by Peake, R. W.
“Still like your food, I see.”
It was a malicious thing to say, and I must say that I felt equal parts satisfaction and shame when he flushed at the insult, despite giving me a forced laugh.
“That was always a weakness of mine,” he admitted, patting his stomach.
“That and wine, as I remember.”
Now he made no attempt to hide his anger, and I felt Scribonius give me a nudge from behind.
“Remember why we’re here,” he whispered. I gave a slight nod, holding my hands out towards Celer.
“Pax, Celer. I meant no harm, and I apologize for giving offense. I'm just surprised to see you.”
“And I you,” he said frankly. “I didn't realize you were still with the 10th.”
I knew he was lying, but I let it pass. Walking to the counter, I offered my hand. For a moment, I thought Celer would not accept it, then he held his own out. When I felt the dampness on my forearm, I was reminded of Censorius, which in turn reminded me of what Diocles had said the night before about the owners of The Happy Legionary and The Rudis being cousins. It was as if a piece of a puzzle fell into place, and I was afraid that Celer could hear the clicking sound that of course was only in my own mind. I thought back to the mutiny of the 9th Legion, how Celer had approached me with information from a cousin who was a Centurion in that Legion, and I realized that it had to be Censorius, despite the fact that Celer never provided his name.
“Hello, Scribonius.” Celer nodded to my friend, offering his hand much more willingly, I could not help noticing.
That made sense, since his relationship with Scribonius had never been strained the way it was with me, and although Scribonius had taken over the Second Cohort, it was after Celer had opted to retire at the end of our first enlistment, still embittered and convinced he had been wronged. I suspected that this belief as much as anything else had led to his obvious physical decline. The two clasped arms before Celer turned his attention back to me.
“So what is it that I can help you with, Pullus? I take it from your uniforms that you're not here to sample some of the best wine in this new city of ours.”
Celer was many things, but he was not stupid, so I reminded myself to keep that in mind when dealing with him.
“No, we're not,” I acknowledged. “Perhaps another time. We're here to ask you some questions about some of our men.”
I indicated the others as I went on to explain the circumstances of our visit. Now that I was aware of the connection between Celer and Censorius, I watched Celer much more closely than I had during our interview with Censorius. By unspoken agreement, and without any prior planning, Scribonius was the one to ask the bulk of the questions, while I stood by, listening, only interjecting when I wanted Celer to elaborate on some point. While Celer answered the questions readily enough, I saw tiny beads of sweat forming on his upper lip, and while I could not swear to it, I thought I saw a slight tremor in the hand he laid on the counter. It could very well have been due to his drinking, but I suspected otherwise.
Scribonius was up to his usual form, asking hard questions in such a way that it did not cause Celer to either take offense or become overtly suspicious, making me fairly sure that by the time he was finished answering, he was convinced that this was a routine matter and that he was not under any suspicion. That was fine with me, and in fact was exactly the kind of frame of mind that I wanted him in. Trebellius asked a few more questions, then I signaled to the others that it was time to leave. Promising that we would return to enjoy his hospitality, something that I knew neither of us wanted, we turned to leave, with me behind the others. Diocles had opened the door and was just stepping out when I turned, slapping my forehead as if I had forgotten something. Celer had been glaring at my back, but recovered quickly enough, pretending to look interested in what I had to say.
“Forgive me, Celer, but I almost forgot,” I lied.
“Yes, Pullus?”
“Is Censorius really your cousin?”
His face froze, and I could almost see his mind working as he tried to decide what to do.
“Yes,” he said finally, trying very much to make it sound of little consequence, but I was not through.
“Is that the same cousin who was a Centurion in the 9th and was part of the mutiny against Caesar all those years ago?”
Blood shot up into the broken veins of Celer’s face. I could see he was both furious and alarmed.
“He was in the 9th, yes, but he wasn’t one of the mutineers!”
“Oh,” I said in mock surprise. “I thought I remembered that he was and he was one of the men forced to draw lots.”
This was a complete and total guess on my part, since Celer had never said any such thing, yet it was plain to see that I hit the mark, his jaw dropping, the blood that had flooded his face rushing out just as quickly.
“That’s just a rumor, and it’s not true,” he protested.
“Ah. I must have been mistaken,” I said pleasantly. “But why didn't you bring that up? Scribonius mentioned The Happy Legionary, and your cousin is the owner.”
“I didn’t think it was important. What does it matter who owns another wineshop? There’s already about 30 in the city, and that's undoubtedly going to grow. You’re looking for whoever is murdering your men, not keeping track of who owns which wineshop.”
“That’s true,” I acknowledged, then waved it away. “You're right, of course. It's of no consequence.”
I turned and left with the others, leaving Celer staring at our retreating backs.
“He’s lying,” I said flatly.
Scribonius eyed me for a moment, then asked, “About what, exactly?”
“Everything. He’s in this up to his neck. I can feel it.”
“I'll admit that it’s suspicious,” Scribonius replied. “But I'm not as convinced as you are.”
I looked at him in astonishment, not understanding how my friend, who I considered the smartest man I knew, could miss something so obvious.
“How could you not see it? It’s as plain as day!”
“Because I don’t hate the man the way you do,” he said evenly. “And I think your feelings about him are clouding your judgment.”
“I have every reason to hate the man. He made my life miserable for years,” I shot back.
“As you did right back to him,” Scribonius continued while I stopped, staring at him in disbelief.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “I was completely fair with that man, and he repaid me by stabbing me in the back every chance he got.”
Now Scribonius stopped, turning slowly to look me directly in the eye. Meanwhile, Diocles and Trebellius looked at the ground as if they wished it could swallow them up.
“Do you really believe that?” he asked quietly. “Titus, you're my oldest and best friend, and you're a great leader, and I'd follow you to Hades should you ask it of me. But you're not perfect. You have your blind spots and petty jealousies just like any man.”
I swallowed hard, not liking what I was hearing, but willing to let Scribonius speak, simply because of all the people in my life, he had earned that right more than any other.
Seeing that I was willing to let him continue, he said gently, “It’s true that Celer did things to make your life miserable, but look at it from his perspective. He was sure that he was going to be made Pilus Prior, then you showed up, ten years younger and barely through your first enlistment. If the situation was reversed, how would you have felt?”
“I wouldn't have liked it one bit,” I admitted, if a little grudgingly. “But I would have done everything I could to prove that the wrong choice had been made, and not by trying to make my superior look bad.”
“Yes, that is how you would do it,” Scribonius agreed. “But you're different. You've always been different. Just ask Cleopatra. Ask Lepidus. Ask Octavian, and they'd all say the same thing, that Titus Pullus is made of a different metal than most men. Which is why you are where you are. But
more people are like Celer than they are like you, and Celer did what most people would have done.”
“You would do the same,” I pointed out, but I was surprised when Scribonius only shrugged.
“Perhaps, although I'm not as sure as you are about what I'd do.”
“So why don’t you think he is not involved in this?”
“I didn't say I don’t think he's involved, but I'm not as sure about it as you are, and I think we should proceed with caution.”
“Maybe now that he knows we're nosing about, he and his cousin will stop, if they are involved,” interjected Trebellius. Both Scribonius and I shook our heads.
“If he is, he’s not going to stop,” Scribonius replied. “Because he’s greedy, and he’s unable to control himself.”
“And he thinks that he’s smarter than me,” I added.
Scribonius considered, then agreed. “I think you’re right about that, but not just you. Celer is the type of man who thinks he’s smarter than everyone.”
We returned to camp to report what we had learned, and discuss what the next step should be.
After talking it over with Flaminius and the other Centurions involved, it was decided that at the moment there was not enough evidence to take any action against either Celer or Censorius, and that we would be forced to wait and see if Celer was as arrogant as I thought he was. We also discussed shutting the camp down, making Nicopolis off-limits, but we knew from bitter experience that in all likelihood we would end up with more dead bodies than we already had at that point, since men would inevitably take their frustrations out on each other. A week passed, then another, the men continuing to carouse, gamble and debauch, only to return alive and essentially unharmed. I was beginning to think that perhaps Celer and Censorius had become more cautious with age when another body turned up, albeit only after being reported missing a few days earlier. Instead of the trash heap, the man’s body was found stuffed in one of the privies that were still being used while the baths were being constructed. After questioning his close comrade, we were faced with another mystery; according to his friend, he had never frequented either The Rudis or The Happy Legionary. However, the name of one of the whorehouses that had been mentioned before came up, this incident now enough to put Venus’ Gates under our scrutiny. My suspicion was that Celer and Censorius were connected to Venus’ Gates, despite never having been seen there and were not commonly known to own the house, either totally or in part. Knowing that either I or one of the other Centurions poking around Venus’ Gate would do more harm than good to our cause of finding and stopping the murders of our men, I called Gaius to my quarters.
“I have a mission for you,” I began, and he looked instantly alert, sitting on the edge of his stool.
I had to suppress a grin, knowing that what I was about to ask him to do would be the farthest thing from his mind.
“Are you familiar with Venus’ Gates?”
He nodded, but added quickly, “I’ve never been. To that one, anyway.”
I laughed. “Then you're in luck. I want you to go visit tonight.”
He said nothing, just stared at me in clear puzzlement. I went on to explain why, telling him everything that I thought he needed to know. I even told him about my history with Celer, and when I was finished, his face was hard.
“Why don’t we just go and snatch the bastard like we did Deukalos?”
“Because he’s a former Centurion, a citizen, and I could be wrong, though I'm sure I'm not.”
“It sounds like he should pay for all that he did to you when he was with the 10th. Just give me the word, Uncle, and I'll make sure that he’s taken care of.”
Now it was my turn to stare at Gaius, and I could see by his face that he was completely serious. I was both touched and concerned at the same time. When I asked him why he felt that way, his reply threatened to bring tears to my eyes, which would have horrified the both of us.
“Any enemy of yours is an enemy of mine, and any man who would try to usurp your authority isn't worthy of being called a Centurion of Rome. Especially when it was Divus Julius who awarded you that authority. I think he should die just for that affront to his memory.”
He was so sincere and passionate, and I remembered what it felt like to have the fire of such certainty burning in your body. I did not know what to say, other than to thank him, assuring him that killing Celer was not something with which he needed to concern himself.
“I want you to go to Venus’ Gates, and just keep your eyes and ears open. Don’t be obvious about it, just try and learn if either Celer or Censorius has anything to do with the place, and if so, what their role is. I suspect that one or both of them own the place, because it’s the only other place that's been mentioned almost as much as their two taverns.”
With these instructions, I handed him some coins, while he needed no urging to be sent on his way.
Like I suspected, Gaius did not learn anything that night, nor the next. He rapidly became a regular at Venus’ Gates, much to the distress of my purse. However, I did not begrudge the boy having some fun while he was working, and he did report in every day with a smile on his face. It was beginning to get expensive, yet I was determined to see an end to the murders, and was convinced that we were on the right track. The other Centurions were not as convinced, but they had no better ideas, meaning they were content to let me pursue things in my own way. It began to look as if neither Censorius nor Celer were involved with Venus’ Gates, and I was about to tell Gaius that the most enjoyable job he would likely ever have during his time in the Legions was done, when two things happened. Another body turned up, this time it being one of my men, and when Gaius came to give his usual morning report, his excitement was clear to see before he spoke a word.
“Celer came into Venus’ Gates last night, roaring drunk and clearly happy about something.”
That got my attention, but my nephew was not through. “And he's clearly at the very least a regular at the house, and I didn't see him give Parthenia, that’s the woman who runs things, any coin.”
“Which would make sense, if he's an owner,” I said slowly, trying to hide my excitement. “Did you have a conversation with him?”
Gaius nodded. “I told him that I was in the Eighth of the 10th. He told me that he had been a Centurion in the 10th under Caesar.”
I could not help asking, “Did he mention me?”
“I did,” Gaius said. “I thought it might strike him as strange that I didn't ask if he'd served with you, so I asked him if he knew you.”
“And?”
“He said that he served in the same Cohort, but that's as far as he went, and he clearly didn't want to talk about it.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed, “for a number of reasons. If he had told you about our history, or had said something about me that caused you to relay it back to me, that would cause him more problems than he wants.”
“So that's enough, isn’t it? We know that he’s probably the owner of the whorehouse, and between that and the wineshops, he should be hauled before the Praetor and prosecuted.”
“It’s enough for me. I'll tell Flaminius and the others about it, and I think this should be enough for them as well.”
I was wrong. Much to my anger and annoyance, the other Centurions were not swayed by this new piece of information, refusing to do anything. Returning to my quarters, I sat down to think about what more could be done, and the thought that came to me, I did not like. Nonetheless, try as I might, I could not come up with a better alternative, so I reluctantly called for Gaius again.
“Do you want me to go back to Venus’ Gates?”
I had to laugh at his eagerness, but what I was going to discuss with him was extremely serious. I had asked Scribonius, Balbus, and Diocles to attend as well, both to hear what they had to say and to serve as witness to what I was going to ask Gaius to do. I had little doubt that he would be willing, so I suppose I was protecting myself by making sure that others saw th
at willingness should things go wrong.
“Well, you may not be so eager to go after you hear what I'm asking you to do.”
That got his attention, and he took a seat across from my desk. The others were arranged around it as well, and I had Diocles offer wine before we started. I was trying to gather my thoughts, knowing in my heart that I was really buying time because of the danger I was about to put Gaius in.
Finally, I began, “The other Centurions involved aren’t convinced by what we found at Venus’ Gates, so we're faced with a couple of alternatives to try and stop these killings. The first would be to have you become a regular at Venus’ Gate and The Rudis, and over time hope that you'd see or hear something that would be strong enough to convince everyone involved in this mess that Celer and Censorius are involved.”
I paused, hoping that Scribonius or Balbus would point out the flaws in this idea, but neither of them spoke.
Swallowing my irritation, I continued. “The problem with that is that it would take too long, and in the meantime more men are likely to die, and there's no guarantee that you would learn anything.” I took a sip of wine before plunging on to the meat of the matter. “So I have an idea, but it's dangerous, and I won't hold it against you in any way should you choose not to go through with what I'm proposing. In fact,” I added, “a part of me is hoping that you say no.”
“What’s the idea?”
“Did I ever tell you about the time I spent with the 6th? When we cruised the Nile with Caesar and that bitch Cleopatra?”