by R. W. Peake
It was two days before the Ides of October now, and closing in on three months since we had rowed up the river into Parisii territory. My life had settled into a routine, and I confess that it was not all that unpleasant. Because of my actions that night, the townspeople no longer viewed me with suspicion, and in fact, I was invited to dine with grateful townspeople on an almost daily basis. Tincommius and I had developed a friendship that flourished despite our language difficulties, but we taught each other our respective tongues, so that I can now curse like a Parisii, and he can curse like a Roman. His woman, Esselt, is an excellent cook, specializing in roasting meats of various varieties, and I was even allowed to go hunting, although I mostly provided comic relief when I was handed a bow. Nevertheless, while it was good to have such relative freedom, the tension I was feeling and trying to keep inside me was building every day, and all sorts of things ran through my mind. What if, for some reason, Alex had not been allowed to disembark before returning to Ubiorum? If that happened, would Germanicus forbid him from leaving for Arelate? This, as worrying as it was, I did not deem very likely. What seemed more likely in my mind was that Alex had made it to Arelate, but there was simply not enough money left to the Pullus family to fulfill this ransom, at least in ready cash. Although I had been apprised of the changes that had been made by Septimus after our return to Ubiorum, I certainly did not have a ready grasp of what those things we still owned were worth, and how much those slaves that we sold had accrued. Frankly, once Alex had informed me during our return to Ubiorum that Septimus intended to recoup enough to satisfy the requirement to return me to the Equestrian Order, I had refused to think about it.
This day, after my training and a quick scraping, I had ridden into Petuar with Matugenus and Meriadoc as my guards, with the purpose of purchasing a cloak since a couple mornings earlier, we had awakened to a skin of ice in the buckets, and during my training, my breath created a fog around my head. I had become somewhat inured to the harsh winters in Germania, but I had always had proper clothing, and while I had the Parisii version of bracae that Esselt had made for me by using two pairs belonging to Tincommius, without a cloak of any kind, I was still freezing. Because it was the first significant cold weather, the market was even busier than normal, and as I dismounted, handing the reins to Matugenus, I tried my best to keep my eyes from going directly to the corner stall, at least in an obvious manner. I failed, of course, and on this day, Bronwen was even more beautiful, something I would have thought impossible, because the crisp air brought the color to her cheeks, and she was wearing a cloak against the cold that was a deep red that almost matched her hair, which was flowing down her back. As she usually was when she was engaged in trade, she was smiling at a prospective customer; my examination was cut short by a jab in my back, and I turned to see Matugenus glaring up at me. While I had developed a relationship with the men who were guarding me that, if not good, was at least cordial, Matugenus was one of two exceptions. The reason for his hostility was something I determined early on when I noticed that he was a close friend of Berdic, so when he gave me the filthy look now, I was not surprised. I deliberately turned away from that part of the market, and walked slowly down the first row of merchants, only stopping at those who offered clothing.
The first problem was size; even the largest cloak of the first few I tried barely made it to mid-thigh, but there was also an issue of quality. My purse had been returned to me, so money was not an issue, and as is the case with every market I have ever been in no matter where, the best locations are reserved for those selling the highest quality goods. In my defense, I did try to find something suitable without having to move to the row of stalls; at least, I did my best to appear to make an effort, but after shaking my head at the last offering, I made my way in that direction, although I started at the opposite end from Bronwen’s stall. I could feel Matugenus staring at me as he walked behind me, but then he sent Meriadoc to a spot directly across from Bronwen’s stall, where he leaned his back against the wall of the building at the edge of the square facing my direction. The message could not have been clearer, and they could not have done a worse thing than that. I actually found a cloak, black, which was not my first color choice, that was thick enough, and more importantly, made for a tall man, at the first stall. I made a show of shaking my head, and aided by the fact that I could not understand what the man offering it was saying to me, which judging from the tone was not complimentary, I walked leisurely down the line, stopping at the stall next to Bronwen’s. She had seen me coming, and I sensed how nervous she was by the manner in which she was twisting her hands, even as she spoke to another man who was eyeing a silver ring of some sort.
Like the first of the stall merchants, this one, another woman with iron gray hair drawn back and a seamed face dominated by a prominent nose made more so by the large wart on the side of it, smiled at me, and I had the strong impression that this was not something to which her face was accustomed. I nodded, offering the greeting I had learned in Parisii, which she returned then as she extended a hand towards a half-dozen cloaks hung on pegs pounded into the side of the stall. To my disappointment, there was nothing in any shade of red, but there was a cloak of a deep, rich blue that caught my eye. When I indicated it, she nodded with obvious pleasure, and I would not have been surprised if she had started drooling at the prospect of taking advantage of this Roman barbarian; it would be a thought that I would castigate myself for holding in the very near future. She was too short to place it around my shoulders, but I did the same thing I had done with everyone else and squatted down to enable her to do so. When I stood up, I saw that it was just about mid-calf, but it was how it felt between my fingers as I measured the thickness that mattered. It was not fur-lined, but I had not seen anyone besides Cogidubnus wearing any kind of garment trimmed with fur. I made sure to nod and smile to let her know that I was pleased, but when I reached down to my purse, the woman became alarmed, thrusting both hands out towards me as she shook her head, and I was completely baffled.
Surely, I thought, that cunnus Matugenus will blame her as I turned to ask Bronwen, “What is she saying?”
I should have been more alert to Bronwen’s reaction because she clearly heard me, but before she opened her mouth, I saw her eyes go past me to where Matugenus would have been standing.
I had been certain that she heard me, but just when I was opening my mouth to repeat myself, she finally answered, “She says she cannot take your money…Centurion.”
I should have noticed that she used my rank, but I was more puzzled about the first part, and I asked, “Why not?” I even held the purse up and jingled it, having long since learned that this sound is music to a merchant’s ears no matter what they are selling. “I have plenty of money.”
Bronwen spoke to the woman, but she shook her head again, and whatever she said made Bronwen smile; I wondered later if this was the beginning of what caused everything that was going to take place in the immediate future. Not, I would add, that I spent much time contemplating it.
“She said,” Bronwen was still smiling, and I saw the kind of gleam in her eye that I had learned to recognize as her mischievous look, “that she could not think about asking such a mighty hero of Petuar to pay for such a pitiful rag. Not,” Bronwen could not stifle the giggle, “someone who is able to kill Brigantes with a single look!”
“By the gods,” I groaned, but I was laughing as I said it. “Not that again.”
“I told you,” Bronwen said teasingly, “but you would not believe me!”
“All right.” I held both hands up, turned to the woman, and gave her a deep bow, addressing Bronwen as I did. “Please tell her that I am honored to wear such a magnificent cloak, and that I am sure it will keep me warm…and safe.”
When Bronwen finished, the woman was beaming, and while she was not attractive in any sense of the word, I did see that she had a pleasant smile when she chose to use it in a genuine manner. With a bit of ceremony, she han
ded me the cloak, which I accepted with the same solemnity, then wrapped it around my shoulders, which was when I realized that I did not have a fibula. And, of course, among the other things Bronwen’s father sold, fibulae were prominently displayed. When I took a step in that direction, it was actually Meriadoc who reacted first, but only after he looked past me to where Matugenus was standing behind me, who obviously signaled him, because he pushed himself off the wall and hurried in my direction. I pivoted so that I was standing facing him directly, and I was pleased to see him come to an abrupt halt, his expression practically screaming the idea that he wanted to be somewhere else. When I stared directly in his eyes, as I expected, he broke the gaze first, and I slowly turned back to face Bronwen, but I was careful not to look directly at her but the row of cloak clasps. At least, I pretended to; I gave them barely a glance and just pointed to the first one that caught my eye.
“I’d like that one, please,” I said, not even using her name, but while I was not looking at her when I said it, her reaction caused me to look up at her, because she was clearly surprised.
“Are you certain, Centurion? This one?”
It was when she pointed to it that I realized why she had been caught off guard; the clasp was made of gold, but finely worked so that it looked something like a vitus, although it was in the semicircular shape of a fibula, while the pin was made of polished bone, the larger end capped with gold as well. Certainly, it was of exquisite quality; it was also something that, if I ever stood in formation in my sagum wearing it, I would never hear the end of it.
Still, I heard myself say, “Yes, I’m certain. How much?”
“Oh,” she began, “I could not…”
This was when I turned my gaze away from the fibula to look her in the eyes, trying to warn her.
Fortunately, she instantly understood how dangerous it would be if she refused to accept payment and how it would be viewed by Berdic, so she said hurriedly, “That piece costs four gold pieces, Centurion.”
It was extraordinarily expensive, but I did not care, and I confess the thought did cross my mind that, considering how much gold was heading this way to secure my release, I should have been able to simply tell her to take it out of that. Instead, I opened my pouch, and rummaging around, extracted four aurei, which, I had observed, are quite a bit smaller than the gold coins used by the Parisii. Regardless, she took them without any reaction that might indicate the amount was not enough, while I took care not to touch her hand with my fingers, despite how badly I wanted to. Then I picked up the fibula and used it to fasten my new cloak. I did not say anything to her, just gave a nod, then turned and walked directly towards Matugenus, not slowing down, thereby forcing him to hop out of the way, which elicited some chuckles from the onlookers. Since I was past him, he did not see my smile.
I did not go into Petuar the next day, or the next, and I cannot say I detected any change in the demeanor of Ivomagus, or any of the guards. Until, that is, I announced that I would like to go into Petuar three days later.
“May I ask why?”
This was an unusual question from Ivomagus at this point, but I still was not suspicious, answering with a laugh, “Because I’m fucking bored, Ivomagus. Besides,” I patted my belly and grinned, “I haven’t had Esselt’s cooking in days, and I’m missing it.” He did smile at this, but he still did not make any move to call for the horses to be saddled, and this was when I experienced a stab of concern. “Why are you hesitating like this?” I asked suspiciously. “What are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” He waved a hand at me. “I am not hiding anything.”
Before I could tell him that I was not buying what he was selling, he called for Gorteryn, one of the guards watching me this day. When the dour young warrior entered the room, Ivomagus ordered him to saddle three horses; I had learned enough of the Parisii to recognize words like “horse” and “three.”
When I got up to follow Gorteryn, Ivomagus said, “Do not eat too much, Gnaeus.” He grinned when I turned back to look at him quizzically. “I did not want to tell you this, but you look like you have put on some weight.”
“Gerrae!” I exclaimed, forgetting he would have no idea what that meant, but I had to stop myself from glancing down at my waist. “You’re talking cac!”
Ivomagus laughed, but he gave a shrug that I knew was meant to convey his skepticism, and I grabbed my crotch before I left the room. I mention this because it was a moment where I remember thinking just how strange life can be sometimes. Not that long before, I would have been perfectly happy to slit Ivomagus from cock to breastbone and laugh as his guts fell out, but now we were treating each other as comrades who had spent years under the standard together. When I exited the hall, Gorteryn was leading the horses up, and he gave me the morose look that I had learned was his version of a greeting.
“You,” I said with a smile, “still look like someone rammed their cock up your ass and you weren’t expecting it.”
This was not unusual; indeed, this was what I said to Gorteryn every time he was my guard, but since I did it with a smile and jocular tone, as always, he simply nodded, not understanding this small attempt on my part to have some fun. And, as I always did, I leapt up and onto the horse’s back without using my hands, hearkening back to the first day I had done it with my hands bound behind me. I led the way down the track, passing our camp, which, for whatever reason, the Parisii had chosen to keep intact, depriving the townspeople of some pastureland. I had asked Ivomagus why, but he could only shrug and offer that it was his brother’s decision to leave it. It was the day after a market day, so I did not anticipate there being the same problem with Bronwen, but the gods had other ideas in mind, because she was almost literally the first person I saw when I rode into the town square. She was actually turned slightly away from me so that I could only see the right side of her face, and she did not see me arrive. This time, she was talking to two other women around her age, one of whom I assumed was Verica, who was very pretty in her own right, but when she laughed at something one of the other two said, in what appeared to be a natural manner, she turned her head to scan the area around her. It is something I am certain we all do as we are talking to friends, looking around yourself, and as I said, she was laughing as she did so. However, when she turned so that I could see the enormous black eye on her left side, she just happened to see me at the same instant I saw her. I cannot say what was in her mind, but I know what was in mine, and I reacted instantly, swinging my leg over the horse, landing on the hardpacked ground and striding over to her in one continuous motion. Something in my face must have been the cause for the manner in which the handful of townspeople between us, almost all women, scrambled out of my path, and those looks of admiration and appreciation to which I had become accustomed were nowhere in evidence. Only Bronwen did not flee, choosing instead to turn slightly so that she was facing me directly, and she stood her ground, tilting her chin up in a manner that suggested some form of defiance, but I saw the expression in her eyes.
“Who did this?” I demanded, not even bothering to ask her what had happened or how, so certain was I.
“It does not matter, Centurion,” she answered me, still with her face set in the kind of expression that relayed that she was not going to run or argue. “And,” she said icily, “it is none of your business, if we are being honest.”
I am afraid that I ignored everything coming out of her mouth, because I had one thing, and one thing only in my mind.
“Was it Berdic?” I asked, and when she did not immediately respond, I repeated, “Did he do this?”
“It does not matter,” she repeated, but I saw her eyes flick away from me, and I heard the pounding footsteps of someone running, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw that it was Gorteryn. Just before he reached me, she dropped her voice to a whisper as she begged, “Please, Gnaeus. I beg you! Do not do anything about this!”
Then Gorteryn was standing next to me, and as angry as I may have be
en, I was amused to see that his normally dour demeanor was nowhere in sight; if anything, he looked like he would rather have been fighting a wolf barehanded. I spun about, not saying a word to Bronwen, and stalked off, feeling the eyes of every person in the square watching me, and I realized; They’re waiting for me to explode, to do something that they can tell their family and friends they witnessed. In a somewhat odd twist, this did more to calm me down than anything else, but I had no desire to stay in town, and not even Esselt’s cooking could entice me. I leapt onto my horse, and without a word to either Parisii, I kicked the animal into a trot, heading for the northern gate. We were just fifty paces away when, from behind us, a horn sounded, something that I had learned was unusual. Unlike Romans, the Parisii were much more relaxed when it came to marking time, so I knew that this horn-sounding was because there was something happening.
My initial intention was to keep going, but both Gorteryn and Versuccius reined in their mounts, so I somewhat reluctantly turned my horse around. What I saw were people, mostly the people who had been gossiping in the town square, rushing away from it, but heading towards the dock. Thinking about it later, I believe this was the first moment the idea occurred to me that whatever this was might involve me, and just as I had kicked my horse into a trot to leave, now I did the same, but heading in the opposite direction. Because of the buildings of the town, it was not until I got past them that I was able to look downriver, and the sight my eyes took in caused my heart to skip a beat. It was a ship, although even from this distance, I could see that it was not a ship of the type that had transported the Legions back to the Rhenus, being much wider, but the oars on both sides lowered, raised, and lowered in a steady rhythm as it made its way upstream, the mark of a well-trained crew. I guided my horse down to the dock, where the crane still stood and, as far as I know, is still standing, dismounting to walk out onto the wooden portion.