Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  Alex had demurred, although he did not give his reasons at first, until finally, more to shut me up than anything, with a fair amount of ire, he said, “We want horses because they can run faster than mules.”

  I freely admit my first reaction was to laugh at this.

  “Why on Gaia’s Earth would we want to run our pack animals?” I teased, but he was not amused in the slightest.

  “You obviously haven’t reached that part of your father’s story,” he said.

  Then, without waiting for me to reply, he told me about being attacked by bandits when they were returning from Arelate after Alex’s father Diocles died, and by the time he was through, I dug into my purse and withdrew more silver. Which, thankfully, he took without comment, the result being the two animals we were leading.

  Although, I suppose he could not resist teasing me, because barely a mile down the road from Ubiorum, he suddenly turned and asked, “Why do we have one horse to carry just your baggage, but Algaia and I have to share this one?” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the horse he was leading. Before I could say anything, he added, “And, we have to carry the supplies as well? All your horse is carrying is your clothes, uniform, and…”

  “Because I,” I cut him off, then adopted a pose, from the waist up, that not that long ago I would have not considered foolish, “am more important than you are, Alex.” Making sure he knew I was not serious, I flashed him a grin as I added, “I thought you knew that already.” Inspired, I reached into the bag slung over my shoulder and extracted the scroll, waving it at him as I said loftily, “I am traveling under the orders of Germanicus Julius Caesar, after all.”

  Alex responded with a snort, but I heard Algaia, riding on his opposite side, giggle, and as often happens, this proved contagious so that, before more than a few heartbeats elapsed, all three of us were laughing. We remained in high spirits until we reached the spot a few miles south of Ubiorum where the road heading southwest leads to Trevorum, and I did not take it.

  It was actually Algaia who asked, “Gnaeus, why are we going this way? This is the road to Confluentes.”

  “It is,” I agreed, but I did not say anything, mainly because I realized that I had not mentioned a word about going to Mogontiacum.

  “But why are we going this way? It’s longer, isn’t it?”

  “Because we’re going to Mogontiacum first.”

  Now it was my turn to be surprised, because this had come from Alex’s mouth, not mine, and I glanced over at him, trying to gauge whether he was upset or not.

  “When did you know?” I asked. “Just now?”

  He shook his head, saying only, “I always assumed that we’d be going there first because you didn’t write a letter to your mother when we got back. The only reason you would do that is if you planned on telling her you were safe in person.”

  “You,” I said, only half-admiringly, “are too clever.”

  Now it was his turn to grin at me and remind me, “You might want to keep that in mind.”

  We spent that night in Antunnacum, which afforded me the first opportunity to broach the topic of Alex’s brother with him, when Algaia retired early and went to our room that I had rented just for the three of us, although I refused to rent two rooms so they could have privacy.

  “How did things go this morning?” I asked him, getting at least a partial answer by the manner in which he started to examine his cup.

  “Not well,” he admitted. “I think Titus actually thought that she would stay behind.”

  “But he has a woman,” I pointed out, and he gave me an amused look.

  “Yes, he does,” he agreed. “But matters between Titus and Scrofa’s daughter aren’t at their best right now.” When he saw that I was not following, he reminded me, “You do recall that Uncle Titus bought Scrofa out, don’t you?”

  I had in fact forgotten, but then after an instant of thought, I shook my head and argued, “But what does that have to do with her?” Before he could say anything, I added, “Besides, as I recall, my father was quite generous in terms of what he paid Scrofa for that building and his forge. He had more than enough to buy another building and replace everything, and with a fair amount left over. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Normally, you’d be right. But I don’t remember if you’re aware that Decimus Scrofa likes wine. A lot.” Once he said it, I did recall hearing this, although it certainly did not harm the quality of the gladius I had purchased from him, which I had fortunately managed to retrieve from the battlefield at the Long Bridges. I nodded, which prompted him to continue, “So, apparently, he drank a good portion of that money away so that he was forced to buy a smaller place. And,” he finished, “his daughter blames Titus for it.”

  I thought to argue more about this, then realized I did not really care all that much; besides, this was not my primary interest, and I returned to the original topic.

  “So, Titus thought Algaia would be staying, but why did you wait until today to say anything about it?”

  “First,” Alex countered, “I didn’t want to have to deal with my brother behaving like a spoiled child until the last possible moment. And second,” he paused to take a sip from his cup, I suspect to torment me, “I wasn’t the one who told him. Algaia did.”

  Despite my feelings, I felt a twinge of sympathy for Titus, and I said as much. “That had to have been a bitter drink for him.”

  Alex gave a short, barking laugh, but it was without much humor.

  “That,” he said dryly, “is one way to put it. Although,” he shook his head, “I think she could have been a bit more…diplomatic about it.” I said nothing, but he correctly divined why, and with some reluctance, he went on, “She told him that she was happy with me, had no intention of ever leaving me. And,” suddenly, he looked, if not unhappy at this affirmation of love, at the least uncomfortable, “she said that the only reason she lay with him at all on the way from Arelate was because she was afraid that your father would turn out to be just as bad as Gaius, and she hoped that if she appeared to be smitten with him that your father wouldn’t be willing to take her from him.”

  “Gerrae!”

  Honestly, it was the only thing I could think to say, and my sympathy for Titus deepened. My feelings about Algaia, however, were not as charitable, but as I would learn, she is a woman who is every bit as complex, and intelligent, as the woman we were on the way to see.

  Speaking of Algaia, she had a case of nerves that rivaled my own as we rode through the gates of the town of Mogontiacum, although it is actually a small city in most respects. I first noticed that she was behaving strangely right about the time the city walls came into view, but when I glanced over at Alex with an inquiring expression, he could only shrug. It was when we drew up outside my mother’s villa that we learned why Algaia was so agitated.

  “Alex, maybe we should go find a place to stay,” she blurted out. Then, I suppose because of my obvious surprise, she added quickly, “We don’t want to intrude on Gnaeus and his mother.”

  “Algaia,” I assured her, “there’s more than enough room. And,” I honestly thought this would help, “I know that she would love to talk to someone who knew my father.”

  Rather than mollify her, she immediately burst into tears, dropping her face into her hands, whereupon her shoulders began shaking, which caused Alex and me to exchange a look of alarm. I dismounted, as did Alex, but while I stood there awkwardly, uncertain what to do, Alex walked over to her, helped her off her mount, but when he tried to console her, she initially jerked away from his attempted embrace. Then, even more shockingly, she began walking down the street, in the direction of the city forum, leaving Alex and me to stand there, looking dumbly at her back as she half-ran, half-stumbled away.

  With Jupiter as my witness, I was trying to be patient, but I am afraid I was not very successful, and I am sorry to say that I took it out on Alex, snapping, “Go after your woman, Alex. I don’t have fucking time for this. Onc
e you get her in hand, come back here. I,” I had already turned to go into the villa, “will be inside. Carissa will see you in.”

  Then, with my heart in my mouth, I used the heavy knocker on the postern door, having to wait a few heartbeats before I heard the crunching tread of someone who, if my ears were telling me truly, could not have been my mother’s attendant Carissa. When the small peephole was opened, the eye that stared out at me was certainly not female, yet it was not the deep masculine voice but the Latin with a heavy accent that I recognized as German that caused me to take a step backward as, without thinking, my hand dropped to where my gladius should have been.

  “Dominus? You are Dominus Gnaeus, yes?”

  Somewhat sheepishly, I realized that this was the second time he asked me, and the instant I confirmed this, the small peephole shut, then there was a rattling of the gate latch, and when it swung open, I saw a man nearly my size, both in height and build, although he had a beard and his hair was shoulder length but pulled back. He could have easily been across from me on a battlefield, but there was not the air of a warrior about the man; most importantly, he wore a bronze placard around his neck, with my mother’s name on it.

  “Who are you?” I asked, bluntly but not with any hostility.

  “My name is Mandalonius, Dominus Gnaeus.” Suddenly, something seemed to occur to him, and his eyes widened a bit, which I interpreted correctly, and I assured him, “No, Mandalonius, I’m not lying to you. I am who I say I am.”

  His relief was obvious, and it made me think he was a bit simple, but he immediately led me to the entrance into the villa.

  “I have two people traveling with me, Mandalonius,” I informed him. “And they should be here any moment. Make sure you see them in as well.”

  “Yes, Dominus,” he bowed and turned away, as Carissa was now in the doorway.

  “Dominus Gnaeus!” she gasped, clearly surprised, and for the first time, something hit me.

  “Is Mama in, Carissa? Is she…?” I did not finish, but she interpreted correctly.

  “Yes, Dominus, she’s in…and she is alone.”

  I tried to hide my relief, not sure what I would have done if there had been a man present, although I did try to remind myself that my mother was a widow, and she had the right to see whoever she saw fit. Naturally, this immediately led to thoughts about my father, and I felt that thing uncoiling in my stomach as I followed Carissa into the triclinium, where my mother was reclining on a couch, reading a scroll.

  “Gnaeus!” She leapt to her feet, and the expression on her face as she hurried to me washed that anger away, and we embraced.

  I say it was an embrace; honestly, I felt a bit like I was being strangled, and it was with some difficulty I extricated myself from her grasp, laughingly telling her, “If those Cherusci had strangled me like that, I wouldn’t be here!”

  “Hush.” Her eyes were shining, but she tried to sound severe. “Don’t even joke like that. Now,” she stepped away from me, then examined me from head to toe, “let me look at you.” And, as usual, she missed nothing, reaching out to touch the pink scar on my left bicep, and while she tried to use a light tone, I heard the worry there, “This is new.”

  “It’s nothing,” I assured her. “It only took a few stitches, and I didn’t even notice it at first.”

  Before she could respond, there was a disturbance in the direction of the entrance that turned out to be the arrival of Alex and Algaia, with the former leading the latter into the room behind Carissa, the Breuci girl coming towards us with her head bowed and eyes on the floor.

  “Mother, I want to introduce you to Alexandros Pullus, son of Diocles, who is now my clerk. And,” I indicated his woman, “this is the Domina Algaia, his…”

  Suddenly, I was unsure how to describe their relationship, and I felt my face flush, but it was a shade compared to Alex. However, this clearly amused my mother, and I swore I saw a shadow of a smile flit across Algaia’s face, although she was still keeping her gaze lowered.

  Thank the gods, my mother knew how to compensate for her oafish son, because she did not hesitate, stepping first to Alex, but when he bowed, she stopped him to wrap him in an embrace that, to my eyes, was not much different from the one I had received, if there was perhaps a bit less strangling.

  “Alexandros,” my suspicion was confirmed when I heard the emotion in her voice, and I was also reminded of why when she said, “it’s been so long. And look how you’ve grown! Your father would be so proud!”

  This was when I recalled that my mother had in fact met Alex before, and one glance at his face told me he not only remembered, but the reason for their meeting was on his mind. I will not comment further, other than to say that it immediately became quite emotional, and there were quite a few tears as my mother had the chance to grieve with other people whose lives had been impacted by Titus Porcinianus Pullus. And the last vestiges of the anger that I had felt when I walked through the door evaporated in those tears.

  Once we had recovered ourselves, we were seated on the couches, while Carissa served refreshments, and I caught my mother up on what had transpired since the last time I had seen her, when I confronted her about my father. As I tended to do with her, I did not spare her the details, mostly anyway, telling her of the frustrations when the army was combined, the ambush of our cavalry while under the command of the incompetent Praefectus Equitus Pedo by Arminius and his confederation, the repulse of the 14th when that Legion came to extract the cavalry, then the ordeal of our march using the Long Bridges. I freely admit that, when I reached the part where I described Alex’s bravery in refusing to abandon Prefect Batavius, who had been seriously wounded in the ambush and was in one of the wagons of the baggage train when it was attacked, I felt as much pride in him as I would have if I had been describing my own exploits. He, on the other hand, seemed more embarrassed than anything, refusing to look up from his cup, and ignoring the adoring look Algaia was giving him.

  “Gnaeus had to come get us,” he interrupted me suddenly, and I was certain I saw a gleam of mischief in his eye. “In fact, he attacked what had to be a dozen Cherusci who were about to catch me, singlehandedly!”

  Any hope that my mother might have been proud to hear this was dispelled by the scathing look she gave me, but it was the slight dilation of her nostrils that, as a boy, I learned was the signal that my mother’s temper was aroused that gave me a warning. Now that I think about it, I do wonder who I inherited my own quick temper from, my father or my mother.

  “While I’m happy to hear that it turned out well,” she addressed Alex, “hopefully, you will forgive a mother for asking…” This was when she turned to me and asked scornfully, “…what were you thinking, Gnaeus?”

  “First,” I protested, “it wasn’t a dozen!”

  “How many, then?” she asked, and suddenly, I could have been Alex’s twin in how I was more interested in the floor than meeting her gaze.

  Shrugging, I tried to be evasive. “I don’t know, at least with any certainty.” Thinking this might work, I added, with a fair amount of sarcasm, “I was a bit busy to count them, but it wasn’t a dozen.”

  “Was it more than one?” she shot back.

  “Well,” I admitted, “yes.”

  “More than two?”

  “Yes.” It was about this time I realized I could feel a trickle of sweat running down my back, but she was not through.

  “More than four?”

  Before I could respond, it was Alex, who I suppose was feeling guilty, as he should have, who interjected quietly, “Domina Giulia, if it wasn’t for Gnaeus, neither I nor the Prefect would be alive. And,” he brought up what I think was the most important point, “we’re all fine.”

  The half-snort, half-huffing sound was one I knew very well, the signal that my mother still was not convinced, but for whatever reason had decided to move on.

  “First, Alexandros, please don’t address me by Domina. It’s just Giulia. After all,” she looked over
at me with a raised eyebrow, “you’ve known me longer than anyone else in this room.”

  This, I instantly realized, with some surprise, was nothing more than the truth.

  More to move to safer ground than anything, I decided this was also the time to mention, “I haven’t finished telling you all of it, Mama. But,” I grinned at her, “I’ll skip over the good parts to let you know that you’re now looking at the Quartus Pilus Prior of the 1st Legion.”

  I have always enjoyed being able to shock my mother, yet this still ranks as one of the best moments because it was not because I had done something scandalous, or stupid, and I still love the memory of her jaw dropping open, or at least at first. That feeling lasted a matter of heartbeats, because suddenly, her eyes filled with tears, and then she covered her face with her hands. This alarmed me enough to get me on my feet, and a glance at Alex told me he was as surprised as I was, but I should have been paying attention to Algaia instead. I did notice how she was looking at me as if I was the biggest fool in the world, but I was too busy moving to my mother’s side.

  Dropping to my knees next to her, I tried to comfort her, despite not knowing why, and I asked, “Mama, what’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy to hear that I’ve been promoted!”

  When she lifted her head, there was that look of feminine scorn, although it was marred by her tears, but I understood why as soon as she lashed out, “Happy? Why would I be happy to hear that you’re now in the same post that your father was in when he died?”

  “I…never thought about it that way,” I confessed. “I just thought you’d be happy for me.”

  This seemed to do more to dissolve her anger than anything else I could have said, and she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck.

  “Of course I’m happy for you, my darling boy,” she whispered in my ear. “But I’m your mother, and I’m afraid too.”