by R. W. Peake
Before I could say anything, Alex answered her, quickly and with a firmness that was heartening to my ears, since the instant she voiced that concern, I shared it.
“No,” he shook his head, “I’m not counting on his honor. I’m counting on the honor of his comrades. They’re Centurions of the 5th, and they wouldn’t allow Petronius to behave in a way that would reflect on them. Besides,” his face turned grim, and I heard the anger in his voice, which was understandable given what he endured as part of the baggage train, “after what they did at the Long Bridges, they’re not likely to put up with one of their own doing something that would bring them in further disrepute with the rest of the army.”
I saw immediately that this convinced my mother, but she was not quite finished, turning to me and saying severely, “That was still a foolish thing to do, Gnaeus.” Suddenly, her expression softened, “But I also understand why you did it, and I appreciate that you did it for me. So,” she smiled up at me, “this is the last we’ll speak about it. Although,” she finished dryly, “I would suggest that you don’t tempt Fortuna, or Petronius, by staying another day.”
I assured her we were leaving in the morning, and I will confess that, despite feeling confident that Alex’s reasoning was sound, I still did not sleep all that well, waiting for a pounding on the door. Which, thankfully, never came.
Chapter Seven
We left Mogontiacum just before dawn the next day, and once more, there were tears, particularly on the part of Algaia, which I found surprising; my mother did not, and she explained to me, “That poor girl has been through a lot, Gnaeus. And she hasn’t seen her mother in more than ten years, when they were separated in the slave market at Siscia. It’s natural that she sees me as some sort of mother figure.” Before I could say anything one way or another, she turned her attention to me. “Now, I want you to promise me something.”
“What?” I grinned at her. “That I won’t beat anyone else half to death?”
At first, she was not amused in the least, although I thought I was being quite humorous, but I saw her lip curve upward slightly as she admitted, “Yes, more or less. But, more than that.” She glanced over to where Alex was finishing up securing the packs to our two horses, then she warned me, “I want you to be very careful when you’re dealing with your uncles, Gnaeus.”
This seemed odd, and frankly, a bit insulting, which I suppose sounded in my voice as I retorted, “I’m not the one who needs to be careful, Mama. Neither of them has been under the standard, and neither of them are anywhere near my father’s size, or mine. At least, if Alex and Algaia are to be believed.”
“I’m not doubting that you could beat either of them to death with your hands or with a gladius,” she snapped. “But there are more ways to be dangerous than just with your fists or a gladius. And, between what your father and now Algaia have told me about Gaius, while he’s not as clever as he thinks, he’s clever enough to be dangerous. And,” she finished, “he’s probably already desperate. Having the son of the man who was paterfamilias show up suddenly isn’t going to help make him feel secure.”
As she usually is, my mother was wise, and was more right than she knew. And, for once, I kept her words in mind, all the way to Arelate.
The first part of that day was spent getting a lecture, this time from Alex, and the subject was what had happened the day before at The Happy Legionary.
Normally, he could be counted on working his way up to broaching a sensitive subject; this time proved to be the exception, because he asked bluntly, “If I hadn’t stopped you, do you think you would have killed Petronius?”
Coming from seemingly nowhere as it did, and which I am sure Alex intended, I answered without thinking, “Almost definitely.”
“And,” he asked quietly, “don’t you think that’s a problem?”
“For him, maybe,” I retorted defensively, but he was not put off, just regarding me riding next to him until I finally grumbled, “and for me.”
“Gnaeus,” he said quietly, “I’m not always going to be there. And, you have to keep in mind that even the other officers might not be in a position where they can stop you. Some of them,” he added ominously, “may not, even if they were.”
This surprised me considerably, and I looked down at him as I demanded, “What makes you say that? What have you heard?”
“I haven’t heard anything,” he did not hesitate to reply. “But you need to think of it this way; what are the odds that the other five Centurions don’t covet your post?”
While I understood this in a general sense, I also felt confident in pointing out, “The only one who might have a claim is Structus as Pilus Posterior, but he’s too new.”
“And, how long were you Pilus Posterior?” Alex countered.
I could feel the heat rushing to my face, but while it was certainly a valid point, I still was unconvinced, arguing, “I trust Structus. He was my father’s Optio, and he’s a good man.”
“He is,” Alex agreed, “but I wasn’t actually thinking of him.”
Now I turned to stare at him, asking, “Who are you thinking of? Licinius?”
“No,” he shook his head, “not Licinius. And not Fabricius or Gillo.”
“That only leaves Calpurnius.” I frowned, struck by something. “Do you know something about him that I don’t?”
I saw by the manner in which he hesitated that there was something there, but he finally said, “No, not really. I’ve heard some…things. Which,” he held up a hand to stop me before he could finish, “may or may not be true. In fact,” he admitted, “it’s just as likely that the things I’ve heard are coming from men with a grievance towards Calpurnius, so I wouldn’t put much stock in how reliable they are.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I assured him, but I was not going to let this go until I heard what these things were. “So tell me what you’ve heard.”
“There are a couple of things,” he began. “The first is that he’s ambitious, which is not necessarily a bad thing, but I’ve heard whispers that he likes to…know things,” was how he put it, “about his superiors.”
“Who doesn’t?” I countered, not really hearing anything alarming, adding, “And I don’t find anything wrong with him being ambitious. After all,” I grinned down at him, “people could say the same about me, and they’d be right.”
“That’s true on both counts.” Alex nodded. “But it’s also a matter of degree.” He paused, and I believe he was trying to think of the right way to frame his question. Finally, he asked, “How far would you be willing to go to learn about Sacrovir? He’s now your direct superior, so what would you be willing to do to find out more about him?”
“A few cups of wine,” I answered immediately, naming the traditional manner in which men learn more about their direct superior whenever there’s a change.
Again, Alex nodded, but he was not finished, because he asked, “And what kind of things would you want to know about him?”
This was an odd question to me, if only because the answer was obvious, but I replied, “The usual kind of things, that’s what. Whether he’s a stickler about the diary, how often he’s willing to let us run our Century without looking over our shoulder. Or,” I added this, mainly because it was still relatively new to me, “our Cohort.” After another heartbeat as I thought, I finished, “And, if he’s a striper when running his own Century, whether he expects us to follow suit.”
Alex listened without saying anything, then when he saw I was finished, he asked, “What about his personal life? Or,” he added before I could respond, “whether he’s a crooked or straight vitus?”
While I was slightly startled, I immediately realized that I should have mentioned what Alex had stated last.
“That last one, definitely,” I admitted, but my mind was now stuck on the first thing Alex had offered up, and I added, “but as far as who he’s fucking, or what kind of gambler he is, that wouldn’t matter to me.”
“Not to yo
u,” Alex agreed. “But what I’ve heard whispers about is that Calpurnius is very interested in that aspect of his superior’s habits out in town.”
“That,” I mused as I stared at Latobius’ ears, which as tended to happen, continually twitched back and forth whenever we talked, as if he was trying to understand what we were talking about, “is interesting. And,” I turned back to Alex, “good to know.”
I cannot say that I was not appreciative to Alex for his diligence in learning about one of my Centurions, but neither will I say that it put me in a good frame of mind; the thought that I would have to keep an eye on Calpurnius was not pleasing.
Thanks to a suggestion by Alex that we make use of a pass signed by Germanicus to acquire space on one of the military barges that sail down the Rhodanus (Rhone), we found a way to cut a few days off our travel time, although I was worried that someone would demand to read the contents of the scroll, which said nothing about requisitioning space. As he usually is, Alex turned out to be right, but it was a bit more complicated than we anticipated, not because there was a problem with anyone demanding to see the contents of the scroll, but because of Algaia. Thanks to something that we overheard, we had sufficient warning, and the fact that it was actually a Tribune who was returning to Lugdunum and who was essentially doing the same thing we were, at least in having a female as part of his party, convinced me that we needed to make an adjustment.
“I’m sorry, Tribune, but nobody who’s not attached to the army can have passage on a barge.”
The man who said this was the harbor master, a greasy, overweight man in a tunic that was stretched tight across his paunch, with a stubble and a patina of dirt on his exposed skin that suggested only a passing acquaintance with the baths of Vesontio. Nevertheless, when the Tribune, who was about my age and exhibited the haughty air that comes from being born into that class, tried to cow the harbor master with bluster, the older man was not swayed in the slightest, giving me the strong impression that this was a common occurrence.
He listened patiently enough, while we stood with our horses a few paces away, but since voices were raised, it was easy to overhear, and once the Tribune paused for breath, the harbor master repeated, “I apologize, Tribune, I don’t make the rules, but they’re very clear; she can’t come aboard this barge if she’s not attached to the army.” Then, he lowered his voice, and while it was difficult, I heard him add, “Now, if she was your slave, that would be different.”
Since I had no idea what his relationship with this woman was, who was young, pretty, but not dressed in a style that spoke of wealth, nor that their relationship might be a professional one, I did not know how the Tribune would react to this. Rather than argue, if anything, he seemed embarrassed, but I was not willing to stay and watch how this matter was resolved, and I beckoned to the other two to follow me a short distance down the street, then around a corner where we were no longer in sight of the wharves.
“Well,” I told Alex, “it was a good idea.”
He nodded, his face glum, but as is his nature, he tried to put a better face on it by saying, “We’ll get to see more of the country at least.”
I turned to mount Latobius, but I was stopped from doing so when Algaia reached out and put a hand on my arm.
“We can still take this boat,” she said, her face giving none of her thoughts away, which made me assume that she had misunderstood.
“Algaia, you can’t get a spot on a barge because you’re not attached to the army.”
“But I’m with Alex,” she argued, “and he’s with the army!”
“He is,” I agreed.
Before I could go on, Alex intervened, reaching out to take Algaia in his arms. “Meum mel, the army doesn’t care that you’re my…mine.” He managed to alter the words, but I could see it was not quickly enough to fool her, and I had to turn away to hide my grin at his discomfort. “The only way that it would work is if you were still a slave, but now that you’re a freedwoman, there aren’t any freedwomen with the Legions anywhere.”
She did not address Alex, but instead turned to me and asked, “Is this true, Gnaeus? That if I was a slave, we would be able to travel on this boat?”
Reluctantly, I assured her this was the case. What she did next astounded both Alex and me, because without another word, she turned and walked over to the packhorse that she shared with Alex. She went to the opposite side of the animal, so neither of us could see what she was doing, but I could tell by the manner in which the pack moved back and forth on the horse’s back that she was rummaging around. Still, I never expected that, once she stepped back into full view, she would be holding a bronze plate, with the leather thong still attached, yet, when she lifted her arms to drop it back around her neck, it was not Alex who stopped her, but me. I did not do it violently, but I was not gentle either, and it stopped her movement.
“You don’t have to do this, Algaia,” I told her, but while her eyes were shining, she looked up at me with an expression that, as odd as it may sound, seemed to me to be a mixture of defiance and pride.
“I know I do not have to do it,” she agreed. Then, she looked over at Alex, giving him a smile as she said, “It is my choice, as a freedwoman. And, if it gets us to Arelate faster, then I am willing to wear this.” When I glanced over at Alex, I was quickly disabused of the idea it was his decision to make, because she added sharply, “I do not need Alex’s permission, Gnaeus. This is for me to decide. And, I have decided. Now,” she turned and strode back to her horse, picking up the reins to lead him back around the corner, “we need to find out when the next barge leaves downstream.”
Alex and I exchanged a glance that I suspect was alike; one of respect, and a little bit of trepidation at this sign of Algaia’s strong will, and I whispered to him, “Remind me not to make her angry.”
As I hoped, this made him laugh, and when she turned to give us an inquiring glance, I knew she had heard, and was as amused.
Walking back up the street, I did think to ask Algaia, “Why did you bring that with you, Algaia?”
She did not look over at me, nor did she hesitate, answering flatly, “Because I am going to shove it up Gaius’ ass.” Before I could react, she turned to smile sweetly at me, and she added, “With your help, of course.”
“Do I have any choice?” I mumbled this, more to Alex than Algaia, and he was the one who said quite cheerfully, “Of course not.”
Thanks to Algaia’s quick thinking, we had no problem securing passage once we established that she was my slave, and since my real family name was engraved on the placard, there was not much argument. Unfortunately, we had missed the last barge for the day, but there was one departing at dawn, so we went to find an inn, of which there was more of an array of choices because Vesontio is a good-sized town. I took the opportunity to show off a bit as we walked to the one that had been recommended, explaining to them about how this had once belonged to the Sequani, but I quickly saw that, if anything, I was amusing Alex more than informing him, and I confess I was a bit nettled.
“I’m sorry if I’m telling you something you already know,” I snapped, “but I don’t think Algaia knows as much about our history.”
Alex held up a hand, “I apologize, Gnaeus. It’s just that I do know quite a bit about this, but it’s because of your great-grandfather.”
As he knew it would, this arrested my attention and cooled my ire immediately.
“What do you mean?”
“Your father let me read the Prefect’s account,” he explained.
I had not known this, and I felt the color rushing to my face; before we had gone another half-dozen paces, I was the one doing the listening as Alex talked. We found the inn, and it looked suitable, with an attached stable, so we were quickly situated; I also broke my private vow, paying for two rooms instead of one, my way of acknowledging the sacrifice that Algaia was making by pretending to return to her former status. As we consumed our meal, I listened to Alex, and if her expression was a
guide, Algaia was every bit as interested as I was in hearing about Vesontio, the battle against the Helvetii, and a Gregarius named Titus Pullus who marched for the famed Equestrians of the 10th Legion, under the command of Divus Julius, when he was still a mortal named Gaius Julius Caesar. He did not speak loudly, but I noticed that the sounds of the conversations between the other patrons gradually died down, then suddenly, I looked around to see that not only were all eyes on our table, the rest of the small crowd had moved the benches so they could get closer and listen. There was one moment when Alex, realizing he was now the center of attention, turned bright red, with beads of sweat suddenly appearing on his forehead, but Algaia, who was sitting next to him, murmured something in his ear. Whatever she said worked, because after taking a swallow of wine, he resumed his story, which, although I knew it in a general sense, is part of my own story, and when I finally began reading the Prefect’s account, it was quite powerful. And, it reinforced something that I had already deduced, that Alexandros Pullus has a phenomenal memory, because while it was not verbatim, it was close and did not miss any important details. As entertaining as it was, I was also aware that we had to rise early to return to the wharf, so I finally stood up, which Alex correctly interpreted, and when he followed my lead, there was a small chorus of protest from the others.
Suddenly, one of the other visitors spoke loudly enough to be heard over the babble of people, “You know, my father actually met the Prefect once.”
This was met, not by interest, but a chorus of disbelief by the other people, and I heard one of them call out, “Gerrae! You’re just trying to get an extra cup from the young lad and the Centurion here!”
I confess that I tended to this view as well, but the man, who appeared to be in his fifties, with the weathered features of one who clearly spent most of his life outdoors, yet without the hard aspect that would identify him as a man under the standard, leapt to his feet, and shook a fist at the small knot of people from where the accusation came.