Governor Frontinus was at his desk in the Principia tent when an optio poked his head in and announced that there were a couple of civilians waiting to see him.
“Have Trebonius deal with them.” Trebonius was the camp prefect, in charge of all the matters that dealt with the fortress itself, rather than the troops that garrisoned it. Civil complaints were his problem. “I don’t have time to cope with some farmer who’s had his pig stolen by a trooper.” On the frontier of West Britain, relations with the local folk were touchy at best.
“Not that sort of civilians, sir.” The optio handed him a papyrus sheet sealed with numerous stamps, and the governor raised his eyebrows as he opened it. He had never met Lucius Paulinus, who was reputed to be writing a Modern History of the empire, but he was well acquainted with his reputation for getting under the army’s feet while doing it. He was also acquainted with Paulinus’s uncle Gentilius, author of the letter of introduction.
Frontinus growled and began to read it, but brightened as he read. He remembered hearing that young Paulinus had married recently, and it seemed that the lady of his choice was the half sister of Correus Julianus, who was making himself a problem at the moment. If the centurion’s sister and brother-in-law could shake him out of the state he was in before the legion marched out of Isca, Governor Frontinus would be more than grateful.
“Send them in.”
Frontinus studied them as they entered, and the optio presented them with chairs and found a cushion to add to the lady’s. Lucius Paulinus was an unprepossessing young man, thin and sandy-haired with a pleasant, homely, freckled face, and ears that stuck out a bit. He looked young, but his gray eyes were shrewd and alert, and Frontinus placed his age at five years over his appearance.
Appia Julia was something else again. She had a handsome, classically Roman face, a tumble of dark ringlets piled high up on her head, and a curled fringe of hair across her forehead in grown-up fashion, but she couldn’t have been more than seventeen. Her face was skillfully made up with what Frontinus supposed was as much paint as her conservative mother had considered suitable, but there was a mischievous faun’s look about her dark eyes and the air of someone to whom the world is still very new and is proving most exciting. She was plainly the apple of her husband’s eye, and from the affectionate way she tucked her small hand into his, the feeling was mutual.
“I’m pleased to see you both,” Frontinus said genially. “I know your uncle, of course, Paulinus.” He turned to Julia. “And I have some acquaintance with your father, my dear. You do him proud. You’ll be wanting to see your brother, I expect.”
Julia beamed at him under this avuncular treatment. “Yes. We’ll be in Britain for several months, so I’m hoping to see them both. My brother Flavius is with the Second Adiutrix at Lindum.”
“Oh? I didn’t know that.” Frontinus sighed. “I wish I had. It might have helped.”
Paulinus made no comment After having the misfortune to serve together in Germany, it was exasperating that Flavius and Correus should again be posted close enough to annoy each other. Whatever had gone wrong, Flavius was not the person to cure it.
Julia leaned forward, her face concerned. “What’s happened?”
Frontinus noted Paulinus’s reaction with curiosity. Bad blood, obviously, between the adopted son and the family’s heir. But this pretty, cheerful sister might be the cure for what ailed Centurion Julianus. And it would keep her husband out of his hair. He explained, and Julia’s face saddened.
“Oh, poor Correus. She meant so much to him. And there’s a baby?”
Paulinus sat silent, his own face sad, remembering Freita as he had known her in Germany and her troubled, at times explosive transformation from vengeful, frightened captive-of-war to Roman lady, and wife in all but name. A transformation wrought by an unexpected love for the man who had bought her initially from pity because there was another, worse, man who wanted her. There had been too much between them for Correus to shake off her death lightly.
“I want to see him,” Julia was saying. “But I want to talk to my husband first. I think he knows my brother better than I do in some ways.”
“Certainly,” Frontinus said. “If you’ll tell my optio here when you are ready, he will send for him. Uh, as to accommodations, I’m sadly afraid that there are none. The Praetorium is only partly finished, and you will have seen the civil settlement as you rode in.”
Julia gave a shudder. “Freita was living in that?” She wished Flavius’s wife, Aemelia, could have seen it. It would have cured her in a hurry of her notions about living on the frontier.
“I’m afraid so,” Frontinus said. “But I’m sure you can find good inns in Aquae Sulis or Glevum. Maybe even in Venta, although it’s a bit primitive.” Anywhere but in my camp, he thought.
“We have a tent of our own,” Paulinus said. “And my servant, Tullius, is with us. He’s an ex-legionary himself and sees to our needs admirably.”
“My dear girl, do you actually let this man drag you about the empire, sleeping in tents? I warn you, it rains in West Britain at all times of day and with no regard for season.”
“It’s a very palatial tent, I assure you,” Julia said with a giggle. “I made sure of that. And I have my maid with me. I had to be firm, but she’s getting used to it.”
Frontinus retired, thwarted. “You’re a very unusual young lady.”
“Do you know, I’m beginning to think so, too,” Julia said. “I led a very sheltered life before we were married, so I never had a chance to find out.”
* * *
“Unusual young lady indeed,” Paulinus chuckled as they strolled arm in arm past the neatly aligned tents of the barracks rows. A cavalry troop trotting by drew rein politely until they had passed, more in deference to Julia than himself, Paulinus suspected. In a green gown the color of the hillsides and a cherry-colored mantle thrown over it, she was a bright spot of color in the dirty half-built fortress. Ruby drops bobbed in her ears, and there were clusters of cherries embroidered on the hem of her gown. “You routed him, cavalry and catapults, my dear.”
“Do you know, Lucius,” Julia said thoughtfully, “I don’t think he really wanted us here. Except to help poor Correus, of course.”
“No,” Paulinus sighed. “They never do.”
“Well,” Julia returned practically to the matter at hand, “what are we going to do about Correus?”
“I don’t know,” Paulinus said. “He will have to weather this somehow. Be as sympathetic as you can, but for the gods’ sakes don’t ask him what he’s going to do about the baby. If I know Correus, that’s going to be a sore point with him. It’s all he has left of her.”
“You don’t suppose I’m going to suggest he expose it, do you?” Julia asked indignantly.
“No, but your mother would, and so would that fool Helva. So might your father, under the circumstances. Fortunately they won’t find out until it’s too late for that alternative.”
“I’m not going to ask what he’s going to do about the baby,” Julia said firmly, “I’m going to tell him. And you, Lucius, are going to back me up.”
Paulinus gave his wife a long look. “You’re awfully young.”
“You didn’t think so when you took me to Britain with you. Or in Petra when that awful Arab offered you three camels for me.”
“You’re just insulted because the price wasn’t higher. You said you wanted to see the world. It has a lot of uncivilized places in it. And some that were already civilized when Romans were living in huts along the Tiber.”
“So it does. You’re getting off the track, Lucius.”
“No, I’m not. I’m trying to give you time to make sure you know what you’re doing.”
* * *
Correus, directed by a note handed to him by the headquarters optio, turned the cohort over to Octavius and found his brother-in-law’s tent pitched well upwind from the ramshackle civilian camp.
Paulinus’s hulking servant, Tullius, a time-e
xpired legionary with arms like an ape and a friendly grin, was plucking a chicken outside the tent and explaining the fine points of the process to Julia’s maid, a middle-aged woman with a long-suffering air verging at the moment on revulsion.
He stood and gave Correus a military salute, chicken still in hand. “It’s fine to see you, sir. And I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.” His broad face showed concern.
“Thank you, Tullius. Where are Paulinus and my sister?”
“Here, friend. Come in.” Paulinus pushed aside the tent flap and beckoned Correus inside.
A bright red and green figure darted forward and flung her arms around him, yelping indignantly as his lorica scratched her face. Correus kissed her, trying to fight down the memory of Freita, who could never remember not to do that. They pushed him down into a pile of cushions, and Julia curled up next to him. Julia’s description of her tent as palatial hardly did it justice. The floor was almost covered by thick cushions, and the walls were hung with rugs and tapestries enthusiastically collected by their owner on her first travels. Under the cushions was a plank floor pegged and slotted so that it could be taken apart and fitted back together without nails. The tent was curtained at the back to make two more rooms and lit by bronze lamps on weighted stands. It was replete with every conceivable luxury that could be packed on a mule or loaded in a cart. It had a distinctly Eastern air.
“I know,” Correus said admiringly, “you bought it from Rhodope.”
Since Rhodope ran the best traveling whorehouse on the Rhenus frontier, Paulinus choked.
“Lucius said that if I came to Britain with him, I would have to live in a tent sometimes,” Julia replied, “and I said there were a few things I needed first.”
Paulinus produced a flask of wine and three heavy pottery cups and pushed one of them into Correus’s hand. “The governor told us what happened,” he said.
“Correus, I am so sorry.” Julia put her hands on his. “And you must let us help.”
“Thank you, child, but I don’t think there’s anything that you can do,” her brother said. He seemed calm enough, but his face had a fine-drawn, edge-of-the-abyss look about it, and his dark eyes were hooded, almost blank.
“Yes, there is,” Julia said, “but we’ll talk about that later. We were in Rome after we left the East, and everyone there is well. Papa is getting gray, but he still gets up every morning and works with Alan and Diulius and the horses. Alan must be almost as old as he is, although he has Forst to help him now, and Diulius had to have two teeth pulled by the tooth-drawer and made such a fuss about it that Mama threatened to have the field slaves hold him down if he didn’t behave. Your mother is well, too,” she added. “She claims she’s getting old and had to have her apartments done over, although I don’t see how a change of paint and bed hangings is going to keep her any warmer.”
Since Helva was considerably younger than either Appius Julianus or his wife, the Lady Antonia, Correus didn’t either, but he knew his mother well enough to know that any luxury added to her surroundings would always make her feel warmer. “How is Thais?” he asked after their old nurse.
“Well,” Julia giggled, “she keeps asking me when I’m going to have babies. But she really is old, and she’s not allowed to do much anymore. She sent you something.” Julia rummaged in a chest and produced a neck scarf of thick scarlet wool in the standard military pattern. “I was to tell you to be sure you keep your throat warm when it rains,” she said solemnly.
Correus smiled and took the scarf, his eyes lightening for a moment. “And Forst?”
“Oh, Thais has taken him over to mother. You’d never know him for a wild German now. He’s fallen in love with Emer in the kitchen. You remember, Correus. The redhaired one you used to run after.”
“Julia—” Paulinus said.
“Well, he did, and it’s no use my pretending I didn’t notice. Anyway, now that Forst has settled down, I think he’d like to marry her if Papa will permit it. Thais keeps consulting augers and making magics so it will turn out right. Let’s see, who else… Oh, yes, Cook had a temperament while we were there, but that’s nothing new. He always has one when there’s company.”
“Inevitably,” Correus said. “Part of any state occasion.”
“And, uh, Aemelia is well, too,” Julia said dubiously. Since Flavius’s young wife had had the misfortune to fall in love with the wrong brother first, she was hesitant to mention her, but Correus had better be prepared. “She’s coming out to join Flavius. Have you seen him yet?”
“No. I… there hasn’t been time.”
Well, that was a blessing, Paulinus thought. He remembered Correus’s unhappy confession two years ago of the promise that their father had extracted from him and what that promise had cost Flavius and Correus already. Now Flavius was staff aide to the legate of the Second Adiutrix at Lindum, and Paulinus would like to get his hands on the fool who had posted the half brothers to the same province again.
“Will you be seeing him?”
“Oh, yes. We’ll probably stay the winter in Britain, unless someone wants Lucius back in Rome.”
“Still on the same road, Lucius?” Correus asked quietly.
“All roads are the emperor’s roads,” Paulinus said noncommittally. “You’ve gone that way yourself, by the look of it.”
“Now I want you to listen to me,” Julia said. Her voice had such a grown-up air to it and such a likeness to her mother’s that Correus looked with surprise at his little sister.
“Your son, Correus. You are going to give him to me.”
“I—”
“Have you really thought about it?” Julia went on. “No, I didn’t think so. You’re still much too unhappy, and I don’t blame you, but you’ve got to think about it.”
“He’s with one of the soldiers’ women,” Correus said.
“Yes, I know he is. And you’re going to leave him with her while you go off with the legion to the gods know where? What if you’re killed? Do you really think that woman is going to go on feeding him when the money stops coming?”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” Correus closed his eyes and took a deep breath of relief. Everything Julia said was true, but he had tried to put it out of his mind because there were no other choices.
“Tullius!”
“My lady?” Tullius put his head through the tent flap.
“You are to find the hut of the woman of a soldier named Gemellus, and bring her and my brother’s son and her own child back here to me. Take Martia with you.”
“Yes, my lady!”
“She can come into my service until the child is old enough to be weaned,” Julia said. “And if Gemellus doesn’t like it, he can argue with Tullius.”
“Julia, are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Correus’s face was concerned, but the protest was halfhearted. Julia was a godsend, and he needed her help desperately.
“I’m quite old enough to have a baby,” Julia said firmly. “Thais keeps telling me so, so don’t be a fool. That’s your son, Correus. He’s my nephew. He belongs with the family. And I’m the only one there is to take him, so you’ll have to let me.”
No one mentioned Aemelia, who would just as soon clasp an adder to her bosom, Julia thought, as Correus’s bastard son by a German freedwoman.
“All right, dear, if you’re sure,” Correus said. “I’m grateful.”
“She’s sure,” Paulinus said. “I’m sure. We’re all sure. Now that’s settled.”
“What have you named him?” Julia asked.
“I haven’t yet. It isn’t time.” Roman babies were named by their fathers on the eighth day after their birth. Named and held, the father’s acknowledgment of paternity.
“Well, you must have thought what it’s going to be,” Paulinus said. “You’ve held him, of course. We’ll take that as read, and I’ll name him for you if the governor hauls you off to fight Silures in the next few days.”
Correus thought about the purple cloak.
“Frontinus,” he said. “Frontinus… Appius Julianus,” he added a bit defiantly. “Find a magistrate to draw up the adoption papers. I’ll give you my proxy.”
Julia hugged him, oblivious to the armor-plated lorica. “I’m so glad. He is your son, and Papa should have let you marry her.”
No, he shouldn’t, Paulinus thought sadly. He had liked Freita, but marrying her was the last thing his friend should have done. Not if his career in the army meant anything to him, and until he met Freita, it had meant everything.
Julia slipped her arm through her husband’s as she watched her brother walk back toward the fortress. The baby lay swaddled in a clean blanket amid the Eastern opulence of Julia’s tent, and the wet nurse was being sternly ordered to bathe under the firm eye of Julia’s maid, Martia. She thought her brother’s eyes had a lighter look as he left, but they were still haunted. Maybe the army would help, she thought, unconsciously echoing her husband’s thoughts. It had always meant so much to him. Correus’s beloved Eagles… maybe when the legion marched it would get better for him.
* * *
Correus paused where the road swung past the parade ground and looked beyond the marching men at drill who occupied it, to the distant form of his sister’s tent with its wagon and pack mules behind it. Freita had left a hole in him that wouldn’t heal, but he was not alone with it, no longer solitary in the tearing emptiness he had walked in for the last two days. He had Paulinus, and he had rediscovered Julia. He had his family. He would have liked to see his brother, Flavius, again, he thought. He might understand him better now.
In the meantime, that terrible blackness lifted at least enough to cope with the sad remnants of his own household in Isca’s ragtag vicus. He had ridden Aeshma twice, carefully avoiding the hut itself, and it was plain that without Freita the big gray stallion had no place in Isca.
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