As I finished placing the new silver greaves on my shins, a runner brought word that I was to see Gallus immediately. Whatever the reason, I suspected the encounter wouldn’t be pleasant. Grabbing my helmet, I stroked its transverse horsehair crest across the top, the insignia of centurion. I touched the twisted, hardwood, vine cane, symbol of my new rank. Then I made a few more minor adjustments and left for headquarters.
Gallus’s quarters reeked of stale jasmine and smoky fumes rising from olive oil in his new bronze cat-shaped lamps. He sat at a portable desk dictating a letter to his Greek clerk, writing with a metal stylus on a wax tablet, enclosed by citrus wood. The tribune glanced at me, dictated for another moment, and then dismissed the slave.
“Congratulations on your promotion, Centurion.” Gallus smirked. “And receiving the Corona, you have earned it. Decurion Rufius showed a great deal of humility for his part.”
“He’s a fine officer,” I answered, “and a brave man.”
Gallus narrowed his eyes. “I agree, but had it been me, I would have never admitted to such a deed, especially to you!”
I flinched. What if Gallus had been wounded on the battlefield? Would I have saved his life as I had Rufius’s? After learning about his role in Kyar’s death, most likely the later, I hated him all the more for his part, as if she had died by his hand. So far, I had managed to hide my rage.
“Is this why you ordered me here today, sir?” I asked, heat rushing to my face.
“Insolent as always, aren’t you?” He leaned back in his chair. “But to answer your impertinent question, no. Consider yourself fortunate you and Sergeant Crispus have been selected as retainers by General Sabinus. Of course, it fits with your plans for the Equestrians, which my father will stop.”
“As I said before, sir, my only intention is to serve Rome as a good soldier.”
“You can dispense with the facade, Centurion. Both of us know differently. The question remains why General Sabinus did not choose loyal Romans? That’s beyond me.”
Because there are too many Romans like you. I held my tongue.
“I cannot prove it yet,” Gallus said coolly, “but I know you and your uncle are involved with the vanishing of the Gaul. I know he was murdered.”
This had been the first mention of Rix since I’d repaid Gallus’s loan a few days after his death.
My mother had sent twice the amount requested, allowing me to pay the one hundred percent interest Gallus had added to the loan. Apparently, she suspected I would need more.
At the time, Gallus had been unusually silent on the matter. I had mentioned I had heard Kyar had been sold, and Rix left without a trace. I’d feigned mild anger about Rix’s thievery and sale of the woman, but had quickly dropped the subject.
“That’s the risk you take,” Gallus had said, “when buying a whore. You’re still obliged to repay my loan.”
“I have the money,” I answered, “including the interest.” I dropped a bag containing five hundred sesterces on his table. “If you don’t trust me, I’ll wait until you finish the count.”
Gallus lowered his eyes, opened the sack, and reached inside with a bejeweled ring hand. A muffled sound of copper coins echoed as they slipped between his fingers. “I know where to find you.” He hadn’t looked up. “If it isn’t all here. Leave me.”
Gallus pulled me from my thoughts as he continued to rant. “I will pursue this matter with or without General Vespasian’s consent.” He paused and creased his thin lips into a fractured smile. “I won’t be in Britannia forever. Soon, I will return to Rome and deal with you once and for all. The word of one patrician is worth more than any ten provincials, citizen or not. One day your lands will be mine. In the meantime, my father will deal with you. And he won’t be as generous as I’ve been.”
I stood clinching the hilt of my new short sword, the gladius.
Gallus noticed. “I see my words are disturbing you—good—at least you are wise enough not to attempt anything foolish.”
“No, sir, I wouldn’t.”
“Good, you know your place. One other matter,” he added. “My words stay within these walls. If you repeat what I have said, I will deny your accusations all the way to Mount Olympus. It that clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good. Dismissed!”
Despite my leaving for Rome, I knew that one day Gallus would return to the city. If I were still there, I would deal with him then.
*
During our journey to a ship waiting at Noviomagnus, Sabinus’s entourage camped overnight near a meandering river. Carrying my blanket roll, I slipped away briefly to its grassy bank, my thoughts finally at ease with Kyar’s memory. The ache was still there, and would be for a long time. Slowly, it began to recede, and I knew she would want me to go on with my life. I untied and opened the blanket. Out spilled the two blackened pieces of the lance split in half by lightning, a reminder of the night I saw Kyar’s apparition. I picked up the charred segments, stepped to the shoreline, tossed them as far out as I could into the stream, and watched them disappear. Then taking her broach from my waist pouch, I held it just beneath the cool water’s surface. I prayed to the river goddess to reunite the offering with Kyar’s spirit. The broach slipped away, and I let go the part of my heart that had died with her.
PART II: ROME
Chapter 22 - Early October, 44 AD
Six weeks had passed since we departed General Vespasian’s camp in Western Britannia, traveled across Gaul, and sailed the Mediterranean to Ostia, Rome’s seaport. At that port, Sabinus’s entourage transferred from the great merchantman to a shallow draft naval bireme for the remaining seventeen-mile journey up the River Tiber to Rome.
The general’s banners fluttered as the ship glided past large villas and flourishing truck gardens on the Campanian Plain. In the distance, among gentle ridges, built upon solemn arches, snaked a gray-brown aqueduct carrying Rome’s drinking water from the distant Alban Hills. The flume stretched to the horizon and melted into the golden haze of the Italian sky. Soon, we would dock in Rome.
The most pleasant part of the trip had been winning Princess Eleyne’s friendship. Perhaps that word was too strong, considering she hated everything Roman. Daughter of the British King, Verica, she had been taken as hostage and was being brought to Rome, to ensure her father’s continued loyalty. Now, fifteen, Eleyne’s mother had died when she was only five. She was lonely, and certainly easier upon the eyes than the ugly, multi-scarred helmsman of our merchant transport ship. After saving her from drowning in a raging river, she had taken a liking to me.
My attempts to befriend Eleyne had not gone unnoticed by General Sabinus. “It is appropriate to be on good terms with the princess,” he had said the afternoon our ship hurtled through the treacherous Straits of Gaul, between Corsica and Sardinia. He watched the sea of green foam, while a screaming wind whistled in our ears, then turned to me. “Whatever else,” he’d shouted to be heard, “avoid personal involvement, as you would a summer fever.”
Still, I managed to speak to her at length on more than one occasion. And as the journey progressed, I sensed that Eleyne momentarily forgot I was a Roman soldier.
I recalled the evening before we landed, the long coastline of Italy loomed on the horizon, silhouetted by a rising half-moon. The night had been clear and balmy, and a sea of gentle swells lapped silently against the gliding ship’s hull. Eleyne and her ever-present attendant, red-haired Karmune, leaned against the oak rail next to the carved prow, which bore the twin figures of the Goddess Isis, the ship’s namesake. Tied into a single knotted braid, Eleyne’s jet-black hair swung over her shoulder and rested on her light-blue mantle and yellow, tartan skirt. A golden torc ring, symbol of Celtic nobility, engraved with a little owl’s head and curling leaves, encircled her delicate neck. Clasped on both arms and wrists were gold bracelets inlaid with coral and lapis lazuli.
Loudly clearing my throat, I approached the women.
They snapped th
eir heads around. “Oh, Marcellus,” Eleyne said in a shaky voice, “you startled us.”
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were so entranced by your new home.”
Eleyne flared her nostrils and curled her lips into a frown. “Rome will never be my home, no matter how long I’m forced to stay.” She turned to Karmune and said something in the lilting Celtic tongue.
“Rome no good,” the freckled face Karmune grunted in broken Latin.
“At least your stay will be comfortable,” I said.
The young princess sniffed. “Call it what you will, I’m still a hostage. And all because one man fears me, isn’t that absurd?”
“Surely, not your father?”
“No, of course not—Togidubnus, my father’s advisor. He’s the dog who persuaded the Romans to take me hostage.”
I studied her wind-burned features. “Why does Togidubnus fear you?”
“Because my brothers are so worthless, he’s afraid I will become tribal ruler upon the death of my father. My only brother worthy of becoming king was killed in battle by Caratacus before I was born.”
“So he plans to replace your father as ruler of the Atrebates and Regni.”
“Of course, that’s the whole point.”
“But the tribal throne isn’t hereditary,” I said.
Eleyne paused as the muscles in her face tightened. A gentle breeze blew across the ocean’s surface, swirled upwards crossing the ship’s deck, and momentarily pulled at the loose strands of her ebony hair. “True, and the tribal council would have voted in my favor. Togidubnus is an ambitious, scheming creature who has ingratiated himself to the Romans. They will place him in power.”
“Where did you learn all of this?”
“From some of the loyal elders.”
I whistled softly. “And so he’s cleared a path for his own ambitions.”
“Aye, that’s why I accused him in front of my father and General Sabinus of being a Roman lackey, the night I was taken hostage.”
I leaned against the deadeye disk that held the sail shrouds in place, and for a few seconds focused on the mountainous coastline. I straightened and looked toward Eleyne. “Why are you telling me all this? Don’t you consider me Roman?”
“In name only, but you are an outsider like me,” Eleyne had said. “You saved my life, and from our conversations, I know you can be trusted.” She turned her head to her stocky, brown-clad servant and back to me. “Karmune, may the Mother Goddess bless her, doesn’t understand such things, but you do!”
*
Later, standing with Sabinus, Crispus behind us, I glanced about and spotted Eleyne and Karmune huddled near the stern. Their faces paled. Were they in awe or fear?
“There it is, Marcellus. Rome!” Sabinus said, pulling me back to the present. Standing by his side on the deck of the bireme, I followed his glance toward the teaming wharves crowded with ships tied prow to stern. Coming into view along the muddy-yellow Tiber River, the Emporium’s docks hugged the foot of Aventine Hill, with hundreds of squalid tenements and factories. He gestured with a broad sweep of hands, looked at me, and laughed. “I imagine my mouth gaped the first time I saw Rome, too,” he said.
Sabinus’s family had been Sabine country squires and tax collectors from Reate, east of Rome. Only in the last five years had Sabinus risen from the Equestrian Order to the Senate while Vespasian was still a knight.
The high September sun boiled the humidity, and only a wisp of a breeze blew off the river’s turbid waters. Sabinus, Crispus, and I roasted in our heavy ceremonial armor. A delegation from the emperor was expected to greet Sabinus upon debarkation.
I turned back to him. “Thank the gods our journey is over, sir.”
“I agree,” Sabinus answered, “it has been long and monotonous.”
On the hortator’s command, the sailors drew in the ship’s single bank of oars and tied up to the tall, granite quay alongside dozens of barges at the Emporium, Rome’s huge grain dock on the river front. Vessels and dockworkers lined the gangways. Roman citizens and slaves alike unloaded tons of wheat from Alexandria and Carthage. An endless stream of humanity moved to and from the ships.
“Who’s that coming our way?” Crispus asked.
“By the size of the entourage,” I surmised, “it must be the welcoming delegation for General Sabinus.”
Opening a path through the crowd rode a mounted escort of sixty scarlet-cloaked Praetorian Guardsmen, and a century of eighty shield-bearing infantrymen. Flags and streamers waved and snapped in the slight breeze, standard bearers held the emperor’s emblems and eagles forward, and trumpeters blared a warning to make way.
At the front of the guard, soldier-musicians raised their long-stemmed tubicens and sounded a brassy warning.
“Make way!” a centurion barked at the multitude of pedestrians. “Make way for his Excellency the Senator!”
Trailing behind, two litters followed, carried by huge, black African slaves and a retinue of other freedmen and servants. They were close enough that I saw that one sedan contained a puffy-cheeked, balding official wearing a white toga, trimmed with broad, purple, embroidered edges. This denoted his rank as a member of the Roman Senate. He munched on a large bunch of grapes, lolled indifferently upon a number of blue, gold, and scarlet silk cushions behind tied-back satin curtains. The other litter bore a slim, dark-bearded freedman, in a long multicolored tunic and mantle. He peered at the crowd with calculating eyes.
Workers and slaves alike parted and closed in the entourage’s wake like water from a passing ship. The fat official viewed the mob contemptuously, ignoring their calls and waving hats that hailed his passing. The senator acknowledged one grinning dolt with a thrown stalk of bruised grapes, striking his face and staining his already dirty tunic. No doubt he considered himself blessed by such favoritism and the touch of purple now upon his garment.
Sabinus, who had been conversing with the ship’s captain a few paces away, recognized the heavy man at once. “Why it’s my old friend Lucius Vitellius! Gods, he’s put on weight.”
It was common knowledge that Vitellius had ruled Rome in Emperor Claudius’s absence when he traveled to Britannia to claim victory over the Britons. Although known to be unpredictable, the senator was loyal and protective of the emperor. Around him, a man had to be careful what he said about the empire’s First Citizen.
Sabinus raised his hand in salute. “Ave! Greetings, Vitellius!”
“Hail, old comrade,” Vitellius replied, with a stained-teeth grin. “I see you are trim as ever. How goes the war?”
“Very well. You and the emperor shall receive a full report, of course.”
*
Soon we disembarked. Eleyne, her waddling companion Karmune, and Sabinus’s servants were escorted from the ship by marines. At that moment, a squad of eight Praetorians approached the women and servants, commanding them to halt. Eleyne, dressed in a long, green, tartan tunic, her hair coiled on top of her head, turned to Sabinus, about ten paces away. Despite the poise of a queen, her face and lips, rouged with elderberry juice, paled. She shook her head as if not believing Sabinus would hand her over to a squad of the emperor’s household troops.
“No!” Sabinus shouted. “They go to my home!” He rushed forward and pointed to one of the hills. “By Caesar’s command, the princess is a guest, and is to be treated with dignity, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” the optio, who commanded the detail, replied. “No offense was meant, sir. We weren’t informed of her status or your intentions.”
Sabinus eyed Vitellius. He shrugged. “All right, enough said. Return to your position in the century.”
Eleyne sighed in relief and stepped forward. Karmune straight-armed a Praetorian out of the way and followed the servants toward Sabinus’s mansion on Esquiline Hill.
Meanwhile, with the help of three struggling slaves, Vitellius stepped out of his litter. As Crispus and I stood a few feet away in the sweltering sun, Sabinus returned to our position where h
e and the senator saluted one another and expressed greetings. “The emperor is eager to see you and hear the latest news from Britannia,” Vitellius added.
“How is he?” Sabinus inquired. “Well, I pray?”
Vitellius stepped closer. “A contrast as always,” he said in a loud whisper. “At times he’s brilliant, and at other longer periods he plays the idiot—though lately I wonder if it is an act. Why do you think the guardsmen behaved as they did? He forgot to give them instructions about the girl’s status.”
“Good!” Sabinus remarked cheerfully in a loud voice as if Vitellius had made a favorable comment. “I’m pleased to hear that the emperor is well and in good spirits.” For a moment, he gazed at the Praetorians and the other official.
Vitellius nodded his head slowly. “Aha, I had forgotten how diplomatic you are.”
The senator turned and stared after Eleyne as the retinue disappeared into the bustling dock crowd. A grin crossed his face. “By the gods, she’s a most comely wench, for a barbarian.”
“Yes, she is,” the general answered coolly.
“Were she not a hostage, I wouldn’t mind taking her for my mistress.”
Sabinus gave Vitellius a scornful look.
“Can you blame me, friend?” he answered putting up his hands.
As if to change the subject, the senator gestured to the freedman who waited patiently close by. “Sabinus, you remember Narcissus, don’t you?”
“Of course, and how are the affairs of state?”
“Very well, my dear General,” Narcissus droned smugly, “all Rome is proud of you and your brother General Vespasian’s accomplishments.” A freedman from Greece, Narcissus was Claudius’s secretary of state, and the real power behind the emperor.
A light breeze drifted in from the river ruffling the thinning hair of Vitellius’s sweaty head and flapping the banners held by the nearby Praetorians.
“Enough chit-chat,” Vitellius said, “let’s be off to the Palatine.”
The Broken Lance Page 18