Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  She looked up at me, and a range of emotions flashed across her face, but I chose to focus only on the look of what I was certain was gratitude, but while I addressed her, the words were for Berdic.

  “I’d like to ask your betrothed,” I said, much more loudly than was necessary, “a question.”

  Her eyes went even wider, but the purple bruising under and around her eye was all I saw as she gasped, “Centurion! Please! I…”

  “I said,” I repeated, and while I did not raise the volume of my voice, the other celebrants were becoming quieter, “I want to ask him a question.”

  With visible and obvious reluctance, Bronwen turned to Berdic, who at least had determined that something was happening, because he rose to his feet as Bronwen presumably relayed my words.

  I got the answer in the form of a shrug and gesture that indicated he was listening.

  “Ask him,” I said, “if when he hit you, it was this hard.”

  Then, before she could even begin, I leaned forward and slapped Berdic across the face, hard. And, much to my satisfaction, he went reeling backward, blood beginning to pour from his lip. Somewhat surprisingly, it was actually almost as quiet as when Mandubracius had been speaking, although for a completely different reason.

  “Gnaeus! What are you doing?”

  “This is what I needed to take care of before we leave,” I told Alex, never taking my eyes off of Berdic.

  Who, now that he had recovered from the shock, clearly intended to leap across the table, but I was still counting on the king. And, before Berdic could react, Cogidubnus had leapt to his feet and, again in a manner that would do a Centurion proud, he roared what was obviously an order to him. To my disappointment, Berdic obeyed, although he was clearly unhappy about it, but it was Ivomagus who intervened.

  “What is the meaning of this, Centurion?” he demanded before even consulting with his brother. “Why did you strike Berdic?”

  “Because,” I tried to sound casual, “I owed him for hitting me over the head. And,” I added, “I don’t like men who hit women.”

  Cogidubnus whirled on Ivomagus, who hurriedly translated, but it was Berdic who responded first, shouting something while pointing a finger at me. Now that I had seen that, for the moment, Berdic was obeying his king’s order, I turned my back on him and walked around the table to drop into my seat.

  As I suspected would happen, and needed to happen, this enraged Berdic even more, and he began shouting at Cogidubnus, his face flushed a deep red as he changed his target for his finger to Cogidubnus. Who, to my eye, did not like this any more than I do.

  “Gnaeus!” Alex hissed. “What are you doing? And,” he added, “why are you doing it?” When I did not answer immediately, he said, “Do you want to stay here? Is that it? You don’t want to leave…” He waved a hand in Bronwen’s general direction, and as much regard, respect, and love I have for Alex, I looked at him coldly.

  “Her name is Bronwen,” I said quietly. “And you need to be careful.”

  “I need to be careful?” Alex’s eyes widened, then he indicated Cogidubnus, who was now engaged in a shouting match with Berdic, while Ivomagus was desperately trying to intercede between the two. “Look what you’ve done!”

  After resuming my seat, I pretended to take a long drink from my cup, then watched with what I hoped seemed to be bleary interest as the king and his nobleman raged at each other, both of them gesticulating wildly and, every heartbeat or so, pointing directly at me. Bronwen was staring down at the table, refusing to look anywhere but there, and I longed to go to her and assure her that I was doing all of this for her. Which, of course, was a lie, because it was as much for me as it was for her. Finally, Ivomagus managed to get the two men to quiet down, and the onlookers stopped talking excitedly to each other to watch the drama being played out.

  After an exchange with Cogidubnus, Ivomagus turned to me, his face a mask, but I heard the emotion in his voice. “Centurion Pullus, I need to inform you that Berdic has demanded to be accorded the right to respond to this outrage against him.”

  Now I absolutely knew that the response Berdic intended would not involve words, but I waved a careless hand as I said, “Let him say what he wants to say.”

  Ivomagus shook his head.

  “You do not understand, Centurion. This is not the Parisii way. Nor,” he added, “is it the way of any of the tribes here.” He glanced over at Berdic, then back to me. “Berdic wants a chance to redeem his honor by combat.”

  Thank the gods, I thought, since this was exactly what I wanted, and I tried not to smile as I indicated myself and said, “I’m already dressed for it. Tell him he can take all the time he needs.”

  This was when Ivomagus suddenly threw my carefully laid plans into the latrine, because he shook his head.

  “No, Centurion,” he said firmly. “This will not be decided with weapons. This,” he indicated the hall, “is a feast. One,” he added disapprovingly, “in your honor. But at a feast, no weapons are allowed, as I told you before, despite the fact that my brother chose to overlook you wearing a sword into this hall.”

  “So?” I waved at him with my cup, deliberately slopping the contents out of it because I was determined to keep up the fiction that I was drunk as long as I could. “What does that mean?”

  “It means,” Ivomagus’ tone turned cold, “that you and Berdic will face each other without weapons.”

  I will not lie and say that I was unworried; certainly, I have fought with my fists before, but when one is a paid man like I am, entering the Centurionate means that you do not have the same experience as a man from the ranks in the kind of combat that is a feature of life under the standard. Oh, there was the brawl at The Dancing Faun, but this was altogether a different thing, because while my father and I wanted to make an example of the officers of the 15th, we never intended to kill them, and I was under no illusion that Berdic would do his best to kill me.

  Outwardly, I simply shrugged indifferently, but Ivomagus addressed Alex next, informing him, “The King has ordered that Centurion Pullus will not be allowed to leave Parisii lands until Berdic has the opportunity to avenge this insult. And,” he added, unnecessarily in my opinion since I knew exactly what I had done, “for this assault on his person.”

  “I’m sitting right here,” I spoke up, slurring my words, and I saw a flicker cross Alex’s face that warned me he was catching up, rapidly. “You don’t have to tell him.”

  “I am informing him because he was the man who brought your ransom,” Ivomagus explained patiently. “And I know that you respect him.” This was certainly true, but I could not discern why Ivomagus was speaking in this manner, until he continued, “The King has ordered that, if Centurion Pullus apologizes for this offense, Berdic will accept it. Perhaps you can convince him to do this. Because,” he looked down at me with some disdain, and I saw in his eyes that I had completely fooled him into thinking I was inebriated, “he certainly will not listen to me, not in his current state.”

  The silence that was hanging over the hall was becoming oppressive, although it did mean I did not have to raise my voice when I addressed Alex, “You know better than to even try, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” he answered immediately, sighing as he did so. “I do.” Addressing Ivomagus, Alex said, “As you can see, the Centurion has no intention of apologizing, so your man can try and extract one from him. But,” he shrugged, and I saw the slight twitch of his mouth as he added, “you should warn him that he won’t be facing a woman.”

  This angered Ivomagus, it was plain to see, and when he relayed the words Alex had spoken, the silence in the hall was replaced by a guttural growl, and whatever good feelings these Parisii held for me were nowhere in evidence now.

  “Very well,” Ivomagus finally responded after a brief exchange with Cogidubnus. “We will make the preparations. You,” he turned to look directly at me, “need to remove your armor, Centurion. And,” he warned, “you will be searched before you fa
ce Berdic.” He held a hand up to cut off my protest. “As will he.”

  “All right,” I nodded, “I’ll get out of this.”

  When I stood, I made a show of staggering, but it was so clumsily done, I heard Alex snicker behind me; thanks to Fortuna, Ivomagus and essentially everyone else present had turned their attention to making the preparations.

  I started to fumble with my harness, but Alex stepped in, speaking loudly enough to be heard, “You’re too drunk to do that, let me.” As he undid the buckles, he whispered, “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  Instead of replying verbally, I just gave him a nod, and very quickly, we became absorbed in shedding my armor, so that when I heard the disturbance as people not only resumed talking, but were doing something, I turned around to receive a surprise.

  “What are they doing?” I asked Ivomagus.

  He gave me a withering look, but he answered readily enough, “They are preparing the square, Centurion.”

  I honestly cannot say why I was surprised; in the moment, I did wonder if perhaps my sip of mead had addled my wits more than I thought, but the sight of tables being dragged outside to clear the middle of the hall caught me off guard.

  “We’re not going to fight outside?” I asked, and Ivomagus shook his head.

  “No, Centurion. You and Berdic will face each other here and now, and only when one of you yields will my brother declare a halt.”

  I was certain in the moment that Ivomagus understood that neither Berdic nor I would be submitting as long as we had a breath in our body; later events confirmed this beyond any doubt. The mood in the hall, which had been wildly swinging from the sentimentality from the exchange between Mandubracius and me, to the shock, then anger when I had slapped Berdic, was now one of eager anticipation, and if I closed my eyes, I could have been at the little arena in Ubiorum waiting to watch a gladiatorial contest. Berdic had vanished, but Bronwen was still there, trying to make herself as inconspicuous as she could if I was any judge, standing against the far wall with the other women. The men who were not involved in preparing the area had already claimed the best vantage points, and I knew that none of the women would want to be close to the fight, if only to avoid being spattered by blood. I was truly torn, because part of me did not like the idea of Bronwen watching this, while the other wanted her to see me solve her dilemma. Even if she did not feel the same way about me, I wanted to do this for her; if she chose to spurn me later, while it would sting, I would still feel that I had done a good thing. This was what I was telling myself, and as my father observed in his account, it is the lies we tell ourselves to which we cling the most strongly.

  “Are you going to wear your tunic?” Alex asked, but I could only shrug because I did not know.

  “I suppose we’ll wait to see what Berdic does.”

  We did not have long to wait, because from outside the hall, a chorus of voices suddenly began shouting, and I could hear his name being called out. When he entered, we saw that he was stripped to the waist, wearing just his trousers, his hair had been pulled back tightly against the back of his skull, a common trick used by men who wrestle or participate in some sort of grappling combat. I did not believe I had to worry about that, having adopted my father’s habit of keeping my hair closely shorn, although it was longer than it had been in some time, but it was still too short for me to tie back. Of more concern was the way that Berdic’s upper body glistened in the torchlight.

  “He’s oiled himself,” Alex spoke up, seeing the same thing. “If he did it, you should too.”

  It was a good suggestion; of course, that meant I ignored it.

  “No, I don’t need to resort to those tricks,” I shook my head, then pulled off my tunic so that I was only in my bracae, which were at least mine and not the ones made by Esselt, but Alex persisted, “It’s not a trick, Gnaeus. I mean, it is a trick, but because it works. You won’t be able to grapple with him, but he’ll have no trouble grabbing hold of you if you don’t do it!”

  I believe that I am not unique in having moments in my life that, if I had them to do over again, I would do things differently, and this is certainly one of them, but my pride had stepped in, and I was so intent on providing a demonstration, a real demonstration of Rome’s power that I stubbornly refused to heed good advice. Alex gave a snort of frustration when I only shook my head, muttering something about stupid men that he knew, but my attention was already focusing on Berdic and only Berdic, watching how he was moving now as he accepted what I assumed were the well wishes of his fellow tribespeople. I did take some comfort that his normal swaggering demeanor was nowhere in evidence, and if anything, he looked somber. He’s nervous, I thought to myself, but hard on the heels of this came a sharp retort, albeit inside my head, reminding me; So are you, you idiot. It was difficult because now all four sides of this makeshift square were packed with the occupants, while Ivomagus had ordered some slaves to clear our table then place Cogidubnus’ and his chair on it so that the pair would have an unobstructed view. Men were looking over their shoulder at me, and I caught a glimpse of Tincommius on the far side of the square, who was one of the few Parisii who did not seem to be looking forward to what was coming. Berdic swung over one of the overturned tables to step into the square, and it was time for me to do the same.

  “Gnaeus,” Alex interrupted my thoughts, and when I looked down at him, his expression was as grave as I have ever seen it. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it’s clearly important to you. So,” the bump in his throat bobbed, but his voice turned hard and implacable, “beat this cunnus so that we can get out of this fucking place.”

  I said nothing, or I do not recall it, only nodding, then pushed my way through those who were too slow to get a prime spot around the tables. This is what you wanted, Gnaeus, now it’s time to do what you must do.

  I was surprised when, from up on the table, Cogidubnus called to me, and when I looked up, he indicated that he wanted me up there with him. Ivomagus was there, on his other side, so I hopped up, uncertain what was expected of me, but I got my answer almost immediately.

  “My brother wants to ask you a question,” he said. When I nodded, they had a short exchange, and Ivomagus made a gesture, explaining, “It will have to wait a moment. My brother has something to say to his people.”

  Cogidubnus stood up, which served to quiet the crowd instantly, whereupon he began speaking. Since I could not understand what was being said, I had to observe the crowd, but the first thing the king ordered was that both Berdic and Gnaeus be searched by one of his men; later, Gnaeus told me that it was performed by one of the guards who he had become friendly with and was not allied with Berdic. I also used the time to get a better idea of the nature of the square in which Gnaeus found himself with Berdic. The tables had been overturned, but with the legs facing outward, lined up together on four sides to form a square roughly ten paces by ten paces, which sounds like a lot, but when two men the size of Gnaeus and Berdic are in it, very quickly, it became apparent that this was not much room to maneuver. Gnaeus was standing opposite Berdic, with his back to me, and I heard Cogidubnus mention Berdic’s name first, which elicited a roar from the small crowd, many of the men shaking their fists, and I began to worry that some of these “onlookers” would take a more active role than they should. I was quite surprised when I heard “Pullus” that, while there were certainly no cheers for him, many of the faces I could see in the torchlight did not bear any sign of hostility, and the man I now knew was Tincommius looked extremely unhappy. Cogidubnus stopped then, but he did not give any kind of signal, turning instead to Ivomagus, and I realized why when he turned to me.

  “My brother has just declared this…contest is about to begin,” Ivomagus explained. “And he has informed them that the first man to ask him for mercy will receive it.” He said more quietly, “The King has no wish to see your Centurion die, Alex. As soon as he has the slightest excuse, he will declare the fight is over. And,” he smiled, “
tomorrow you will leave us and return home.”

  You arrogant, smug bastard, I thought, but I kept this thought inside my head; besides, Cogidubnus had called out again, holding one hand in the air for a heartbeat, then swept it down as he shouted what I assumed was the Parisii word to begin. Berdic leapt across the small space, moving as if he had been shot from a ballista, lowering his head and charging at Gnaeus, clearly intending to slam into Gnaeus’ body around the waist. All he did was manage to ram his head right into the table forming that part of the square, and for an instant, I thought it might be over because he staggered back, shaking his head, clearly stunned. I would describe how Gnaeus managed to evade his charge, but I cannot because I do not really know; it happened so quickly that, one instant he was standing directly in front of Berdic, then he was standing to the side as the Parisii took a stumbling step away from Gnaeus, trying to get some distance. And, to my shock and utter dismay, Gnaeus did absolutely nothing to press his advantage, and seemed content to allow Berdic to gather his wits.

  “What is he doing?” Ivomagus had to shout this, because the crowd was now yelling at the top of their lungs, but all I could say was, “I have no idea.”

  Berdic’s head apparently cleared quickly, but there was a trickle of blood visible on his forehead, originating from above his hairline. This time, however, he did not lunge; instead, he shuffled to his right in an attempt to cut down the space Gnaeus had to maneuver, and once again, Gnaeus seemed perfectly happy to allow it, until his back was up against the tables forming the corner nearest to where we were located. Berdic made a feint with his left hand, and Gnaeus seemingly fell for it. Berdic’s right fist shot out and struck Gnaeus on the left cheek, causing the crowd to erupt in cheers as Gnaeus’ head rocked back, causing me to wince, but Berdic was not through, because he followed it up with a left hand, also to Gnaeus’ face, this time striking in the area of Gnaeus’ right eye. Again, Gnaeus’ head snapped back, but he still did not try to move, nor did he even punch back as Berdic struck him once, twice, then a third time. This was the moment when, suddenly, I understood what Gnaeus was doing, and it took quite an effort for me not to turn and bellow into Cogidubnus’ face that, like Mandubracius, they were about to witness something they would talk about for the rest of their days.