by R. W. Peake
Consequently, this was why I suddenly stood up and shouted at Septimus, “Is this true?”
Naturally, he was caught by surprise, absorbed in his conversation with young Manius, and he asked, “Is what true?”
I repeated what Miriam had told me, and I saw his expression change, not to one of anger, necessarily, but what I would describe as one of an implacable determination.
“Nothing matters more than family, Alex,” he said flatly. “This?” He waved a hand at the villa. “This can be replaced. But unless Gnaeus is safely returned?” He shrugged. “Who gives an amphora full of piss for this villa?”
He was right; I knew that he was right, but I suppose that it was because of my awareness of all that had gone into this villa, in the form of blood, of sweat, and of tragedy that made me balk.
“This villa,” I forced myself to be, or at least sound patient, “is a symbol, and I think all of you know that. It’s a symbol of all the sacrifices that the Prefect made to attain all of…” I waved my hand around. “…this. And not just for him, but for everyone who’s sitting at this table right now.”
I suppose I expected something different in terms of reaction, but not one face around that table, at least of the adults, appeared swayed in the slightest, and I knew that I was defeated.
Consequently, it was without much grace that I muttered, “Fine. If that’s how you all feel.”
Secretly, my heart was soaring at this display, because it meant that seeing Gnaeus out of danger was the most important thing, and I wondered if my father and the Prefect were watching and nodding with approval. However, an equally powerful but competing emotion was a despair at the idea of seeing all of this coming to an end, and I am certain that my father Diocles would have felt the same way, and I am equally certain that he would approve of what I was about to do. I waited until the meal was finished, and the youngest, Atia and Manius, were put to bed in the room they used whenever they were here, while Gallienus and Gisela were banished from the room, at my insistence. Of course, I knew they would be tucked around the corner, listening to every word, but I was unwilling to waste time worrying about it. Once it was just Septimus, Miriam, my mother, and me, I broached the subject.
“Did you ever find out more about Aviola?” I began, and I could tell by their reaction that they were completely unprepared for this, but I was unsurprised to see that it was Miriam who understood why first.
“You’re thinking of getting the money Gaius was cheated out of back,” she gasped.
“Exactly.” I nodded, but I was looking at Septimus, who, to my consternation, did not seem enthused at the idea. In fact, he was looking everywhere but at me, and I had to stifle a curse, knowing that this was neither the time nor place to chastise him. “You didn’t do any more about this, did you, Septimus?”
“No.” He sighed, still looking down at the table. “I haven’t.”
I was about to ask why not, but that had no real bearing on the need of the moment, so instead, I said simply, “Well, you need to, because I can tell you this much. Gnaeus will never agree to be ransomed if he knows that it means you’ll lose the villa. The only way I can get him on that ship is if I lie to him and only tell him the truth once we’re out to sea. And then,” I said this with a smile, but it was without much humor, “I’ll have to pray to the gods he doesn’t pitch me overboard, then turn the ship around and try to get the money back from those Parisii bastards.”
The entire family saw me off two days after we had collected the money, but I only left because I had been convinced that Septimus would do his utmost to determine the extent of Lucius Aviola’s involvement with his father’s illicit schemes, if there was any. Of course, even if we saw this through to completion by finding the Aviola paterfamilias, there was no guarantee that we would be able to recoup all four hundred thousand sesterces, but if we did not try, I knew that it would haunt every member of both families for the rest of our collective lives. I only agreed to leave because of Septimus’ solemn oath to do whatever was necessary to get to the truth, up to and including torturing Lucius Aviola. Under any circumstances, this was a desperate thing to do, and we spent part of the night arguing about it until Septimus finally gave in, but I was not the one who convinced him. That was left to Miriam who, once again, proved she has the Pullus iron in her soul to do what she sees as necessary, and her rationale was simple.
“What do you think Tata and Mama would do under these circumstances?” she asked her brother. “Do you think that our mother would wring her hands and do nothing when her family was under this kind of threat of losing everything?”
To my intense relief, I could see that Septimus had been convinced even before she finished, which was when he swore on the black stone that, while he would not start out using physical means against Aviola, he would not shrink from it if the need arose. This was the situation when I stood with Marcellus, Hemina, Celer, and Trio outside the villa to say goodbye. The extra day in Arelate was spent in a fruitful manner, because after discussing it, we had decided some subterfuge was in order, and it was the former Optio Marcellus who came up with the idea.
“If we use a regular wagon, and with the four of us guarding it, that’s practically begging for attention.”
We were in the taverna where I had met him, discussing our plans, and the other three men were nodding in agreement.
“What did you have in mind?”
“We hire a cisium,” he explained. “But one of the larger covered ones designed for more than two passengers. But you,” he pointed to me, “will be the only passenger. With the sides, the chests won’t be in sight. And we,” he indicated himself and the others, “will be your bodyguards.”
“But nobody will believe I’m someone important enough to be guarded,” I protested.
“Not dressed like that,” Marcellus agreed. “So I suggest you ask Septimus for a toga and some other frippery to make you look like an uppity bastard.”
I opened my mouth to ask him how he was certain that Septimus would have any of that but thought better of it. Marcellus, and the other three men, who, to this point had been largely silent, were all from Arelate, and after all, I had attracted them by using the Pullus name.
Instead, I said cautiously, “That’s a good idea. But,” I pointed out the one possible flaw, “because of what we’re carrying, the horses are going to wear out a lot more quickly.”
I learned that Marcellus had thought about that as well, reminding me, “You mentioned that you had some sort of orders?”
I had indeed, although when I mentioned them, it had been as a way to give this whole endeavor a patina of legality, and while I never said as much, I heavily implied this was an official mission to retrieve a Centurion of Rome.
“Yes, I did,” I admitted, “but they’re not…exactly what you may think.”
He surprised me then by shaking his head and saying, “It doesn’t matter. As long as you sit there like a haughty bastard with your nose in the air and wave that thing around and act as if the fate of the Empire rests on you getting wherever you’re going, you let me and the boys handle the rest.”
I confess that I was not convinced, but I also realized that we really had no other choice, and the idea of disguising our means of travel was a good one. Consequently, I was seated in the cisium wearing one of Septimus’ togas, with an expensive leather satchel in my lap that I had stuffed full of scrolls from the Prefect’s library, although I did pick titles that neither Gnaeus nor I had read yet when I waved goodbye and we left the villa.
By the second day, I had resolved to pay Marcellus a bonus, because his ploy was working to perfection. Stopping at the first Imperial relay station was certainly nerve-wracking, but just as he predicted, my handing the attendant the tablet with Saloninus’ order as I made sure that our fingers did not touch, while I refused to even look in his direction did the trick. I immediately saw that he could not read very well, which helped, but it was how I behaved, as Marcellus advised,
like an “uppity bastard,” that did the trick. The most difficult part, at least the first time, was to maintain our collective demeanors, but once we were safely away, we laughed, long and hard. Staying at an inn proved to be more difficult, and it was something that we should have thought about, since there was no way that we could lug the chests up to our room, but neither could we leave it unguarded, which practically shouted that we had something worth protecting. After a sleepless first night, where we always had two of us guarding the carriage, we decided that sleeping in the open and buying our food was the best option. My biggest challenge was keeping my toga clean enough to maintain the fiction of my importance, although I did pass the time as a passenger reading from my bag of scrolls. The weather held for the first four days, but before reaching Cabillonum, it began to rain, hard, and it did not stop for two days. Fortunately, we were on the Via Agrippa, which being relatively recently constructed, is in excellent condition, but it was also cold. None of my companions complained, and it helped that they were equally prepared, with the fur-lined sagum that every veteran I know has. There was a hidden benefit, which we discovered when we stopped at the Imperial relay station in Cabillonum, because the attendant there did not even open the tablet I waved at him, taking one look at what he assumed were four Legionaries, three on horseback and one driving the carriage, making it our shortest stop to that point. Even once it stopped raining, the weather was cold enough to justify Marcellus and the others to keep wearing their sagum, and this helped shave even more time off our journey, so that we pulled into Gesoriacum thirteen days after leaving Arelate, two days before the Ides of October. My elation at the rapidity was short-lived, because it took three days to find a ship whose master was willing to divert from his original destination of the Batavian town of Canninefates and sail across the channel to Parisii lands instead, and I had to use some of the gold to do it, hoping that either being a few coins short would not matter or that we had overestimated Gnaeus’ weight.
Four days after our arrival, I had shed the toga and we were standing on the deck of the ship as it slipped its mooring from the dock on the river. The master of the ship, a sour-faced Gaul who insisted that he only be called Squillus, had assured me that the appearance of the vessel was deceptive, because it was nothing like a Liburnian, or even a normal bireme, looking to my admittedly inexperienced eye to be almost as wide as it was long.
“Don’t let her fool you,” Squillus had informed me when, after a brief meeting at a taverna on the docks, he had taken me to look at the ship. “She doesn’t look it, but Salacia here can make speed when she needs to. My crew,” he said this with some pride, “are all freedmen, and they’re the best oarsmen on Our Sea!”
It was only later, when I thought about it, that I realized that ultimately the reason I hired Squillus and Salacia was because her crew was freedmen; I suppose that the ordeal and difficulties that we had encountered on our ill-fated voyage back to Ubiorum with Ivomagus and his Parisii was still fresh in my mind. Speaking of Ivomagus, I had been concerned for his safety since the moment Motius pointed the bow of the Brizo downstream. If Gnaeus was unable to restrain himself for what he, and I, viewed as an act of treachery by the brother of King Cogidubnus, I was acutely aware that he might already be dead. Nevertheless, despite the trepidation about arriving too late, I was happy to be moving, and once Gesoriacum was no longer in sight, I settled down with the four former Legionaries, who had already broken out the dice as they sat on the deck. Now, I thought, we’ll find out just how much of a liar Squillus is.
Berdic and the army returned to Petuar, reporting to Cogidubnus that there was no longer a Brigantes presence on the Parisii side of the river. This prompted Cogidubnus to release all but his personal bodyguards to return to their homes around the Parisii kingdom, which, as far as I could tell, ranged less than a hundred miles inland and a bit more north to south. Frankly, I was not interested in learning more about this place because I was heartily sick of it and bored to distraction. I had been allowed to return to Segovax’s hall, and I had resumed my third of a watch exercises, even being provided with a rudis of sorts that had been carved by Lugotorix, and it was a quite reasonable copy, although they did not provide any lead for it. Two days after Berdic returned, I lost my patience, and I approached Ivomagus.
“When will your brother make his decision, Ivomagus?” I demanded.
Ivomagus’ expression indicated to me that he was fervently praying that the ground would swallow him up, but he answered reluctantly, “I wish I could tell you, Gnaeus. I,” he suddenly indicated Tincommius, who was now my almost constant companion, “and even Tincommius have argued with my brother that you should be released without being ransomed. But,” he finished helplessly, “he refuses to give us an answer.”
“Then let me talk to him,” I said, but this time, he was adamant.
“That would make it worse, Gnaeus,” he countered. Then, more softly, I supposed because we were standing near the doorway into the hall, “I beg you to trust me, and believe me when I tell you this. My brother is under a great deal of pressure from…” His voice trailed off, and I could tell that he was reluctant to say more, so I hazarded a guess.
“He’s getting pressure from Berdic,” I said, making sure I spoke the name quietly, and while he did not reply verbally, he gave a faint nod. Something did not make sense to me, and I said as much. “But does Berdic have royal blood? Why does he have so much influence?”
“Because,” Ivomagus answered bitterly, “he’s the half-brother of Cogidubnus and me. My father…” he searched for the word, “…did what you Romans call divorce, I believe, to my mother, in order to take Berdic’s mother as his woman.”
“Which is why,” I almost groaned this, “your brother is eager to keep Berdic happy by giving him Bronwen.” He nodded, yet there was still something I did not understand. “But that doesn’t really explain why your brother is worried about angering Berdic if he lets me go without paying any ransom.”
I immediately noticed how Ivomagus suddenly shifted position, so that his back was to the doorway, and when I glanced over his shoulder, I caught the barest glimpse of a face peering out that suddenly vanished when I looked in that direction. Obviously, Ivomagus had seen the same thing.
“Gnaeus,” he began, and I saw he was suddenly nervous, “I know that you are angry at me for going along with my brother when he decided to make you a hostage.” I saw no point in denying this, although I only nodded. “And,” he admitted, “at first, I was still very angry about what happened to me, and to the men who were captured with me and all that we endured over the last three years. Then the Brigantes came, and you did not have to help us hold Petuar, although I can see how you were helping yourself as much as us.”
“Which,” I pointed out, “I told you.”
“You did,” he agreed. Then he tore his gaze from the ground to look me in the eye. “But you did not have to step in and save my life, Gnaeus. In fact, when I saw you coming, I was convinced that you just wanted to stand there and watch me die.”
“Oh,” I said cheerfully, “I thought about it.”
Whether it was the words or my tone, this did make Ivomagus laugh, but he quickly turned serious again.
“Berdic is pressing my brother to keep you here until the ransom is paid. And then…”
His voice trailed off, but I felt certain that I knew the rest.
“Then,” I said coldly, “Berdic will kill me. Or,” I sneered, “he’ll have someone else do it.” I got my confirmation by the manner in which Ivomagus said nothing and just looked away. Still, there was something that did not make sense to me, “But why would Berdic be willing to risk Rome’s wrath by killing me?”
This brought Ivomagus’ attention back to me, and he asked quietly, “Why do you think, Gnaeus?” I suppose he saw my bewildered expression, because he explained by asking, “If my brother takes the ransom money, but then you are killed…who would Rome blame?”
This was w
hen it all became clear.
“Juno’s cunnus,” I believe was what I said. “You’re right. The Imperator won’t care whether it was Cogidubnus or one of his nobles.” I was actually about to add something, that I believed it was highly doubtful that Rome would rouse itself to exact vengeance for the death of a Centurion, even if he was a Pilus Prior, but while I believed Ivomagus was being sincere and honest with me now, I was not willing to risk putting that thought in his head. And yet, I could not shake a nagging doubt, which I expressed. “Still, even if Cogidubnus gets the blame, Berdic has to know that all of the Parisii would suffer, and he could very well be one of them. In fact,” I went on as my mind developed this, “in the aftermath, he would probably be demanded as a hostage himself, by the Imperator. So,” I returned to the original question, “why would Berdic be willing to risk that by killing me?”
“You really do not know?” Ivomagus sounded surprised, but I could only shake my head and assure him I clearly did not. “Gnaeus, he has seen the way you look at Bronwen.” I opened my mouth to argue that, even if I did have feelings for her, I would be leaving, but he beat me to it. “But more importantly, he has seen the way she looks at you. And,” he smiled for the first time, “so has everyone in Petuar.”
I felt the sudden rush of heat to my face, but I did not say anything, mainly because my mind was filled with one thought, and one thought only; Bronwen had feelings for me? Truly, I suspected as much, that we held a mutual attraction to each other, but as confident as a man may be when it comes to women, there is always a nagging worry that your feelings may not be reciprocated. More than that, however, the thought that she would be forced to spend her life with someone that duplicitous and treacherous towards his own king was what put the idea in my mind. All I needed was a pretext, and true to his nature, Berdic handed it to me just days later.