I was neither a philosopher, nor a soothsayer. Soldiers aren’t supposed to possess philosophical insights, but perhaps this was Kyar’s way of saying farewell, not to be concerned for her afterlife. At that moment, a sense of inner peace flooded my soul. Although my grief lingered, I knew Kyar no longer wanted me to lament for her.
I picked up and tied the pieces of the lance at the back of my saddle. As I mounted Argento, I heard the sound of muffled hoof beats beyond the nearby trees. Barbarians? I cantered to the nearby clump of overgrown scrub brush for concealment. Peering through the scratchy vines, I recognized the patrol and rejoined them.
“Thank Father Jupiter, you’re alive!” Crispus exclaimed. “I was afraid that accursed place had driven you mad or, even worse, the savages got you. By the look of you, something did happen.” He eyed my saddle. “What’s that—a broken lance?”
“I’m not injured, my friend.” I winced from the stinging bump on my head. “As to the lance, it was struck by lightning—good thing I wasn’t holding it. I didn’t want to leave it for any savage to reuse.”
Crispus nodded. “Aye, could make nasty little weapons.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Where have you been?”
He motioned with his head toward the hills. “Held up by a flash flood in one of the canyons we rode through—this place is full of them. Happened about a half hour after we left you. The goddess Fortuna smiled on us, and we found a hill above a ravine, otherwise we’d be wondering souls.”
I grinned and tapped his shoulder. “Let’s go home.”
My concern now was Gallus. He was certain to make inquiries into Rix’s death.
Would he accuse me of murder?
Chapter 21 - Late August, 44 AD
Within a week, Gallus began inquiries into Rix’s disappearance. Rumors spread that he suspected foul play and planned to request General Vespasian’s permission to conduct an investigation. When commander of his own little garrison, Gallus was a powerful man. Now, he was but one of General Vespasian’s many tribunes, subject to his authority. Gallus could no longer manipulate the lives of others without bringing his own conduct into question.
Early one morning, during the same period, Corribilo sent me to Legion Headquarters in his place to receive orders for our troop that day. His horse had gone lame, and not trusting the cavalry’s incompetent veterinarian, he was treating the mount’s leg himself.
I stood by a table, along with several other officers, while one of the general’s indifferent Greek clerks searched for a copy of our unit’s orders. Within seconds a loud argument erupted between Gallus and General Vespasian about Rix. The flimsy goatskin wall separating his corner office from the rest of the command tent was embarrassingly thin, and all but the lowest whispers could be overheard.
By the tone of Vespasian’s voice, the general seemed to be suspicious of Gallus’s motives and demanded to know why he was interested in the whereabouts of a thieving Gaul. Hiding the truth about his business connections, Gallus answered he had received unconfirmed reports that Rix was murdered by one of his soldiers.
“As cohort commander,” Gallus said, “duty demands that I make inquiries. Therefore, I am requesting your permission, sir.”
“Request denied, Tribune Gallus,” the gravel-voiced Vespasian said.
“But, sir,” Gallus pleaded, “I am obligated to investigate any allegations of murder by my troops.”
“Didn’t I make myself clear, Tribune? No soldier of mine will be accused of such an outrageous crime, especially if it involves that miserable Gaul. Rix is a cheat and a thief. If he’s dead, which I doubt, he deserved his fate—it’s long overdue.”
“But still, murder!”
“What murder?” Vespasian answered in a snarling voice. “We both know it’s not uncommon for a scummy vagabond to disappear when it’s to his advantage. As far as I’m concerned, good riddance, I’ll hear no more. Dismissed!”
Flush-faced, Gallus pushed the leather flap aside to Vespasian’s office and shoved his way past us. Although he attempted to put on a sober face, he failed. He glared, stomped by me, and stormed out of headquarters.
I had no doubt that soldiers and camp followers alike guessed Rix’s true fate—he had many enemies. Mattan, the Sidonian, absorbed his business. Although as dishonest as the Gaul, he kept his business dealings discreet and treated the women better.
About five days after his purchase, I received a secret message from Mattan. He explained that Uncle Budar had made a clandestine arrangement with him to buy Sigrid, in gratitude for disclosing Kyar’s true fate and recovering the buckle. Freeing her, Budar gave Sigrid enough money for a small dowry and passage to Roman Germania. There, among the newly settled Roman colonists, she could find a husband who would ask no questions about her past.
By now, Uncle Budar and his Germans were safely aboard a merchantman sailing to Hispania.
*
A couple of weeks after Budar departed, Sextus Rufius returned to the troop. Although he recovered, the wounds had extracted their toll. Drawn and gaunt, his once craggy face was but a shadow of itself. Gone was the spark from his gleaming eyes. A bald spot surfaced through the back of his white hair, which a few short months before had been a mane of gray.
During the evening muster, Corribilo officially returned command of the troop to Rufius. Later, Rufius invited me to his quarters. His shaky hand poured two cups of wine from a jug on the table. He motioned to a stool nearby and offered me one of the bronze goblets. Taking a long drink, he exhaled and sat in meditative silence.
“I won’t forget what you did for me at Maugh-Dun Castle, Marcellus,” he remarked softly.
I started to protest. Stiffly, he waved off my objections. “Wait, I’m not finished.”
I nodded.
“I know you’d have done the same for anyone,” the decurion resumed. “Nevertheless, you saved my life, and I’m grateful—although sometimes I think you shouldn’t have.”
“But, sir, it was right thing to do. You’re a good officer.”
Rufius shrugged, smiling half-heartedly. “I must be growing old. I almost died from the wounds, and now I’m always tired. Maybe I’ll retire once and for all.”
I knew that ten years before, after twenty-five years of service, Rufius had been discharged and received Roman citizenship. He found farming was not the life for him and returned to the army as a veteran a few months later. The army was his true home. Even in death they would take care of him. His contributions, which all soldiers made to the burial fund, would guarantee him a decent funeral and a tombstone listing his deeds and praising his dedication to Rome.
“Alexandros said your wounds weren’t serious,” I said.
Rufius grimaced. “Lies. The quack nearly botched it. Why do you think my recovery took so damned long?” He paused and refilled his cup. “I had a lot of time to think. Too much.” He gulped his drink and wiped his mouth. “Thinking is something no soldier should do—remember my warning when you were in training?”
“I didn’t forget.”
The decurion nodded. He stared through me as if I didn’t exist. “You know you’ll be awarded the Corona Civica?”
“I’m not a medal seeker.” The award was the highest honor a soldier could receive in service to Rome. Usually, a promotion followed.
“Don’t protest so much,” Rufius advised. “You haven’t received it yet. Remember, I have to admit you saved me.” He paused, seeming to enjoy the implication, but finally, my silent gaze prompted him to continue. “If I were younger, I would deny everything. Now I’m older, and maybe a little wiser.
“This much I do know—to deny you the award would be vanity on my part. Just the same as this blood-drenching campaign is being waged to satisfy our emperor’s vanity. He’s got his triumph and title, Britannicus, Conqueror of the Britons. But the south wasn’t enough, he wants the entire island.”
He exhaled. “At fifty-seven, I’m getting sentimental. I’ve seen a lot of bloods
hed—enough to be numbing—to make me indifferent. When you have too much time on your hands, you think.”
“Even if you don’t, it happens,” I said.
“In your case, yes. You’ve always been a thinker, which led to your trouble with Gallus. If you’re to survive,” he raised his voice in warning and pointed his cup at me, “you’ve got to use your head. My instincts say you’ll not spend all your life in the camps. Who knows? You may go to Rome. Either way, get rid of your Greek ideas of humanity, or you’ll be crushed by your enemies. In this world, seek your own interests first.”
His eyes held mine for a long moment. When he seemed satisfied that I took him seriously, he grunted, and a smile came to his chapped lips.
Rufius sat in silence, taking another long swill. I tried to digest his words. He was right. One day, I would go to Rome. The Corona Civica opened another door to the Equestrians. I had not sought the honor, but I would never allow any filthy barbarian to slay the man, who, next to my father, I held in deepest respect.
“Enough of this nonsense,” Rufius said. “I sound like a harping female. The fact remains the emperor has approved your award, and word arrived today by courier.”
I jolted, nearly dropping my cup. For a split-second I thought my heart jumped into my throat. Despite his reassurances, I believed the Corona Civica was out of reach. “You mean it’s true?”
“Aye, have no fear, I’ll be honored to announce to the whole legion you saved my life. If the rest of my fellow officers don’t like it, they can piss up the River Rhenus!”
*
The following morning, I stood on parade before the entire camp, including Generals Vespasian and Sabinus, as Rufius proclaimed that he, as an officer and Roman citizen, was saved by a subordinate in battle. He placed a tightly woven oak leaf crown on my head and strung the phillarae, a medal of silver with gold inlay and embossed with a gold oak leaf, across my coat of chain mail. I regretted that Budar was not present to relate the details to Mother.
Although a great honor, I suddenly felt foolish. I wanted to lower my eyes as I stood before the army. But regulations required that I stand at rigid attention, lest I be considered insubordinate and disrespectful. I tightened the muscles in my body and stared straight ahead. As far as I was concerned, every soldier who fought at Maugh-Dun Castle and survived deserved the Corona. I dared not reveal my true thoughts, lest I injure Rufius’s pride. His admission had been out of gratitude and, perhaps, affection.
Later, I reported to General Sabinus’s quarters. Seated at his desk, the legate was signing a series of documents. Looking up as I saluted, his reddish-brown eyes sparkled, and a slight smile creased his lips. “At ease, Sergeant.”
Sabinus laid the quill pen on the table and carefully pushed aside the parchments. I respectfully declined the cup of wine he offered me from a gold pitcher. He nodded his approval while taking a short sip. He leaned back in his chair. “Earlier, I promised you would go far,” he said pleasantly. “I’m a man who keeps his word. I’ve been recalled to Rome. The emperor, in his infinite wisdom, has appointed me City Prefect.”
The City Prefect was one of the most powerful positions an emperor can bestow upon a Roman who was not a member of the Imperial Household. The post gave Sabinus the authority of Chief Magistrate of Rome, Commander of the City Guard, and City Administrator. As a member of the Senate and former Consul of Rome, he was more than qualified.
“Congratulations, sir, a great honor for you,” I said.
“Thank you,” Sabinus replied. He paused. “There is more. You are coming to Rome as my retainer.”
I stood speechless. Less than an hour before, I had received the Corona Civica, and now a new position with one of Rome’s most highly regarded noblemen. I never dreamt of traveling to the heart of the empire so soon. “I’m honored, sir,” I stammered. “I’ve never seen Rome.”
“Haven’t you?” he said with amusement. “There’s no place like it on the face of the earth. Rome is like a woman. Sometimes you love her, and other times you hate her, but by the gods you’ll never forget her. Then it’s all set. Of course, you will be promoted to a legionary centurion, not an auxiliary. As a Roman citizen, that’s where you rightfully belong.”
The promotion capped the greatest day in my life, and it must have been apparent to Sabinus. He cricked an eyebrow. “Why did you join the auxiliaries instead of enlisting as a citizen legionary?”
“Family tradition, sir,” I answered, snapping out of my dazed state. “My people have served in the auxiliary cavalry of Rome for nearly two hundred years.”
Sabinus nodded. “Most impressive, and Rome appreciates such loyalty. Now, it’s time for a change in tradition.” He smiled again. “Consider yourself the first of many future generations who’ll serve as officers in the legions of Rome.”
“Yes, sir, why not?” I grinned. My thoughts spun. Rome! The world! What else was there?
“May I ask what my duties will be, sir?”
He pursed his mouth and nodded. “A fair question. First of all, I chose you because you are loyal and trustworthy—despite the Druid Temple incident. Like my duties, yours will vary.”
He explained I would be his bodyguard and investigate situations he could not entrust to others. There was the possibility of receiving a temporary command in one of the City Guard’s four cohorts. “One or two of the commanding tribunes have unsavory reputations,” he explained, “and it is my intention to replace them.”
“Whatever you have in mind, I’m ready for the task, sir.”
“Excellent, I like your spirit.” He went on to tell me as his retainer I would stay at his home, on call at all times, day and night. “At first glance, your duties may seem time consuming, but they aren’t. You will see there are benefits in being my retainer.”
As he paused, a terrible thought occurred to me. Crispus! He couldn’t stay behind. Although Rufius had returned, Crispus would be at Gallus’s mercy. Despite General Vespasian’s denial for an investigation into Rix’s disappearance, Gallus would continue his private inquiries. He knew Crispus and I were good friends. If he discovered the truth about Rix, he would concoct a plan to get rid of my friend.
Crispus had to join me in Rome. I needed someone in whom I could confide while living in that strange city. I didn’t know if Sabinus would grant my request, but it was worth a try.
“Are there any further questions, Centurion?” Sabinus inquired.
“Sir, may I ask a favor?”
“If it is reasonable.”
“As your retainer could I have my own assistant, an aide-de-camp?”
“That can be arranged. Whom do you have in mind?”
“Acting Sergeant Signatius Crispus, from my squadron, sir.”
“Is there something special about him?”
“He’s an excellent soldier who has a very sharp mind. He’s a fast learner, and would render both of us invaluable assistance.”
He creased his forehead as if pondering the request. A gust of wind rippled the side of the headquarters’ goat-skinned tent and faded away. “Very well. I will give him the opportunity to prove his worth. Your favor is granted.”
“Thank you, sir. You won’t be disappointed.” Then as afterthought, I inquired, “May I ask as to when we leave?”
“Tomorrow.”
I blinked.
*
Dusk fell as Crispus and I strolled along the protective open ground running between the inside of the camp stockade wall and tents around the perimeter. Being seventy paces wide, enemy missiles hurled over the ramparts would fall harmlessly on the trampled earth.
“Well, old friend,” Crispus said, “looks like this is the last time I’ll be seeing you.”
“Oh? Trying to get rid of me so soon?” We halted and faced each other.
Crispus cocked his head and scowled. “You said earlier you’re going to Rome, aren’t you?” He paused and exhaled. “Are you saying—?”
I raised my hand. “Hold on. Consid
er this . . .” I explained about my promotion and the request for his transfer to Rome along with mine.
When I had finished, Crispus searched the area and exhaled. “Gods, help us—you know we’ll be sheep in a wolf’s lair.”
“I do.”
“Tell me, what do you expect to gain by going to Rome? And what do you expect by taking me along?”
It was my turn to look about. “It’s not a matter of gain, it’s what we’ll lose if we stay.”
He grabbed the bone handle of his dagger. “Like what, our heads?”
“You’re closer to the truth than you realize, Crispus.”
Crispus shook his head. “How?”
“Gallus.”
“What does he have to do with our leaving?”
“Think about it.”
He did and spat. “I see what you mean. Rix.”
“Exactly.”
“Then it’s settled,” he said in a sullen voice, “like it or not.”
“Don’t look so glum, Sergeant. You’re being promoted to the rank of sesquiplicarius. After all, you’ll probably find Rome to your liking. I hear the city is full of women on the prowl. That should make things a little easier.”
“Somehow, I doubt it.”
*
The next morning, after I had been to the stables to say good-bye to my faithful mount, Argento, and had turned him over to Corribilo, whose own horse had died of colic, I returned to my quarters. I now donned the new centurion’s uniform issued by the quartermaster section. After wearing a blue uniform and chain mail of the cavalry for five years, the scarlet, woolen tunic and the segmented armor of the infantry seemed foreign to me. Carefully, I knotted my neck scarf beneath the armor vest and strung decorations across its front.
The Broken Lance Page 17