Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  It was, I thought ruefully, a good point, and I said as much. Then, with that settled, we both lapsed into silence, and fairly quickly, I started dozing, with the sounds of the oars slapping the water to the beat of the drum lulling me to sleep.

  Gnaeus did not appear until just before sundown, and despite the tension I was feeling, I had to smother my smile at the sight of the men of both Squillus’ crew and the former Legionaries suddenly turning about to look anywhere but at him.

  Unfortunately, Gnaeus noticed this, and when he walked up to stand next to me where I was leaning on the railing lining the upper deck at the bow of the ship, he demanded, “What’s going on with them?”

  “Going on?” I frowned, hoping that I appeared sincere. “I have no idea.” Suddenly, I was inspired to say, “Why do you think everything’s about you?”

  “I don’t!” he protested, but then he gave me a rueful grin. “Not all the time anyway.”

  “Well, at least it’s over and we’re heading home,” I offered. Then, before I could stop myself, to my horror, I heard words tumbling from my mouth as if they were coming from someone else. “But there’s something you need to know. Something about Septimus and Arelate.”

  My anxiety at blurting this out changed instantly to astonishment when I saw that Gnaeus did not seem surprised.

  “Septimus had to borrow money to pay my ransom, didn’t he?”

  Part of me was relieved that he instantly grasped the likely reason for my statement, but the manner in which he said it, and the expression on his face, I found quite distressing.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Any idea how much?”

  He was not looking at me, instead leaning on the railing and looking at the sea around us that was golden from the rays of the setting sun off to our left as the Salacia had turned north, heading for Ubiorum.

  “I’m not certain,” I answered, but I knew that, while Gnaeus did not have a deep understanding of his family’s holdings and wealth, he was far from ignorant about such matters. And, most importantly, I knew that prevaricating was the wrong thing to do, which prompted me to go on, “but I know what he had to offer as security for the loan.”

  I was watching him, and it felt as if I was being punched in the stomach as I saw the expression on his face changing from a frown as he tried to think what it might be, then the realization of what it was. Most alarming was how, with a low moan, his knees buckled, forcing him to reach out to grasp the railing.

  “The villa,” he said finally. “He had to put up the villa.”

  I could only nod, then we did not speak for a long time, until the last light of day was rapidly fading.

  “So,” he finally spoke. “You must have known that Bronwen was on board.”

  There was no point in denying it, so I told him about Ivomagus, and at this, he stood up suddenly, staring down at me before, to my intense relief, he began to laugh.

  “I was wondering what he meant about repaying his debt.”

  I went on to tell him what Ivomagus had said about Cogidubnus and his plans for Bronwen, and while I was not surprised to see this angered him, for a moment, I thought he was about to storm up to Squillus at the steering oar and demand we turn back around. The moment passed, signaled by his sudden exhalation, and while he spat over the side, his tone was more resigned than anything else.

  “I don’t know how, but I’m going to kill that cunnus before I step in Charon’s boat.”

  Even if I had been disposed to, I was not about to argue with him; the one time I opened my mouth the image of Berdic leapt into my mind, and I realized that wagering against anyone named Pullus was a risky proposition. I thought it would be a good idea to steer the conversation away from Cogidubnus and back to Bronwen.

  “Did she tell you why she came with us?”

  I was surprised when he replied, “Not really. At least we didn’t talk about it much.” Before I could say anything, I saw a grin spread across his face, and he nudged me as he added, “We didn’t really talk about anything.”

  As I am sure he intended, this made me laugh, but when I asked him if he was heading below again, he shook his head.

  “I need to think,” he said. “But I do have a favor to ask.”

  “Anything,” I assured him.

  “Go down and keep Bronwen company. Oh,” he sighed, “she’s trying to appear brave and that she’s not scared out of her wits and having second thoughts. But,” he shook his head, “I know how I’d be feeling if I was in her place.”

  “Of course,” I answered, but then a thought occurred to me. “But does she know?”

  “Yes, I told her I was going to have you sit with her.”

  And with that, I left him alone to his thoughts as he remained in the same position, leaning on the railing, staring out to sea.

  When I knocked on the cabin door, Bronwen immediately called out for me to come in, and I could see by her demeanor she had been expecting me.

  “Salve, Bronwen,” I said, because I was unable to think of an appropriate way to begin.

  “Salve, Alexandros,” she replied hesitantly, and I was certain that, despite her command of our tongue, she was unfamiliar with our customary greeting. She did offer me a smile, however. “Thank you for coming to sit with me.”

  I realized that, even with the shutters open, the light in the cabin was failing quickly, so I went to light the oil lamp that hung from one of the beams supporting the deck above us as I said, “I can’t say that I know how you must be feeling right now, but I imagine that it’s…difficult.”

  Even as I said it, I blushed at the understatement, and whether it was because she saw my embarrassment or she appreciated the humor, she did laugh.

  “That is one way to put it,” she agreed, but her smile faded quickly, and there was a silence between us. She broke it by asking suddenly, “You have the last name as Gnaeus, but you said that you were not related. How is this?”

  Grateful for the opening, I sat on the stool next to her and explained not just how I came to share the name, but the Roman system of slaves, freedmen, citizens, and their relative status. I could see she was a careful listener, but she is also very clever, asking few questions but those she did displayed a shrewd mind. I have no idea how long we spoke, but it had to be at least a watch, then I saw her head beginning to droop. I had studiously ignored the makeshift bed on the deck, made with Gnaeus’ sagum and his spare, knowing that they had not used it to sleep, so instead, I helped her into Gnaeus’ hammock, and she was asleep within a matter of heartbeats. I blew out the lamp, crawled into mine, and was asleep not much later.

  I was awakened by the rays of the sun showing through the cracks in the shutter, but when I glanced over, I saw Bronwen was still sleeping soundly, so as carefully as I could, I dropped to the deck, picked up my boots, and slipped out of the cabin. It was when I came up onto the deck that I received a shock; the sun was off our left side. Pluto’s cock, I thought; Bronwen and I had slept through an entire day! This was my first thought, but fairly quickly, I realized that the quality of the light was not what one associates with sundown. I saw Gnaeus, but while he was at the bow as he had been, he was sitting down with his back to the side, talking to Marcellus. However, before I could make my way there, I heard my name called, and I turned to see Squillus, along with his second in command, standing on the upper deck at the steering oar. As I climbed the ladder, it struck me that the sail was now out, which either meant the wind had shifted, or…

  “Your Centurion better be good for this,” Squillus said as I approached. “He said to talk to you about payment.”

  Now I was hopelessly confused.

  “We already settled on the price,” I shook my head. “And I paid you half.”

  “To go to Ubiorum,” he replied. “Not back to Gesoriacum.”

  This was when I understood. It was not sundown, it was dawn, and we were now heading in the opposite direction. I hastily assured Squillus that Gnaeus was good to his word, igno
ring his protests that he needed more assurance than that as I dropped down the ladder, and while I did not run, I did cross the main deck as rapidly as I could. Gnaeus saw me coming, but he did not get up, although he said something to Marcellus that became apparent when the former Optio got up and walked towards me as I got to the upper deck of the bow. He did not say anything, just gave a nod, then I dropped down next to Gnaeus, who did not even glance in my direction as I did.

  “You turned us around,” I said this in a conversational tone.

  “Yes.”

  When he said nothing else, I bit the inside of my cheek to not snap at him to be more forthcoming, knowing it would make it worse.

  Instead, I tried to reason with him by pointing out, “Gnaeus, going to Arelate isn’t going to help anything. And,” I added what I thought was the most important thing, “we have to report back to the Legion as quickly as possible. I don’t think Sacrovir will punish you because of all that’s happened, but if we go to Arelate first…”

  “We’re not going to Arelate,” he interrupted, although he still did not look at me.

  I thought I had caught up, but I was back to being as confused as I was moments before when I came up on deck.

  “Well,” I asked what I thought was the reasonable question, “where are we going?”

  Now he did look at me, but with an expression that, if you were to ask him, he would claim is the way I look at him when I think he is being thick.

  “Alexandria, of course! We’re going to Alexandria, we’re going to hunt down that cunnus Aviola, and we’re going to get that four hundred thousand sesterces back from him.”

  I cannot honestly say what I found the most shocking, the destination itself or the way Gnaeus told me, as if the answer was obvious.

  “But…what about the Legion? What about Sacrovir? What,” I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat, “about Germanicus?”

  This was the first time in this brief conversation where I saw that Gnaeus was not acting impulsively as he turned to look at me for the first time, and I saw in his eyes that he understood the risk he was running.

  “I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do everything in my power to help my family, Alex. So,” he shrugged, “if we’re successful, and Germanicus has me executed for desertion, at least I’ll know that it was worth it. And if we’re not?” He shrugged, but he did look away as he finished, “I don’t want to live with that shame, so he’ll be doing me a favor.”

  And, I thought, what about us, Gnaeus? What about your family? How do you think we’d feel, either way? Even if we do get that money back, if you’re executed for not returning to Ubiorum at the first opportunity, the Pullus line ends with you. If we don’t, and you’re executed, the result is even worse. This was what was running through my mind, but I also knew better than to say any of this, because I know Gnaeus Pullus well enough to know when he has made up his mind.

  Learning the truth, that my ransom had forced Septimus to put up the villa for security, was the realization of my worst nightmare, so that while I was not surprised, it still felt like I was being punched in my gut, but I did not hesitate in my decision to order Squillus to turn the ship around. Honestly, he was fortunate, because I was only in my tunic and my gladius was in the cabin below when his first response was to refuse. Whether it was the look in my eyes or the fact that I stepped up close to him so that he was between me and the side of the ship, with the cold water just a few feet below, Squillus did see the error of his ways. When he demanded that he be paid over the agreed amount, making the argument that he was missing an opportunity to pick up some cargo in Lugdunum Batovorum for a last run before winter set in, I did not quibble, if only because I had no idea whether Alex had enough money on him; if he did not, I would simply give Squillus the choice between missing another opportunity for this season or losing all of the opportunities ahead of him for the rest of his days.

  Once I was satisfied that we were turning about, I went back to the bow and sat down, which was where Alex found me. When I told him that we were heading for Alexandria, I could see how badly he wanted to argue with me, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, and while we never discussed it, I believe that fairly quickly he understood there was nothing he could say to dissuade me. This does not mean we did not argue, but that did not occur until later, and it was not about going to Alexandria, but the best way to get there. The sun was a couple fingers’ width above the horizon when my eye was caught by a sudden stir at the rear of the ship, and Alex and I both turned in time to see Bronwen fully emerge on deck, albeit somewhat unsteadily.

  “She is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen,” Alex commented, and I could only nod my head, unable as always to take my eyes off her. I saw him turn towards me, but I was completely unprepared to hear him say, “And, Gnaeus. She didn’t leave just because she didn’t want to be Cogidubnus’ mistress or second wife.”

  This surprised me, and I asked, “How do you know that?”

  “Because,” he grinned, “I asked her.”

  Then, before I could respond one way or another, he hopped to his feet, still with a cac-eating grin and, with obscene haste, hurried down the ladder to the main deck to help Bronwen at the opposite end of the ship. It was actually amusing watching the four former Legionaries Alex had hired falling over themselves to bow to Bronwen as she walked towards me on Alex’s arm, and she favored each of them with a smile that, while it made me feel warm inside every time I saw it, also ignited a stab of jealousy. I was not worried about any of the four…much, and I was not concerned with Alex at all, but that is because I know Algaia; he would be gelded to make sure he never strayed again. As far as the four, in what little time I had spent with them, I was certain Alex had done well in his choosing, and I was already beginning to think about asking at least Marcellus to accompany us to Alexandria.

  Bronwen came up the ladder as I stood, but before she reached me, she asked, “We are going back the way we came. Why?”

  It was not the words as much as the way she said them, with a trembling lower lip and shining eyes that I realized how she might interpret this, but I was also curious, so instead of answering directly, I asked, “How did you know we turned around?”

  “Because,” she pointed at the sun, “I know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. But do not change the subject. Why?”

  Now I could see her entire body was shaking, so I hurried to her, and holding both of her arms, I assured her, “Not to go back to Petuar, or to Parisii lands, Bronwen. I swear it.”

  She exhaled a huge breath, dropping her head and placing it against my chest, making me feel horrible for worrying her, and wonderful because she sought me to comfort her. However, the news for her was not all good, and I braced myself.

  “Bronwen,” I began, “while we’re not going to Britannia, that doesn’t mean that we’re going back to Ubiorum. I…”

  She looked up at me sharply; as I was about to learn, the daughter of Praesutagas the Parisii merchant does not like it when she is viewed as a simple girl, even if that was not my intent.

  “Since we are headed south,” she said tartly, “I assumed we are not going to your home in Germania. So,” her green eyes seemed to darken in color when she looked at me directly, “what are we doing?”

  “Wait,” I protested. “We aren’t doing anything. I mean, necessarily.”

  I felt her body stiffen and she pulled herself out of my arms, crossing her own as she glared up at me.

  “Go on,” she said coldly. “Tell me what you are doing that does not include me?”

  I looked over at Alex, but while I could not blame him as he gave me a shake of his head in a clear signal I was on my own, I still wanted to hit him.

  More to stall than for any other reason, I indicated the deck, saying, “Let’s sit down. This may take a while.”

  She obeyed readily enough, gathering the folds of her gown, which was not the green one, but was brown in color that, I would learn, was
her traveling attire. When Alex turned to go, I told him to stay.

  “I know you already know, but I think we need to talk it through,” I explained.

  Once he was settled, I told Bronwen everything, and I mean everything, starting with how I came into being, the natural son of Titus Porcinianus Pullus, and why I had not known this until recently.

  Only once did she interrupt, to ask, “So the giant Roman Mandubracius spoke of last night. He was your…”

  “He was my great-grandfather,” I explained, “but because he adopted my grandfather, my real grandfather, who was actually his sister’s son.”

  “So your grandfather was really his nephew.” She frowned, and I could tell by her demeanor that she was trying to untangle how Romans treat adoption, so I diverged a bit to explain how we view it, and how once a Roman is adopted, he is instantly considered a member of his adoptive family, without any qualification. Then she said something that, while it was the first, was far from the last comment that taught me how perceptive she is.

  “It must be easier in a case like yours, when you are the same size and strength as your father, and your great-grandfather.”

  Frankly, I had never thought about it in this light, but she was right; just by virtue of that commonality, nobody who does not know about my grandfather being an adopted nephew would ever guess.

  Seeing that she understood, I continued, but when I reached the point where I had to talk about the death of my father, I could not do so; without being asked, Alex took up the story, although he was affected as well, while I stared at the deck as he talked. I glanced up and saw Bronwen’s cheeks wet with tears, looking at me with such tenderness and sympathy that it actually made the pain more exquisite because it reminded me of my mother when I had informed her of his death. Then Alex got to the year before and our trip to Arelate to bring my father’s ashes him, and it was his turn to become emotional, which was understandable because so much of the strife and turmoil concerned Algaia, through no fault of her own. When he described, without detail, the death of Gaius, and how it fell to Septimus to slay his own brother, I studied Bronwen’s face as she listened, but I could not really discern her thoughts. Once he got to the most recent past, he turned back to me, and I finished.