by R. W. Peake
“That must make living in the same house with him difficult,” I commented, although I was more making conversation and not fishing for information, but whether it was inadvertent or not, Septimus countered, “He doesn’t live at the villa. He hasn’t for a year now.”
“Where is he living, then?” Alex asked.
“Above Bacchus’ Delight,” Septimus answered, and while I had no idea of the real meaning and the ramifications that came with it, I saw just by Alex’s reaction that this was bad news.
“What?” Alex gasped, then shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, Septimus. The Poplicolas hate us, especially after what Uncle Titus and Sextus did to them.”
The laugh Septimus gave sounded more bitter than anything.
“You’ve been gone too long, Alex. Although,” he allowed, “this…development happened after Titus returned back to the army last year.”
If Septimus expected Alex to accept this, he was to be disappointed, because Alex countered, “But Uncle Titus got three letters from you, including one right before he…” His voice trailed off, and he looked over at me. Knowing why, I simply nodded, so he finished, “Right before he died.”
“I know.” Septimus sounded miserable, and he held up his free hand, making what seemed to me to be a pleading gesture as he repeated, “I know, Alex. I should have told him, but I just couldn’t.”
“Tell him what?” I finally broke in, more out of exasperation than anything; I do not like feeling left out under any circumstances.
“That the Poplicolas are gone,” Septimus answered. “They don’t run the collegia anymore.”
This not only did not make sense to me, it did not seem relevant, but before I could interject again, I glanced over at Alex, who had remained standing and was leaning against the wall, and I recognized the expression on his face, telling me that this was actually important, and that he had at least a suspicion why.
“Septimus,” Alex spoke quietly enough, except there was an intensity there, and while it took an instant for me to place, I realized that he sounded angry, “what are you telling me? That Gaius used what was left of the family money to buy the Poplicolas out?”
This elicited another laugh from my uncle, but if anything, this was even more humorless.
“Who said anything about money, Alex?” Before Alex or either Algaia or I could react, he went on, “No, Alex, Gaius didn’t use any of the family money. He used other…methods.” For whatever reason, Septimus turned to look up at me. “Bloody methods.”
There was a long silence then, and while I still did not fully comprehend what was happening, one look at Alex and Algaia convinced me that this was very, very serious, and it was Algaia who broke the silence.
“It was only a matter of time,” she said in a matter-of-fact manner that indicated, at least to me, that she had given this some thought. “I knew that he wouldn’t be happy just hurting his slaves.”
Septimus opened his mouth, and I got the sense he was going to say something in defense of his brother, but then he shut it without a word, shaking his head and closing his eyes.
“Am I correct in assuming,” I finally decided to be more than furniture, “that my uncle Gaius now runs one of the collegia here in Arelate?” When Septimus nodded, I asked, “And how many collegia are there here?”
“There were three,” Septimus answered readily enough, “but now there are only two.”
He did not say anything other than this, but one glance over at Alex told me that my suspicion was probably correct, yet I still felt the need to confirm it.
“And, who was it that ran this other collegia out of Arelate?”
“Oh,” Septimus shook his head, “he didn’t run them out of town, not really. He…absorbed it. He convinced the street soldiers that they would be better served working for him than for Saturninus.”
“I’m guessing that Saturninus didn’t retire,” Alex put in dryly.
“No, he didn’t,” Septimus answered, then gave another laugh that was more of a bark. “He was found in the river, his throat cut. And,” he suddenly glanced over at Algaia, “with…things missing.”
Algaia’s reaction, which was a complete lack of surprise, was telling, but both Alex and I shuddered, not needing further explanation.
“So,” Septimus broke the brief silence by addressing me, “why are you here?”
“We’re here to inter my father’s ashes,” I answered coldly, but he turned to Alex.
“Is that true, Alex?”
Before I could make an issue of what I considered blatant disrespect, Alex made a cautioning gesture to me, answering Septimus, “That’s the main reason, Septimus, but no, it’s not the only one.”
He spent the next few moments informing Septimus of the contents and provisions of my father’s will, and how he directed that Septimus would continue to be in charge of the family money, while I was the principal heir of my father’s portion of it.
Septimus immediately understood the problem, pointing out, “But with Titus’ death, Gaius is paterfamilias. And,” he assured us, and confirmed our collective belief, “Gaius will never honor Titus’ directions.”
“Which is another reason we’re here,” Alex said, then added apologetically, “and why we didn’t come to the villa right away. We thought Gaius would be there, and we wanted to talk to a lawyer.”
“Do you still have Cinna as your lawyer?”
I was surprised that it was Algaia who asked this, although I realized quickly enough that I should not have been; Alex had not been in Arelate for many years, and she was the one person besides Septimus who had been involved, even if it was peripherally, in family matters most recently.
“No,” Septimus answered, very quickly and emphatically, and we learned why when he added bitterly, “He chose to remain loyal to Gaius. Although,” he sighed, “I suppose that has as much to do with Cinna’s gambling debts as anything.”
“Gaius got him into debt that quickly?” Alex asked skeptically, but Septimus answered, “No, he was already in deep with the Poplicolas. So that’s just a happy accident. For Gaius, at least.”
“Who else do you know of?” Alex asked. “Someone you think is worth anything, anyway.”
Septimus considered for a moment, then said, “I’ve heard good things about one named Lucius Aviola. He’s young, but he handled a rather complicated case for a friend of mine.”
“What kind of case?” I asked, and for the first time, he gave a smile that was genuine.
“It was a contested will,” he answered.
Looking over his head at Alex, I saw he was agreeable, so I said, “Then, tomorrow we go to visit Lucius Aviola.”
“What about Gaius?” Algaia had been mostly silent, but as I had learned was her habit, she had an ability to keep her attention on the larger, and more dangerous, issue. “You said that if you knew about us, he would as well.”
“Yes,” Septimus agreed. “I’m certain that he knows already, if only because Bacchus’ Delight is closer to the river than our villa, and he’s got eyes everywhere.”
“What do you think he’ll do?” Alex asked, and Septimus considered for a moment, then said simply, “I don’t know, Alex. I truly don’t.”
While I appreciated his honesty, it still did not make me feel any better, and this was when I made my own decision. Turning back to my baggage, I extracted my baltea, which I strapped on, then picked up the gladius, which I had laid on the bed, and replaced it in the scabbard. Then, I took another item out, and holding it under my arm, I walked to the door, picking up my vitus leaning against the wall next to it.
“How do I get to Bacchus’ Delight?” I asked Septimus.
The other three had been watching silently, but my voice seemed to break some spell, because all three of them began babbling at once.
“Gnaeus, are you mad?” Alex gasped.
“Are you certain that’s a good idea?” Septimus asked, slightly more calmly than Alex, but not by much.
I turned to Algaia, grinning at her as I said, “It’s nice to see that there’s one warrior here.”
“I don’t know how things are on the Rhenus,” Septimus had come to his feet, and he pointed at my gladius, “but nobody is allowed to be armed inside the town walls.”
“Oh,” I admitted, “that’s how it is there too. But,” I smiled at him, “who’s going to stop me?”
“That,” he admitted, “is a good point.”
“Walking alone into a place like that,” Alex had actually moved to place himself between me and the door, “is asking for trouble, Gnaeus.”
“Which is why I’m carrying this.” When I pointed, however, it was not at the gladius on my hip, but the urn under my arm. “I’m going to tell my uncle that his brother, my father, is dead. And,” I confess I felt a twinge of shame at this lie, “I am merely asking him to set aside whatever grievances he has to attend the funeral rites for his brother.”
It was gratifying seeing Alex’s expression change as he thought this through, and he finally allowed, “It’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.” Then he heaved a sigh and said, “All right, I’m going with you.” He turned to Septimus, but he was already on his feet and gave me a grin.
“I don’t want to miss this. Besides,” he added casually, “I haven’t been in there since your father went and got Titus out of trouble.”
Alex’s reaction seemed odd, at least at first, as he let out what sounded like a squawk, and he slapped his forehead, muttering, “Pluto’s balls. Mama. We haven’t gone to see her, and if you know we’re here…”
“She didn’t know when I left,” Septimus assured him. “When Chickpea came to tell me he saw you, your mother was upstairs, and I left immediately.”
“Chickpea?” Alex groaned. “Then she definitely knows.”
“Who, or what,” I asked what I thought was a reasonable question, “is a Chickpea?”
“It will take too long to explain,” Algaia assured me. “But you just need to know that Alex is right. The Domina…I mean, Birgit knows by now.”
We all turned to look at Alex, since it was his mother, and his decision to make, but he only hesitated for a moment before he said, “She’ll understand once I explain it to her. So,” he opened the door, “off to Bacchus’ Delight.”
Fortunately, it was dark as we made our way through the streets of Arelate, making the fact that I was wearing a gladius a bit less obvious; the fact that I carried the urn under my left arm and my vitus in my right, the reverse order, was my attempt to partially disguise the fact that I was armed. As we walked, I gave Septimus the bare facts of my identity, how I had arrived in Ubiorum after the man I thought was my father, Quintus Claudius Volusenus, purchased me a posting as the Quartus Hastatus Posterior of the 1st Legion, where Titus Porcinianus Pullus was the Princeps Prior.
“Wait,” he interrupted, and he turned to look at me as we walked, “Titus told me about you when he was here.”
“Really? What did he say?” I asked, curious to know, but his answer was not altogether surprising, or interesting.
“Just that he had a Centurion in his Cohort who was his size. Although,” he sidestepped slightly to take a better look, “I think you may be a bit taller.”
“I am,” I said without thinking, then the weight of the urn under my arm made me correct myself. “I was.”
“This,” Septimus tried to sound casual, but I was not fooled, “must be very strange for you.”
This made me laugh.
“Which part?” I asked him. “The fact that I didn’t find out who my father really was until after he was dead? Or the fact that I’m walking down a street in a town I’ve never been before with one uncle, about to confront another uncle, carrying the ashes of their brother under my arm?”
Although I had not meant to be funny, I confess I had to chuckle at this, and I was pleased that he laughed as well, admitting, “Now that you mention it, I suppose all of it.”
Before I could say anything in response, he pointed to the intersection ahead. “Bacchus’ Delight is right around the corner.” He came to a stop, and I understood why when he spoke with a lower tone, ignoring the people wandering past who were staring at me. “If Gaius has kept things the same way, there will be at least two men outside the door. And, Gnaeus,” he turned to me, “there’s something you should probably know. The last time I was here with your father, things got…messy. But, don’t worry, I know it won’t be the same two men.”
Later, I realized that I should have made the connection immediately; I blame my distraction for my asking him, “How could you know that?”
“Because,” Septimus did not hesitate, but by the flickering torchlight from the one attached to the bracket that is placed on every corner, I saw his lip curve upward, “I saw your father kill one of them, and I heard the next day the other man quit and left town.” Then, as I stood there slack-jawed, he began turning the corner, stopping in the middle of the street to ask, “Well? Are you three coming?”
He disappeared around the corner, and I hurried after him, while I heard Alex mutter something to Algaia, and the tone she used when she answered made me grin, and I called over my shoulder to Alex, “I doubt she’s going to want to miss this, Alex.”
“You’re not helping,” he growled at me, but then I was around the corner, a few paces behind Septimus, and I took the scene in at a glance.
Honestly, if I did not know I was in Arelate, it could have been Ubiorum, although none of the men in the streets were wearing soldiers’ caligae, baltea, and tunic. The women, however, were interchangeable, all of them wearing shifts that were designed to come off, or up, easily; garish makeup that, by torch and lamplight, made them look alluring, and a hearty, earthy manner that was as counterfeit as the passion they exhibited with their customers once a bargain had been struck. And, as Septimus predicted, there were two men standing there on either side of the entrance, with the man nearest me sitting on a barrel, although at first, he was watching a man and who I presumed to be a whore belonging to the house haggling over price. My uncle stopped, waiting for me to reach his side before we continued moving that direction, and once we reached the outer edge of the seated man’s vision, only then did he turn and look in our direction. And, as always happens, he began turning away before his head suddenly swiveled back towards us, the normal reaction most people have to my size, which meant I was completely unprepared for what was about to happen.
The man, who was certainly larger than normal but nowhere near my size, pointed, not at me, but at Septimus, saying loudly enough for us to hear, “Oy! You’re Septimus Pullus!”
It is hard to explain why, yet I was quite put out that it was not me the man was clearly alarmed about, while Septimus held his arms out from his sides, saying calmly, “I am. Tell my brother I’d like to speak to him.”
The second man had not been paying attention to us, and the first one said something to him over his shoulder that got him moving, and he disappeared into the taverna. Meanwhile, most of the other people in the street, both male and female, were slowly becoming aware that something unusual and potentially interesting was taking place.
From behind us, Alex asked Septimus, “I suppose you’ve done this before?”
“Once or twice,” Septimus answered without moving his head, mainly because the first man had begun walking in our direction; whether he was squinting because of the light or he had some sort of suspicion, I have no idea, but then he pointed again, this time not at my uncle but directly at me.
“Are you wearing a gladius?” he demanded, then before I could reply, he shook his head, “You can’t go inside with one of those.”
“I’m not here for any trouble,” I assured him, but this had no impact, not that I was particularly surprised.
“That doesn’t matter! You,” now he was jabbing that finger at me, “can’t enter with that.” He gave me a grin, and even in the dim light, the jag
ged stumps of his remaining teeth gave me more information about him than anything he was saying. “You can give it to me, and I’ll make sure that it stays safe, soldier boy.”
The thing that my father, and others, called my arrogance that resulted from my life as an Equestrian before I joined the Legions tends to surface at odd times; this was one of them, and I heard that haughty tone in my voice as I replied, “I wouldn’t trust you to varnish my leathers, and you think you’re going to place your filthy hand on this?” I tapped the hilt with my vitus. “Now,” I smiled at him, though I saw he was not fooled, “if you think you can take it from me, you’re welcome to try, fat man.”
It was not until later that I learned those words carried even more weight than seemed appropriate, when I read the last part of my father’s account. In the moment, one of the whores, who I had noticed was engaged in a transaction, suddenly darted across the street to this man, while he leaned down as she whispered something in his ear. We were much too far away to hear what was said, but whatever it was, it certainly elicited a strong reaction, because the man pushed the woman away as he straightened up, looking at me with clear alarm and fear.
“That’s him?” I heard him mutter, which made no sense whatsoever, and would not for some time to come, but before I could respond by asking him what he meant, the other man reappeared.
While he did not whisper, it was close to it, and it was not until the first guard, with a reluctance that was so overblown that I had to hide a grin, gestured towards the door that I realized what was said.
“You can go in,” he said sullenly, content to glare at me; that is, until I met his gaze as I followed Septimus into the building, when he suddenly became more interested in the paving stones of the street.
Algaia was just behind me, while Alex took up the rear, and I felt her clutching at my baltea, which made me glance over my shoulder, but she was tucked so tightly behind me I could not see her.