Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “Now that you’ve had your feast,” I almost smiled but managed to maintain my composure, “I will be retiring to the quarters you provided me, and at dawn tomorrow, we will all go to Petuar, and the final piece of this business will be done.”

  Once more, I could see that Ivomagus plainly did not want to convey my words, but I stared at him a long moment; I suspect the blood still covering my face, although it was drying, helped my cause. When Ivomagus spoke, I did not watch him. I observed Cogidubnus and his face as Ivomagus spoke, and I was relieved to see his lip lift, presumably at the reminder that he would be wealthier when the sun came up the next morning.

  The king responded, shortly, and Ivomagus relayed, “That is acceptable to my brother. You may return to your room.” He hesitated, then said, “He also is offering his healer to attend to that cut.”

  “Thank your brother.” I tried to sound sincere; with every heartbeat, my mind was filling with the recognition that tomorrow I would be leaving this place forever, having cost my family, who had only known me a bit more than a year, a substantial amount of their wealth, which had already been reduced because of Gaius’ greed and incompetence. “But Alex is experienced with these kinds of cuts. All I require is some warm water.”

  “You shall have it immediately,” he assured me.

  While we were talking, I saw that Alex had gathered up my things and was waiting for me to tell him what to do, and while I knew I should bow, I gave Cogidubnus a nod that was only slightly deeper than normal. He did not like it, but he did return the nod before he, very deliberately, faced away from me in a clear sign of dismissal, while Ivomagus gave me an apologetic glance before turning to stand with his brother.

  Although Alex followed me readily enough, as soon as we were in the space that had become my quarters, he asked, “Are you sure it’s wise for you to stay here, Gnaeus?”

  It was not, and I knew it, but I was being completely honest with Alex when I replied, “No, it’s not. But I’m not up to riding back to town, Alex. So,” I dropped onto the one chair, sighing with relief as I did, “once you stitch me up, you can go back to the ship.”

  “What makes you think that I brought anything to do that?” he demanded, but instead of replying, I just gave him a long look, and he grumbled, “All right, fine; you’re right. I knew that when I got here, I’d be bandaging or stitching someone up.”

  I was too tired to laugh or revel in my small victory, and this was when a slave appeared, carrying a basin of water still steaming from the fire. Once she was gone, Alex rummaged in the leather satchel that he always carries slung over his shoulder, pulling out a bronze needle that, to my eyes, looked more like a javelin.

  “You don’t have a smaller needle than that?” I asked, only partially jesting. “I thought I was out of danger from being stabbed.”

  “You talk like an old woman,” he shot back, but most importantly, he was using a fresh bandage that he had dipped in the water to clean the blood from my face. He frowned even more deeply than he already was, his eyes on my cheekbone. “That is deeper and wider than I thought, Gnaeus.” He actually leaned a bit closer, squinting at me, then said with what sounded like a cheerful tone, “I can actually see your cheekbone!” Glancing around the room, he mumbled, “Where did that mirror go?” When I asked him why it was needed, he sounded surprised when he answered, “So you can see it.”

  “I don’t want to see my cheekbone,” I snapped, but then I saw the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, go…”

  “Piss on my boots,” he finished for me. Then he warned, “This is going to hurt. I’m going to clean out the cut now.”

  He was true to his word; it hurt like Dis, but I managed to keep my mouth shut, mainly because I knew I would receive no sympathy.

  Then it was time to stitch the wound, and Alex was only too happy to remind me, “It seems like I did this a few weeks ago.”

  I was going to tell him to piss on his boots, but I managed to refrain, if only because he was not through stabbing me with a needle I still believe was just a slightly whittled down javelin point. Even with the discomfort, however, I was finding it impossible to keep my eyes open, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl onto the pallet of furs and sleep. I even considered sending Alex for a jug of mead, but while I did not truly believe that Cogidubnus would be so underhanded, I decided it was best to have a clear head, however tired I may have been. Finally, with a last snip of the scissors, he was done, stepping back and examining me as if he was admiring his work.

  “What?” I asked, suspicious because of the way he was standing there.

  “Well,” he sounded reluctant, “it’s not my best job. But,” he shrugged, “it will have to do. Besides,” he said seriously, “the whores in Ubiorum won’t be looking at your face, just the coins in your hand.”

  I blame my fatigue for not recognizing that Alex was having fun with me, but I started looking about for the polished brass disc that Ivomagus had lent me, which was when I learned he was tormenting me because of the way he burst out laughing. It was, I must admit, humorous, but I only saw that later. Turning serious, Alex asked if I wanted something to eat, and I shook my head, pointing to the pallet.

  “I’ll come back here a watch before dawn so that we can get this over with,” he told me, but again I shook my head, though not for the reason he might have thought.

  “You won’t need to,” I assured him. “I have every confidence that Ivomagus and his fucking brother will wake me promptly and be only too happy to bring me to Petuar.”

  It was one of the few things I was right about.

  When I left Gnaeus, Ivomagus was waiting, while the hall was almost completely deserted, and there was no sign of Berdic’s body, although my eyes were drawn to the darker patch of ground where his blood, and brains, had soaked into it.

  Ivomagus clearly saw this, because he began, “Berdic is being prepared for his burial rites. Now,” he turned to business, “we will be on the dock at sunup, with Gnaeus, and we will make the exchange then.” It was straightforward enough, but my doubt must have showed, because in a lower tone and with an emphasis that told me he understood, he added, “I swear to you on all of my honor that I will not allow my brother to do anything to Gnaeus. Not,” he added, which I assumed was because he heard his words and how they could be construed, “that Cogidubnus has anything…underhanded planned.” I wanted to believe him, but too much had happened, but he convinced me when he said, “Alex, I owe your Centurion my life, and I am a Parisii, and while I cannot defend my brother’s actions in taking Gnaeus prisoner, I am a man of honor, and I owe him a debt that honor demands I repay. Making sure that everything goes as planned and you leave together tomorrow may not come close to repaying that debt, but it is the best I can offer.”

  I was not sure what words were appropriate, so all I said was, “I believe you. Now,” I nodded towards the doors of the hall, “if you will excuse me, I want to return to our ship.”

  “Your horse is outside waiting,” he assured me. “And Tincommius and his wife waited to return with you.”

  He escorted me outside, where there was a single torch burning, and Tincommius and the woman I assumed was his wife were standing there. Since we could not converse, it was left to us to communicate by pointing, although it was straightforward enough because Ivomagus had been true to his word, with the horse Tincommius had procured for me earlier standing there, saddled and ready. Naturally, there was not any talking, at least between me and the couple, although they exchanged a few murmured words that could have been about anything. We rode into the square, and it took me a moment to find the Salacia because someone, presumably Squillus, had moved it to a different spot, but what was most important was that it was still out in the river. With a nod of thanks, I handed Tincommius the reins to my horse, but he did not leave immediately, and I sensed he wanted to say something.

  I looked at him with a raised eyebrow, but all he could manage at first was, “Pullus…” then repeated his n
ame two more times as he struggled to find words that I, who he viewed as every bit the barbarian as we viewed them, could understand. It was painful, but finally, his expression changed, smiling as he summoned the words, “Pullus…good…man.”

  I nodded, although even as I agreed, I knew he would understand the gesture more than the words.

  “Yes, he is, and I know…” now, I was the one struggling to find the words, “he…Pullus thinks highly of you, Tincommius. He thinks you are a good man as well.” I pointed to him as I said it, and whether he truly understood or not, he seemed pleased.

  I walked over to where the small boats were drawn up on the riverbank, looking for one that I thought I could handle, but then Tincommius called out something, and when I turned, he was shaking his head. Pointing out to the Salacia, he then made a gesture as he said something else. It took a few heartbeats for me to realize that he was telling me to signal the ship to come to the dock. My first impulse was to refuse, and I cannot provide a good reason why I believed that Tincommius was not acting on the orders of Cogidubnus for some sinister purpose. Certainly, some of it was based in my own fatigue, but I walked over to where the large oil lamp was suspended from a tripod and gave it a nudge to make it move. I was counting on Marcellus to have someone standing watch, and I was rewarded with a shout. Cupping my hands, the first thing I did was shout the first watchword we had agreed on when Gnaeus and I left, receiving the proper second one, then I shouted at them to bring the Salacia in to the dock. There was a wait, of course, and I was certain that I had a good idea of what Squillus would be saying about me rousing him and his crew in the middle of the night, but a few hundred heartbeats later, I heard the splash of oars in the water. The ship materialized slowly out of the darkness, and despite my overall opinion of Squillus, he handled the approach to the dock in the dark with considerable skill. It was left to Tincommius and me to grab the lines that Squillus’ crew threw out, and it took three times before I managed to catch it. It was Marcellus and Hemina who lowered the plank over the side, and only then was Tincommius satisfied, disappearing into the night without a word, leading the three horses off before I could say anything. I walked up the plank and explained to Marcellus, Hemina, and Squillus, who was as irritated as I had expected, what was happening.

  Glancing up, Marcellus said, “Not quite two watches, then.”

  That was my assessment as well, and Squillus offered a grunt that I had learned was his way of affirming something. Marcellus remained on deck, while Hemina went below with me, but it was to relieve Celer, who had been the man sitting on one of the chests with his gladius in his lap, while I went to the cabin. Squillus’ cabin was not only more cramped than the Brizo, it was filthy, and I had been forced to share space with him, although I was wise enough not to complain. Now that autumn had come, the nights were getting colder, and as bad as it may have smelled, it was still warmer than sleeping under the awning on deck. The only thing I did was unsling my satchel, drop it to the deck before following it, dropping into the hammock that Squillus had grudgingly strung up for me against one wall. It had meant that I was banging into it when we were at sea, and I consoled myself with the idea of how Gnaeus would respond to this, chuckling myself to sleep, which prompted a growl from Squillus.

  Only later did I learn that I had actually been asleep for almost a full watch when, from above us, I heard a muffled voice call out, not in outright alarm, but in the manner that someone wants to alert others. I came awake immediately, of course, recognizing Marcellus’ voice, but Squillus beat me to it, rolling out of his hammock, crossing the small cabin and going out the door just as my feet were touching the deck. I did not bother putting my boots on, scrambling up the ladder to join the others. There had been a crewman on watch, of course, along with Marcellus, but they had been joined by first the other deck crewmen, then Squillus, and finally, me.

  “Someone’s coming,” Marcellus said curtly. “I heard what sounds like a wagon, from that direction.”

  He pointed directly towards the area where I knew that the road leading to our old camp then the hall was located, but while we heard them long before they came into view, it seemed to take forever. And, when we could see movement, it took even longer for the shape to materialize into something identifiable, and Marcellus beat me to it.

  “Is that a chariot?”

  It was, but we still had to wait to see that there were two figures standing in it, a bit longer for me to discern one of them was shorter than the other. Even so, I was completely unprepared to see that it was a man and a woman, and that man was Ivomagus, and the woman Bronwen, which only became apparent when he guided his chariot within the pool of light thrown off by the large oil lamp.

  “Who is that?” Marcellus gasped, and I instantly understood not only that he did not mean Ivomagus, but why he had reacted the way he had, because Bronwen had just pulled the hood of her cloak from her head.

  I love Algaia; I love her with every part of me, and I love being with her, but seeing Bronwen, with the light from the lamp seeming to bounce off her magnificent head of hair, making it appear almost as if she was wearing a crown made of flames, is a sight that I will never forget. And, at the time, I thought how Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus was either blessed by Fortuna or cursed, depending on why she had come.

  “What should we do?” Marcellus asked, breaking the spell.

  Before I could think about it, I began moving, dropping down to the main deck, hurrying over to the plank and walking down onto the dock, while Ivomagus had stepped down from the chariot; Bronwen, however, stayed where she was, watching us approach each other.

  “Ivomagus,” I said cautiously, uncertain how to even initiate a conversation, so I tried to sound lighthearted, “it’s a lovely night for a chariot ride.”

  Ivomagus offered a slight smile, but his tone was serious and urgent.

  “I told you that I owed Gnaeus a debt for my life, and that I knew how difficult it is to repay such a thing in full.”

  “Yes, I remember you saying that,” I answered cautiously, deciding not to add that the conversation had only occurred a watch or so earlier.

  For the first time, he indicated Bronwen as he went on, “Tincommius approached me to tell me that Bronwen wishes to leave with you and Gnaeus.”

  How, I wondered, do I even respond to that?

  Consequently, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, “Why?”

  “Because,” Ivomagus replied evenly, “she does not trust my brother.”

  This was when I got my first indication that there was more going on than I knew, because I could not see any kind of connection.

  “What does your brother have to do with Bronwen?”

  “It is…complicated,” Ivomagus replied, and I got the sense that he did not wish to go into details. “But,” he went on, “while Cogidubnus will never admit as much, he is also in Gnaeus’ debt now. Berdic’s death solves a…problem.”

  This, I realized suddenly, was why I did not think the king was displeased as he squatted by the corpse; I also understood that the likelihood of me learning the story in the time we had was nonexistent, and it was equally possible I would never learn the entire story.

  “May I talk to her?”

  “Of course!”

  Ivomagus looked embarrassed, and he turned and beckoned Bronwen, who immediately responded by picking up something similar to the satchel I carry, but much larger. Perhaps because she was so pale it made the black eye stand out, and I felt a flicker of cold satisfaction that the man who did that to such a beautiful woman no longer breathed.

  “Bronwen,” I greeted her. “I don’t think we have been introduced. My name is Alexandros Pullus.”

  At the mention of my name, Bronwen started slightly, but when I heard the skepticism in her voice, I understood why.

  “You are Gnaeus’ brother? Or cousin?”

  “Ah,” I laughed. “I understand. No, we’re not bound by blood, but my father…” Realizing this was
not material, I waved a hand, and said, “What matters is that I serve Gnaeus. Now,” I took a breath, “Ivomagus told me you wish to depart with us?”

  “Yes,” she said without hesitation, but she must have seen I was expecting more, and for the first time, she broke eye contact with me, looking at the ground. “There is nothing for me here, not anymore. My father…” Her voice trailed off, and I saw the shine of tears on the part of her cheek that I could see that was not obscured by her magnificent hair.

  “Her father is…” Ivomagus began, then amended, “…was being used by my brother to effect a marriage between Bronwen and Berdic. With Berdic’s death, this should release her father Praesutagas from any kind of debt or control. But,” he took a deep breath, “I just learned tonight that Cogidubnus has plans of his own for Bronwen.”

  He said nothing more, but he did not have to, and looking at her I could understand why the Parisii king had something in mind for her now that she was free of Berdic. I had, and still have no idea whether the Parisii are allowed to take more than one wife, but I know that even if they did, the rules that apply to the people do not apply to their kings.

  I turned back to Bronwen and asked her only, “Are you sure?”

  She surprised me then, by echoing, “Am I sure?” She shook her head, and when she looked up at me, I saw not just tears, but a glint of something in her eye that gave me a glimpse into her character. “No, I am not sure of anything right now. But my heart tells me this is what my gods want me to do.”

  In answer, I reached out and gently took her bag from her, then gestured to the plank; the smile of thanks she gave me was all the payment I needed, but I confess that I had one thought. Gnaeus, you better not ruin this with her; she is a remarkable woman.

  “That,” I pointed up to where Marcellus and the others were standing, “is Optio Marcellus. He will show you to the cabin.”