried to keep my demeanor the same and not show the worry I was experiencing.

  To my intense relief, Cogidubnus went on to essentially relay what I had told him about our raid across the river, and he even repeated what I had said to him about leaving the Brigantes alive, which not surprisingly elicited a roar from the guests, both the men and the women, many of whom stood and shook their fists. Finished, Cogidubnus reached down to pick up what looked like the horn of a beast of some sort, which had been made into a drinking cup, and he pointed to the cup in front of me that, while essentially the same was not nearly as ornate, was sitting on the table. Naturally, I picked it up, and we crashed the cups together, sloshing the contents over our hands, then in unison, we drained the cups as I tried not to gag at
the sickly sweet taste of the mead that, while I have drunk mead before, had a distinctly different taste to what was served in Germania. We took our seats, the food was served, and as one might expect, our table was served first. I was actually listening intently to Ivomagus, who was on the other side of Cogidubnus so that he had to lean over the table so that I could hear, and consequently, I did not notice who it was that placed a pile of steaming meat of different varieties in front of me. Until, that is, I heard a familiar voice.

  “Am I that forgettable, Centurion?”

  Even before our eyes met, my heart began to gallop, and I looked up at the copper-haired girl, instantly forgetting what Ivomagus had been saying.

  Somehow, I managed to stammer, “N-no, not at all, lady. I just did not see you coming, that’s all.”

  “I see,” Ivomagus spoke up, and I heard the amusement in his voice, “that you two have met.”

  “Yes, two days ago,” I heard my voice saying the words, but my eyes never left hers as she stood there, looking down at me with what seemed to me to be a mocking smile, and I decided to exact some revenge by adding, “when she tried to rob me when I wanted to buy a necklace.” That was when I noticed it, and I pointed to her neck. “That necklace.”

  “That,” Ivomagus said, “sounds like Bronwen.” This was how I learned her name as Ivomagus explained, “She and her father Praesutagas have skinned more than one unwary buyer. Not,” he added hurriedly, which I supposed was prompted by the sudden flash of anger in her beautiful green eyes, “that they have ever cheated anyone. Praesutagas is an honest man, but it is Bronwen who is the…” he tried to search for the correct term, coming up with, “…mind behind their business.”

  This clearly pleased Bronwen, and she gave Ivomagus a smile that, without any warning, ignited a flare of jealousy in me that caught me completely by surprise. And, I realized uncomfortably, I could see she somehow knew this, although it was only the briefest of glances.

  “I apologize, lords,” Bronwen gave what I suppose was some sort of curtsy, although it was unlike anything a Roman woman would do, “but I must continue to serve the King’s guests.”

  Without waiting for permission, she turned and walked away, and I cursed my inability to look away. She was not wearing that green gown this night, choosing instead a dark blue trimmed in red, with a red sash tied at her waist that only accentuated her shape, and I confess I had never wanted a woman as badly as I did her that night. I tried to hide this by turning my attention to the roasted meat, and I began devouring it. It was not for a few heartbeats that I realized there were eyes on me, and I turned to see both Cogidubnus and Ivomagus watching me with unfeigned interest.

  I learned why when Ivomagus commented, “We have heard that Romans do not care for meat nearly as much as they like their bread.”

  This is certainly true, and I recognized that it was a valid question, so I attempted to explain, “That’s true. Most Romans do like bread more than meat. But,” I indicated myself with a grin, “as you can see, I’m not a typical Roman.”

  They both laughed at this, then Cogidubnus said something to Ivomagus, who said apologetically, “I must apologize, Centurion. I told my brother what you related to me about your father and your great-grandfather and how they were much larger than most Romans. He wants to know if you have ever thought about why this is.”

  How do I answer that? I wondered.

  I decided to be honest, shrugging as I answered, “I’ve wondered that myself, but the truth is I have no idea.” I thought for a moment, deciding it would do no harm to tell them, “I do know that my great-grandfather, who I told you about,” I said this to Ivomagus, “was born so large that he killed his mother in childbirth. And,” I had to blink suddenly, surprised at the stab of emotion, “he had a wife who died in childbirth because the child was so large. Why?” I shrugged and repeated, “I have no idea.”

  They talked to each other for a bit, but I quickly became more absorbed in consuming the roast boar, which was excellent, seasoned with some sort of herbs or spices that I had never tasted before. The sound was a dull roar, and honestly, it was not much different than a night at the Dancing Faun back in Ubiorum, although it was much louder because of the size of the crowd. Somehow my cup was refilled, and before I had time to think about it, I drained it, recognizing the sign that I was becoming intoxicated; the mead did not taste nearly as foul this time as the first cup. Cogidubnus, through Ivomagus, talked about the last great battle that he had fought in, against the Brigantes, and while Ivomagus dutifully translated, I sensed a change somehow.

  “What is it?” I asked him once he had finished. “Why did that bother you?”

  At first, I did not think that he would answer, but after a pause, he answered, “That battle took place after I was captured by the Iceni.”

  Obviously Cogidubnus did not understand everything, but he seemingly understood Ivomagus’ reference to the Iceni, suddenly becoming very animated, waving his arms about while pointing occasionally to his brother, yet for some reason, Ivomagus was not translating. Instead, he sat there, stone-faced as Cogidubnus continued, until without any warning, he turned and, while it was awkward, embraced Ivomagus. Who, I could see, was deeply affected, to the point where I saw the gleam of the tears in his eyes, and for a brief moment, the two men were brothers and nothing more. And, I saw, that whatever tension or friction between them, these two brothers loved each other deeply. Which was why I reached for my cup that had already been refilled and drained it.

  The evening progressed, and there was entertainment, beginning with a man singing a tune that, while it was completely foreign to me, was quite pleasant and stirring. Then there were jugglers, followed by a man who could make things disappear, only to “find” them in odd places; if it was usually a female and the object was always tucked away in the area around their breasts, the women clearly did not mind and the men roared with approving laughter. My officers were clearly having a good time, as Herennius had switched to the other side of the table and was engaged in activity with one of the women that he would normally have to pay for, yet nobody around them took much notice, if only several of them were engaged in similar activity, albeit to a lesser degree. Indeed, Cogidubnus watched with amusement, saying something occasionally, most of which Ivomagus translated, but sometimes he did not. The truth was that the mead had caught up with me, and I felt a warm glow emanating from within me as I began to contemplate the idea that, perhaps, I might be able to lead my men home, to their families that, according to Rome, did not exist. We were so close, and I realized that I had refused to think beyond whatever was the most immediate challenge of the moment, focusing only on that instead of the larger goal.

  “Centurion Pullus!”

  It was not so much that Ivomagus had to shout it, but the inflection that told me while this was the first time I had heard my name, it was not the first time he had tried to gain my attention. When I turned, he was leaning in my direction, smiling broadly, but what I noticed immediately was that the chair next to mine was empty.

  “Were you dreaming of home?” he asked with a laugh. “Because you certainly were very far away.”

  “I was,” I admitted, and while I cannot say Ivomagus became angry, I sensed a great deal of bitterness as he replied, “I know what that is like, Centurion.”

  “I know you do,” I agreed, but then thought to add, “although our ordeal is nothing compared to what you went through.” This was when I remembered something, and I lowered my voice, “And I haven’t forgotten what you’d like to do to Malorix. If,” I tried to sound casual, “you were inclined to do anything about him, tonight would be the night. And,” I assured him, “even if he’s missing tomorrow, we’re leaving.”

  He said nothing for a long moment, staring at me steadily, while I returned the gaze, or tried to; I was reaching the point of intoxication where it was hard to focus, although there was still one of him.

  Finally, he said, “I believe you are telling
the truth, Centurion. That you would allow me to make Malorix pay for all of the things he did and allowed to happen, not only to me, but to the rest of my people who were on that cursed ship.”

  “I am,” I assured him.

  Ivomagus looked away from me to survey the hall, his head turning slowly, and I assumed he was looking for his brother. Quite abruptly, he stood, almost knocking the chair over, and when he looked down at me, I understood, or I thought I did.

  “I have some…matters to attend to, Centurion,” he said. “So I must offer my apology for leaving you alone like this.” Once again, he scanned the hall, saying as he did so, “I am not sure where Cogidubnus is, but I am certain he will be back shortly.” By the time he had said this, he was looking in my general direction, except that his gaze was obviously over my shoulder, and he smiled. “Although I believe that you will not feel lonely for long.”

  It was the way he said this as much as what he said that prompted me to glance over my shoulder to see that Bronwen was standing there, and she was smiling as well. Before I could say anything, Ivomagus swept past, leaving me essentially alone at the table, but he was correct; I did not feel lonely at all.

  “Centurion,” she spoke only after Ivomagus was safely out of earshot, “I know that you are leaving in the morning, and I was wondering something.”

  “Oh?” I asked, trying to ignore how once again my heart was behaving as if I had just sprinted across the hall. “And what is it that you’re wondering?”

  “If we can conclude our business,” she touched the necklace as I tried to hide my disappointment. “I want you to have something to remember the Parisii by,” she continued, but I noticed, or thought I noticed that there was something in the way she said it that indicated she was not just talking about the necklace. That suspicion seemed confirmed when she reached out her hand as she said, “But I would prefer to go somewhere a bit more private. If,” she added mischievously, “you are not afraid to be alone with a Parisii.”