by Peake, R. W.
While each Centurion talked about the murdered man, the only other sound was the scratching of stylus on wax, each clerk scribbling away, making a record of the proceedings for each of the affected Legions. Flaminius had called the meeting in the Praetorium, meaning that it was not long before we had a crowd, since the other Primi Pili and Centurions heard what was taking place and came to listen. Fairly quickly, it was decided to call for the closest comrade of each of the murdered men, which took a bit of time to arrange, but we felt that they could provide information that the Centurions did not have. When the first man arrived, he was clearly nervous and reluctant to talk. It took some persuasion on our part to convince him that he was not in trouble and nothing he said would be held against him.
“We want to bring justice to those who did this to your close comrade, and we want to keep it from happening again,” Flaminius said to the first and all subsequent witnesses, whereupon he finally opened up.
As he talked, I began to despair that we would learn anything valuable, since the Legionary described what could have been any other ranker in the army. The man liked to drink, though not to the point where he had been punished excessively, and while his record showed that he had been striped, this was not uncommon at all for a man who was under the standard for a number of years. When we were satisfied that we had learned all we could, the Centurion for the next murdered man began his testimony, followed by the close comrade, while the clerks continued to write. It was in this manner in which the day dragged by, with a few breaks in between to allow us to stretch our legs and discuss what we had learned. It was frustrating work, since no clear pattern seemed to be emerging from what we were learning. The murdered men were not regular customers of the same gambling houses or whorehouses, the most likely places where a man could get into trouble. The only similarity was that they seemed to be roughly divided into two groups, in terms of the wineshops they visited, but they were located in different parts of the town, almost on opposite sides. It was growing dark by the time we interviewed the last man, still with no clear indication that would give us a direction to continue our investigation. Frustrated, we all agreed to end the meeting, and I walked back to our area with Diocles and Trebellius. Diocles was practically staggering under the weight of the tablets he had filled that day. When we returned to my quarters, I was tempted to tell him to erase them and forget the whole mess. I am glad that I did not, since he sat down at his desk immediately to begin reading through them.
“Why are you doing that? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
He shook his head, not taking his eyes from the first tablet. “I just want to look these over before I go to bed. I feel like we’re missing something.”
“We’re missing who’s behind this, but I doubt you’ll find any answers in there,” I retorted, but I did not stop him from his task.
I retired to my personal quarters to do some reading before I slept, and when I snuffed out my lamp a third of a watch later, I could see the flickering light of Diocles’ own lamp still burning.
I was in the midst of a very pleasant dream involving Miriam, but was roused from my sleep when I heard Diocles calling my name. He had long since learned, unfortunately the hard way, that touching me in order to rouse me was not a good idea, choosing instead to stand in the doorway several feet away to waken me. My eyes snapped open, my mind trying to adjust to the different world in which I had just been, as I sat up.
“What is it?”
“I think I found something, master!” Diocles’ voice was excited, but I did not share it.
“Can’t it wait until morning?”
“I don’t think so.”
Grumbling, I roused myself to walk out into the outer office, gasping in surprise at the sight before me. Spread across the floor, in three neat rows, were the tablets, arranged side by side across the length of the office.
Looking a bit sheepish at my reaction, Diocles explained. “It helps me think if I can see information side by side, and we filled so many tablets that there was no room on my desk.”
“Fine. Just tell me what's so important that you had to wake me up to tell me.”
“There are two things,” he began. “One that I'm sure of, and one that I suspect. But if what I suspect is correct, I think you'll see why I woke you up.”
I had learned to trust Diocles when he had these kinds of notions, so I waved to him to continue and said, “Start with what you know.”
“What I know is that there's one thing all these men had in common.”
“You mean other than being dead?”
He flushed at my jibe, but continued. “All these men won money gambling within a week of their murder.”
I shook my head impatiently, interrupting him. “We know that. But it was hardly like it was a fortune. If I remember, the most one of them won was 50 sesterces. And they won in different gambling houses.”
“True,” Diocles granted. “Individually, it wasn't much. However, altogether it added up to almost 500 sesterces.”
That got my attention; I knew how many men would kill for 500 sesterces, and the list was very long indeed.
I began thinking about it, then shook my head again. “That would mean that whoever killed these men would have had to have a spy in each gambling house. That means they would have to pay for that kind of information. By the time they got through with bribes, there wouldn't be much left over.”
Diocles nodded as if agreeing with me, but he was one step ahead. “Which leads to the next point—that which I suspect. You're of course correct; having a spy in each house would be expensive, so what else do they have in common? That's where I started looking.”
I indicated that he should continue. He looked down at one of the tablets, frowning as he searched for something. I could see the redness in his eyes and the lines of fatigue furrowing his brow, but he was clearly determined and I counted myself lucky to have him.
“Let’s see, where was it? I think it was in this one, the testimony from Attius, the close comrade of Minucius, who was the man from the 8th who was murdered. Ah, here it is.” He reached down to pick up the tablet, pointing to a line he had written. “Attius mentioned that the owner of the wineshop they liked to attend was a former Centurion who claimed to have marched with Caesar.”
I recalled that point, but did not see the relevance, so I just shrugged. “And?”
“He also mentioned something about having a cousin who had been a Centurion as well.”
Without waiting for me to respond, he dropped the tablet, then trotted over to another one. “This one is from the testimony of Trebellius, talking about Furius. He said that Furius had mentioned the same thing, that he frequented a wineshop that was run by a Centurion who had marched for Caesar.”
“So they both frequented the same wineshop,” I was beginning to get irritated. “What does that mean?”
“Except that they didn't go to the same wineshop,” Diocles said quietly. “Remember that the only thing in common was that the men all frequented one of two different wineshops, but they were on opposite sides of the town. One is called,” he looked down at the tablet, “The Rudis. And the other,” he picked the first tablet back up, “is called The Happy Legionary.”
“Which tells the men that they cater to the army, and they're likely run by a former soldier,” I said slowly.
Diocles nodded. “Exactly.”
I had to admit that this was interesting, but I still did not see the connection. However, I was now convinced that Diocles had indeed found something, so rather than have him continue in this manner, I just told him to give me his idea.
He looked vaguely disappointed at not being able to build his case, yet he said readily enough, “I think that these two wineshops are where the information is being gathered about the men winning money, and I think that these two owners are indeed cousins and are working together.”
I thought about it, and while it was intriguing, I was still doubtful. “That’s awfu
lly thin gruel. But it's definitely something to look into. I think I'll pay a visit to these places tomorrow.”
I patted him on the back, thanking him for his work, then told him to try and get some sleep. With that, we both retired for the evening. I confess I was not hopeful that this would amount to anything, and I certainly was not prepared for what I was about to learn the next day.
Deciding to take Trebellius, Diocles, and Scribonius, whom I had filled in over breakfast, we left to visit The Rudis and The Happy Legionary the next afternoon. We chose the shop nearest to the camp first, located one street away from the southern wall. Despite the newness of the city, trash had already begun to pile up on the corners and in the alleys, the gutters running with effluvium since the sewer system was still under construction. Even at this relatively early time, there were men already staggering about, old veterans spending the last of their money in an attempt to drink themselves to death. A few whores were about as well, the early risers among them, looking for men who had an itch to scratch that could not wait until the sun set. Alternately ignoring their calls, or bantering back with them, we found The Happy Legionary easily enough, located side by side with an identical-looking shop, just with a different name. The sign above the door was a crude painting of a Legionary in full uniform buggering what looked like a Gallic woman, with protruding eyes and tongue hanging out.
“That’s tasteful,” Scribonius commented dryly.
“But it’s guaranteed to draw a crowd of idiots who think that there’s a gaggle of women just on the other side of the door, waiting to be fucked,” Trebellius said, drawing a laugh from all of us, knowing he was exactly right.
Even veterans who should know better would be seduced by the prospect of what the sign portrayed, and I had to salute the owner for knowing his customer so well.
We paused outside the door, and Scribonius asked me, “How are you going to play this Titus? With honey or vinegar?”
“I'll play it as it comes, and act accordingly,” I told him, but he rolled his eyes.
Turning to Trebellius, he said, “I bet there’s some furniture broken, at the very least.”
Trebellius laughed. “I’m not taking that bet.”
Ignoring them, I stepped inside, not surprised to see that there were already a couple of tables with men and a woman seated there. We stopped to let our eyes adjust to the dimly lit interior while studying the terrain, so to speak. High on the far wall hung a sword and a vitus, the sign that the proprietor had indeed been a Centurion, or at least claimed to be. The counter where the drinks were served was immediately underneath the ornaments, behind which stood a thickset man of average height, with his back turned to us. Hearing the door open, he turned to greet his new customers, the fake smile that all proprietors of such establishments seemed to wear plastered on a face where it clearly did not belong. Seeing us standing there in uniform, the smile froze, his eyes narrowing in clear suspicion and wariness. Then, when I looked into the man’s eyes and saw his face, I was struck by a nagging thought that I knew this man from somewhere, but could not immediately place him. He was a few years older than I was, with hair that was still black, but thinning and unkempt, the seams in his face matching his voice. I will say that he recovered quickly, calling out to us in a gravelly voice that belied many years of bellowing at the top of his lungs.
“Salve Centurions! Welcome to the Happy Legionary, the best place in this new city for men like yourselves to come and relax and have a drop!”
He swept a meaty forearm in the direction of an empty table. “Please, have a seat and the first round is on the house, from a fellow Centurion. Retired of course.” He gave a chuckle at his own joke. “Since it wouldn't be legal for me to run a business while still on the rolls.”
I gave him a smile as false as the one he had given us, but shook my head. “We appreciate the offer, but we're actually here on official business. I assume you're the owner of this fine shop?”
“The owner, chief server, cup washer, and security, all rolled up in one. That's me.”
“I'm Primus Pilus . . .” I began to introduce myself, but he held up a hand.
“There's no need to introduce yourself, Primus Pilus Pullus. I know who you are. And it's my honor to have the Primus Pilus of Caesar’s 10th, the Equestrians themselves, here in my humble shop.”
It had been some time since we were referred to as Caesar’s Equestrians, and I felt a flush of pleasure, wondering if he also knew that I was one of those men on horseback who faced Ariovistus. At the same time, a quiet voice in the back of my mind warned me not to be taken in, and for once, I listened to it. Still, I responded in a warm tone, thanking him for his kind words. For a moment, we all stood there in awkward silence before he laughed out loud, breaking the tension.
“You know me,” I told him, still with a smile and what I hoped was a friendly tone. “But I'm afraid that I'm at a loss, though you do look familiar.”
“Forgive me, Primus Pilus Pullus, where are my manners?” he said. “I'm Aulus Suetonius Censorius, formerly the Tertius Pilus Posterior of the 9th Legion, Spaniards like yourself and honored to have marched with Divus Julius and the 10th.”
We clasped arms all around, then Censorius said, “You said you were here on official business, Primus Pilus. Might I inquire as to what it is exactly?”
I explained to him the purpose in our visit, at least partially. I left out Diocles’ suspicions, instead just telling Censorius that we were gathering information. He listened and responded to our questions readily enough, although what information he provided was not particularly helpful. According to Censorius, the murdered men were just a few of dozens of Legionaries who were regular customers, and he could not recall any altercation or incident involving any of the men that might give us an indication that someone held a grudge against them. He did not seem evasive, at least to my eyes, and he did not hesitate in answering any of our questions. When we had exhausted every possibility, I thanked Censorius, accepting his offered hand, noticing that his grip on my forearm was clammy, leaving a residue of moisture behind as we left the shop. That nagged at me, although I had to admit to myself that I had known men with sweaty hands who had nothing to hide, so I shook the thought away.
Once outside, we paused for a moment to compare our impressions, and Scribonius spoke first. “I should have taken that bet,” he said ruefully. “I must admit that Titus was on his best behavior.” He turned to look at me. “Did he look familiar to you?”
I nodded. “Yes, but that’s to be expected. I'm sure he’s telling the truth about being in the 9th, and no doubt we ran into each other at some point.”
Scribonius frowned, shaking his head. “It’s more than that. He reminds me of someone, but I can’t think of whom.”
I shrugged it off, then we headed for The Rudis. We had to stop to ask directions, but it did not take long to find once pointed in the right direction. Located on almost exactly the opposite side of the city from The Happy Legionary, if I had been blindfolded then had it removed when standing in front of the second wineshop, I would have sworn that it was a trick, that I had just been led around the block and back to where we started. That is how similar the two shops were, both in appearance and location, along a street that had the same smell of raw wood and plaster, the newness still not worn off. The only real difference was in the painting above the door, this one of a little better quality, depicting four Legionaries sitting at a table toasting each other, all of them smiling happily. I noticed that there were dice on the table, and they of course were Venus, while on one of the Legionary’s knees sat a buxom girl with bare breasts, one of which was cupped in the hand of the Legionary. As it went, I could see how this would appeal to the men, not just rankers but Centurions and Optios, many of whom, if not most, still being happy to pursue the life that the painting depicted.
We entered the shop, where I fully expected to see a repeat of The Happy Legionary, and for the most part, it met my expectations, almost
down to the number and type of customer. What I was not prepared for was who was standing behind the counter. When the proprietor of the shop looked up to greet us, the same false smile on his face, our eyes met, and it felt as if Zeus had thrown a lightning bolt directly at me to strike my body. He had gained a great deal of weight since I had last seen him, and time had not been kind to him, his mouth now missing more teeth than it possessed. His nose was still a misshapen lump, in fact looking as if it had been broken at least once more since I had seen him last. Scribonius was the last to enter, and I heard him gasp in surprise when he looked over my shoulder. The air hung thick with a sudden tension that even the seated customers could sense, and they began shifting uncomfortably in their chairs, looking from me to the owner. It took a moment for me to find my voice, but when I did, I made no attempt to hide both my surprise and disgust, because suddenly things made more sense as I spoke the name of the man behind the counter.
“Gaius Domitius Celer.”
“Salve Pullus.” Celer looked as surprised and discomfited to see me as I him, while he did not seem to know what to do.
For that, I could not much blame him, given that I felt the same way, but when it came to forgiveness, I held very little in my heart for my former Secundus Pilus Posterior. Gaius Celer had fully expected, as did at least one of his minions, the Princeps Posterior Marcus Niger, to be promoted to the slot of Pilus Prior of the Second Cohort, except that Caesar selected me instead. I was young to lead a Cohort, but I did not, nor do I, bow my head to any man when it came to my record to that point. While the rest of the Centurions of the Second responded well, performing accordingly under my command, Celer did whatever he could to make me look bad, although he was always sly about it. In the same way that we tunnel under a wall to make it collapse under its own weight, so too did Celer work to try and undermine my authority to make me look bad, not just in front of the men and Centurions, but to Caesar and the other officers of the Legion. Thankfully, I was able to overcome every attempt on Celer’s part to usurp my authority, but it was not without effort and constant vigilance. So when I stood facing my former enemy, it was with a certain amount of satisfaction.