Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “So you’re free!” She kept saying this, and while it was certainly a nice and welcome feeling to see her so relieved, I nevertheless felt guilty. Finally, she released her grip around my neck to run her finger along not just the scar on my cheek, but the one on my forehead that extends a couple of inches from my hairline, and I heard the echo of her son’s voice as she asked in what sounded to my ears was an accusing manner, “And what did you do to yourself?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” I protested, although she clearly dismissed this as some sort of nonsense. Then, she turned away from me, but she did not address Alex. “Who,” she asked curiously, “is this?”

  Of course, it was Bronwen she was looking at, and I hurried over to help her dismount, then as proud as if she had been Cleopatra, I brought her to stand in front of Birgit.

  “This is Bronwen. She is a member of the Parisii tribe, and the daughter of a merchant named Praesutagas. And,” I looked down at her with a smile, “she is mine.”

  To her eternal credit, while I saw that Birgit was completely surprised, she did not hesitate to say, “Salve, Bronwen.my name is Birgit Pullus, and I bid you welcome to our home.”

  Bronwen responded as if this was the most natural thing in the world, dropping a bit by bending her knees as she replied, “Thank you for your hospitality, Birgit.” Then, in something of a surprise since we had not made any indication of the connection, she went on, “Your son Alexandros is a good man, and I owe him a great deal.”

  I tried to keep my mouth from dropping open, yet when I glanced over at Alex, it was difficult for me to keep from bursting out laughing at his face, which was close in color to a Legionary’s tunic.

  Birgit kept her composure, saying simply, “He is the son of Diocles, Bronwen. He is his father’s son.” Then she turned and, without waiting for us, she headed back inside, leaving me to thank Marcellus a final time, then ask him to take their mounts to the stable in the city where rented horses are kept. It meant that I had to trot to catch up, wanting to be with Bronwen when she entered what, if the gods favored me, would remain the ancestral home of our family. While I knew she had traveled to Gaul on several occasions with her father, to whom I had learned she was exceptionally close, she had informed me that when they stayed at another merchant’s home, it had always been in the home of a Gallic merchant and not Roman. Perhaps it was vanity, but now that I had seen the kind of dwellings that even the nobility of the Parisii used, I wanted to see her face when she caught her first glimpse of what came with being a Roman with a certain level of wealth. I was not disappointed; she gaped at the atrium and its small garden, but when we entered the triclinium, and she saw the couches and low citrus wood tables, which, of course, were polished to a high sheen that reflected the natural light streaming in from the opening of the atrium, she came to a complete stop, her mouth open.

  She turned to me, her eyes very wide as she gasped, “This is your family home?”

  Before I had time to think, I heard my voice say, “Now you know why it’s so important to me to go to Alexandria and get that money back.”

  She did not say anything, but I saw in her eyes that she now understood in a more visceral way why I felt so strongly.

  Her eyes went to the mosaic floor, which is partially covered by carpets, and I took pains to point those carpets out, grinning at her as I teased, “Guess where these come from.”

  She ventured, “Rome?” When I shook my head, she frowned, and in that moment, she exposed a streak of competitiveness that is not common to Roman women, although my mother certainly is, as is my aunt Miriam. After examining them more closely, she actually surprised me by correctly guessing, “They must be from the East, somewhere like Egypt.”

  “That’s right!” I was not just surprised, I confess I was a bit irritated that she had made the correct guess, but she did not know that I had one throw of the dice left. “But can you guess where in Egypt? And,” I added, “who they belonged to?” At this, she shook her head, and I tried not to sound like I was gloating when I told her, “These came from the royal palace in Alexandria. They belonged to…”

  “Cleopatra?” she gasped, beating me to it, looking up at me with, if anything, wider eyes. “These belonged to her?”

  “Yes,” Alex spoke up for the first time, and I saw that he was as amused and as proud as I was. “My father Diocles stole them when the Prefect was with Divus Julius in Alexandria those seven months.”

  “Your great-grandfather met Cleopatra?” She asked this with a bit of incredulity, and my first thought was, You have no idea.

  But that could wait for later, so all I said was, “When we’re sailing to Alexandria, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  With that, Birgit led us into the large room that, if the truth be told, is where the family spends most of their time, seated at the long table and alternately enjoying each other’s company and arguing about something. In simple terms, they were and are a true family, something that I had never experienced up until the previous year, which I found I enjoyed immensely.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Birgit said apologetically, “so I’m afraid all I can offer is some bread and oil.”

  “That,” I assured her, “will be fine.”

  “Mama, do you know where Septimus is?” Alex asked her.

  Before she could answer, we heard the sound of someone descending the stairs, then Gisela entered, came to a complete stop, her eyes wide and shining with happiness as she regarded me as the proof that her brother’s task had been successfully completed, or so I assumed. And she did begin to run to me as I stood up to receive a hug, but once more, she came to a stop, her eyes no longer on me but on Bronwen.

  “Who is she?” I doubt that she meant to sound hostile, or perhaps she did, given how she had been making eyes at me the year before, and I will not lie and say that I had not been mutually attracted.

  “Gisela!” Birgit’s voice cracked like a whip. “Where are your manners?”

  The color came rushing into her face, and I had to suppress a wince, seeing how she was mortally embarrassed, but she managed to stammer, “I apologize.” Then, making a visible effort to sound polite, she addressed Bronwen, “Salve, my name is Gisela Pullus, Alex’s sister.”

  Bronwen had stood as well, and while she is only a couple years older than Gisela, the manner in which she crossed the room to take both of Gisela’s hands made her look even more like a queen, at least to me.

  “Salve, Gisela,” this was the first time she used our form of greeting, and I sensed how proud she was for doing so, “my name is Bronwen, and I am from the island the Romans call Britannia. I am a member of the Parisii tribe, and the daughter of Praesutagas the merchant.”

  Gisela did attempt to sound pleased, but in the moment, I did not believe anyone was fooled; very quickly, I would learn that Bronwen had instantly understood the situation.

  “Septimus,” Birgit broke in, thank the gods, “returns home just before dark.”

  “Where’s Gaius?” Alex asked, which I found surprising since I had always sensed a certain level of coolness on Alex’s part towards his half-brother.

  “He’s with Septimus,” Birgit answered readily enough, but I saw a look exchanged between mother and son that indicated this meant more than was immediately apparent, and I decided I would ask Alex about this later.

  The bread was served, along with a bowl of oil, and Birgit also found some cheeses that she put on a platter.

  When I bit into the bread, I must have made some moan of delight, because Bronwen, who was seated next to me, gave me a quizzical look, and I explained, “I didn’t want to tell you this, but the bread you Parisii make is horrible.” She opened her mouth, I assumed to argue the point, so I shoved the rest of the chunk I had left into her mouth, saying, “Taste it.”

  She had no choice, although I suppose she could have spat it out in my face, but thankfully, she chose to chew it, and I watched as her expression changed.

  Nevertheless,
she was not quite ready to submit, although she admitted, after swallowing her mouthful, “It is good. But,” she sniffed, “I do not think that it is better.”

  “What is their bread made of?” Gisela asked, seemingly innocently, but I should have known better, and when I told her, she turned to Bronwen and said laughingly, “Barley is what we feed our horses!”

  I braced myself, waiting for Bronwen to retaliate in some way, but while she did, it was not only not what I expected, it was deadly effective as she replied sweetly, “Thank you for teaching me about this, Gisela. There is much I have to learn about Rome and its ways.” Then she looked up at me, and I saw the gleam of amusement in her eyes. “But I am looking forward to learning everything Gnaeus can teach me.” She turned her attention back to Gisela, and with wide eyes, finished the contest. “Oh, and you of course, Gisela. I will not forget your kindness.”

  From the opposite end of the table, I heard Alex coughing, but I was more worried about Birgit’s reaction to her child’s defeat, but she was smiling as she looked down at her plate. And Gisela obviously knew that she had been bested, her cheeks turning scarlet, but like her mother, she chose to concentrate on her plate.

  To break the awkward silence, I said, “We’re not going to be staying long, Birgit.”

  “I was surprised to see you,” she answered. “I had expected that you would leave…Britannia,” I understood that in that instant she had chosen a different term than the one she was about to utter, out of courtesy to Bronwen, which I appreciated, “but that you’d go immediately back to Ubiorum.”

  Gnaeus, I groaned to myself, why can’t you learn when to keep your mouth shut? It was not as if I had thought to keep our trip to Alexandria a secret from them, but I had planned on only talking about it once.

  “Mama,” Alex came to my rescue, “we’re going to tell you everything about what we’re planning to do, but I think we should wait for Septimus and Gaius to come home. And, will you send for Miriam? She needs to be here as well, and so does Scribonia, but only if she’s able to with the baby.”

  I could see by her expression this had not occurred to her, and she got up to hurry out of the room. Alex wasted no time, turning to Gisela.

  “Sister, may I speak to you in private?”

  Even if I had never met her before, I could see she wanted to refuse, but between the tone her oldest brother had used and the look he was giving her, she mutely nodded her head, getting up from the table. Alex did as well, and when he led her in the direction of the stairway, I knew he did so because if they had gone into the triclinium, we would have overheard him chastising Gisela.

  “I’m sorry that Gisela was so rude,” I said, but I was shocked when Bronwen sighed, then replied, “Poor girl. That must have been very difficult for her.”

  “What?” I tried to understand why she was speaking in this way, but I could not come up with a good reason. “She was rude to you!”

  The look she gave me was one with which I am now intimately familiar, sort of an amused scorn that was not aimed at me specifically but all men in general; I just happened to be her target at that moment, as I would come to learn,.

  “She is in love with you, Gnaeus.” She said this in a matter-of-fact manner that made it sound as if it should have been obvious. “And she walks into this room, completely unprepared to see me, sitting here beside you.”

  “You could have just been a friend,” I protested, or at least tried to, but this time when she looked up at me, I not only could translate the look, I could only offer a sheepish grin as I admitted, “Yes, I suppose it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” She smiled then laid her head against my shoulder. “And I am very happy that it is.”

  So, I realized, was I.

  As Birgit said, Septimus and young Gaius Gallienus arrived shortly before dark, yet despite being warned by Alex beforehand, I found myself gaping at the youth. By the gods, I thought; he must have grown four inches in a year! Following on the heels of that came my recollection of doing the same thing. Between the age of fourteen and fifteen, I attained my current height, and while I also filled out in my chest, shoulders, and arms to a degree, it would take longer for my muscles to catch up to my bones. Fortunately, Miriam was already there, having arrived shortly before, and as I had expected, she immediately took to Bronwen, and within a matter of a few moments, they were chattering away as if they had known each other for a long time. And, also as I had expected, the sight of Septimus’ jaw dropping when he laid eyes on Bronwen made me feel very pleased with myself; as I would be informed later, I was apparently insufferably so. Once the introductions were made, we sat at the table, and I took a breath before I began.

  “First,” I started out, determined to maintain my composure, a resolution that lasted perhaps two heartbeats, “I want to thank you for the sacrifice you made to secure my release. I…” To my utter horror, my eyes began to sting, as I stumbled, “I can’t really express how much it means to me.” I had to take a breath in an attempt to stifle the surge of emotion that threatened to make me start weeping like a woman, and I felt Bronwen’s hand on my arm, squeezing it gently as I gathered myself to continue, “But it’s because I appreciate what you’ve done for me so much that I can’t in good conscience return to Ubiorum, at least not now. Not,” I paused, “until I go to Alexandria, find that cunnus Aviola, and get as much of the money Gaius lost to him as I can.”

  For a brief moment, I thought they might have accepted this and would not argue; as I quickly learned, it was because they were all so shocked, and the room exploded with noise.

  “Gnaeus, you can’t do that! Your career will be ruined!”

  “And not just your career! You might be executed!”

  “We’re fine! We don’t need this villa to be happy!”

  I honestly cannot recall who said what, but this was the gist of the protests, and it was not just the adults; both Gisela and Gaius were equally adamant. It affected me even more deeply, but what they did not realize was that they actually deepened my determination. After all, I reasoned, and still maintain, if they were willing to sacrifice so much for me, how could I ever look myself in the eye if I was not willing to do the same?

  I waited until they finally died down enough so that I did not have to yell to say, “I appreciate everything you all are saying. But,” I shook my head, “I’m afraid that my mind is made up. So,” I spoke a bit more sharply, “you can waste our time arguing, or you can help me come up with a plan to do what needs to be done.”

  Miriam opened her mouth, but Alex beat her to it.

  “Even if you changed Gnaeus’ mind, you won’t change mine, and I’m going to Alexandria,” he said calmly. “Now, my question for all of you is…do you want me going by myself? Or,” he pointed at me, “with him?” To my mind, this should have been the clinching argument, but it was plain to see that Miriam was not ready to capitulate, and while Septimus’ expression was not as set as hers, he still looked doubtful. In retrospect, it is a good thing that Alex did not warn me what was coming, because I never would have allowed it, and when I caught his glance in my direction, his intentions were unclear. Suddenly, he said, “I want to tell you about something that happened while Gnaeus was still held hostage.” When he paused, I thought he was about to talk about Petuar, but instead he began, “The night before we left, King Cogidubnus held a feast that was in Gnaeus’ honor. And…”

  “Alex,” I actually started to stand, but once again, Bronwen reached out, except this time it was to tug on my tunic in a clear signal to sit down.

  When I looked down at her in surprise, assuming that it was because she had no desire to hear about it, she said instead, “Gnaeus. Sit down. I believe your family needs to hear this. And,” she added with a tone that, while not demanding, was different enough to make me actually take notice and see the intensity in her gaze, “so do you.”

  So I did what I was told, and without much grace, I waved at Alex to continue. While I d
id not like it, I also understood why Bronwen wanted me to hear what he had to say, because on our first time together, she had tried to broach the subject of all that I had done that night with Berdic, and I had made it clear I was unwilling to hear it.

  In the kind of flat, matter-of-fact tone that anyone who has been under the standard would recognize, Alex explained the circumstances that led to my facing Berdic in the makeshift square in Cogidubnus’ hall. I did appreciate his attempt to emphasize that my hostility for Berdic originated with the role he played in taking me hostage, but even if I had never met my family before, I would have known they were not fooled, for a simple but powerful reason; they all looked over at Bronwen as Alex talked. She stared down at the table, her face not betraying any emotion, and I reached out under the table and took her hand as she was forced to relive that night, while I heard exactly what had happened for the first time. Oh, bits and pieces had come to me during our voyage, but I still did not remember enough to put those fragments together, the same thing that had happened the first time when I was a child.

  When Alex reached the part about the actual fight, he stood up, getting into the spirit of telling this story, or so I supposed as he went on, “I was up on a table with Cogidubnus and his brother Ivomagus watching, and at first, I didn’t understand what Gnaeus was doing. When the barbarian charged at him, he hopped aside, and Berdic ran his head right into the overturned tables they used to form the square.” He grinned as he added, “He reminded me of when a bull charges something, and instead of hitting what he aimed at, he runs into a tree.” This elicited laughter, and even I chuckled at the memory of how the black-haired Parisii had run headlong into the table, bounced off it, then for a span of a couple heartbeats, stood there shaking his head as he tried to clear it, and I could have ended matters right then but chose not to do so. “But then,” Alex turned to look at me, and he suddenly sound disapproving, “I watched as Gnaeus let the bastard hit him. And,” he pointed at the pink scar on my cheekbone, from which he’d removed the stitches a week after we left Petuar, “he got his cheek split open because of it.” He shook his head. “I had no idea what he was doing. It seemed to me like he wanted to lose.” Alex stopped then, and our eyes met, and in them, I saw that he understood all too well. “But after it was over, I knew why he was letting Berdic beat him.”