Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  I barely made out her whisper, “Don’t let him do anything to me, Gnaeus.”

  “I won’t,” I promised her, still not completely understanding the level of her fear of this man.

  Gaius Pullus was seated at the far end of the room, at the end of a long table, with men arrayed on either side, almost all of them with a woman perched on their lap, although Gaius was by himself. I immediately noticed that it was quiet, much quieter than would be considered normal, and I felt the eyes of every occupant of this place on the four of us. There were not enough lamps hanging about the place to provide more than just enough light to see how many people were seated at the tables, and depending on where they were seated, their features. The two lamps suspended from the ceiling nearest to Gaius were behind him, and I was reminded that it was actually Titus Pullus who had informed me this was by design, so that the flames from the lamps shined in the eyes of anyone approaching, and it also placed whoever was sitting in that spot more in shadow.

  It had gotten quiet enough that Septimus did not have to raise his voice much when he called out, “Salve, brother! I realized that it’s been a while since we’ve seen each other, so I decided to come for a visit.”

  Despite the shadows, I was certain that Gaius had only given his brother a bare glance, and his eyes were on me, until I saw his head move slightly to where Alex was now standing on the other side of his brother.

  “Is that…Alex?” Gaius spoke for the first time, and my first thought was that he did not sound particularly evil.

  “Yes, Gaius, it’s me,” Alex replied evenly.

  “How long has it been?” Gaius mused. “More than ten years? Fifteen, perhaps?”

  “Something like that,” Alex agreed.

  Septimus shifted slightly, so I do not know if that was what caused what came next, but while I was expecting Gaius to turn his attention towards me, he suddenly leaned slightly to one side, and I saw enough of his face to see a frown on his face.

  “Who’s that behind you, brother?” he demanded. “Is that Juno?” For the first time, Gaius smiled, and he spoke more loudly than necessary, “Well done, brother! Thank you for returning my property to me!”

  Before any of us could react, Algaia thrust herself between Septimus and me, placing herself in Gaius’ full view.

  “I am not your property!” She spat the words out, and I did not have to know her to see the fury in her as she finally faced the man who had owned her, and while I have never asked, clearly did despicable things to her. “I am a free woman! And,” she pointed her finger, not at Gaius, but at me, inadvertently shifting the attention to me, and the larger issue, “his father freed me! Not you!”

  This outburst prompted him to stand, as Gaius’ turned his attention to me, and while I could not see with any clarity, I sensed that his gaze went from my face, down to the urn, then back up to me. And, when he lifted his arm to point, I could see that his hand was shaking.

  “What,” his voice transformed, the quaver in it matching the tremor of his hand, “is that?” Before any of us could respond, he cried out, “Is that Titus? Is my brother dead?”

  “Yes.” I heard my own voice, but it sounded strange to me. “He fell in battle, but not before he saved my life.”

  I cannot say with any certainty exactly what I was expecting as far as a reaction by my uncle, but I was not prepared to see him suddenly drop back down into his chair, then bury his face in his hands. His shoulders began shaking, and because the silence had become so absolute, I at least could hear his quiet sobs, prompting my thought, He doesn’t seem like some sort of demon to me.

  “Gaius,” Septimus spoke up, and his tone was gentle, “I know we have our differences, but I,” he corrected himself by turning and indicating me, “I mean, we invite you to Titus’ funeral rites. He was our brother, and he was the firstborn. It’s only right that the family be there for the rites.”

  This elicited a reaction from Gaius, who lifted his head, and I saw the shine to his cheeks, so I knew that at least the tears were unfeigned.

  “Of course.” He nodded, his voice suddenly husky. “I’ll be there, certainly. When will they be?”

  This was something we had not even discussed, but Alex had obviously given it some thought, because he was the one who said, “We’ll need at least two days to let the rest of the family know, and to arrange for the priests to conduct the rites.”

  Gaius listened, and when Alex was through, he was silent for a moment, then said, “So, we’ll meet at dusk in three days’ time.” He hesitated, then turned to me, and asked, “Is that acceptable to you…?”

  “Gnaeus,” I supplied. “Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus.”

  This elicited a reaction from the occupants of the taverna for the first time, but I ignored the sudden buzzing of voices, keeping my eyes on Gaius, as he repeated, “Is that acceptable to you, Gnaeus?”

  “It is,” I answered.

  “Good,” Gaius said. “Until then.”

  With this, he pointedly turned his attention back to the man who was seated on the bench to his immediate left, and I heard Septimus hiss a curse under his breath. He was not the only one insulted; I was fairly angry myself, but when I took a step forward, I heard Alex’s voice whisper my name. I looked over at him, and he shook his head, which was sufficient to stop me moving forward, turning around to follow the others out, feeling the eyes of the customers on me, seeing some of them pointing at me as they whispered to whoever was next to them. I was the last one out of the taverna, where both guards were standing, but I was disappointed when the man who had challenged me seemed to have no interest in making an issue of my carrying a gladius. Nothing was said until we rounded the corner, when it felt like Cerberus was unleashed on us, in the form of a girl barely over five feet, as Algaia spun about, her tiny fists clenched.

  “You fools!” she hissed, but thankfully, it was not me she aimed her invective at first, and she punched Alex right in the chest, causing him to yelp in pain, as she raged, “What were you thinking, Alexandros? What possessed you to give Gaius that much time?”

  Before Alex could respond, Septimus spoke up, using a soothing tone that I was certain would make matters worse, “Algaia, we didn’t have much choice. Alex was being honest; we’ll need that much time to make arrangements.”

  My suspicion was confirmed when she wheeled on Septimus, her eyes blazing with fury, “And you’re worse than he is, because you should know better! At least Alex hasn’t been around Gaius for years!”

  Septimus glanced over at me, and despite our acquaintance being less than a watch old, I saw the silent plea in his eyes. A plea that, I am only slightly ashamed to say, I flatly rejected, shaking my head to let him know I had no intention of making myself the target of her wrath. Which, I quickly learned, did not make me safe; I may have been the last, but I received my own portion of the blame as she wagged her finger at me.

  “Gnaeus, he is going to try and destroy your claim, you do know that? And now, because you didn’t act inside there, he’s got the time to come up with something!”

  “What was I supposed to do?” I asked, bewildered by the question. “Just kill him right there? In front of all those people?”

  “That,” she shot back, “sounds like a wonderful idea, but it’s too late now!”

  Then, before any of us could say a word, she turned and walked away, calling over her shoulder, “There’s no point in staying at the inn now. We need to go get our baggage and go to the villa.”

  “That,” Alex muttered, “is a wonderful idea too. First Algaia, and now I’m going to have to listen to my mother tell me what an idiot I am as well.”

  He was walking as he said this, and naturally, both Septimus and I followed along.

  We had only gone about a block when he turned to me and said, without a smile, “I hope you weren’t planning on getting any sleep tonight, Gnaeus.”

  As I would come to learn about Septimus, even when he was only being partially serious, he was s
eldom wrong.

  We retrieved part of our baggage, but I made the decision to leave all but the essentials behind, mainly because I did not want to rouse the innkeeper, who in turn would have to rouse the slaves who were responsible for caring for the animals, then spend the time packing up to travel less than a mile and reverse the process.

  “We’ll come back tomorrow,” I told them, and I suspect that Alex put up an argument because he wanted to delay what he viewed as the inevitable tongue-lashing, his second of the night, but I prevailed.

  Algaia was still fuming, muttering under her breath, although she did her part in gathering her things that she would be taking with her that night. Septimus had gone on ahead, which Alex initially resisted, until my uncle pointed out that Alex’s mother undoubtedly knew her son was in Arelate, and it was probably wise for Septimus to go ahead of us and at least try to explain our actions. It was still before midnight, but the traffic on the streets was thinning out, and by the time we reached the forum, which we had to cross to get to what I was still adjusting was my family home, it was just the three of us. Not surprisingly, it was a silent walk, save for the sound of my hobnails on the paving stones echoing off the walls of the buildings, all of them shuttered and dark. There was enough of a moon to see the statues in the forum, and even in the gloom, I was impressed with Arelate, which rivals my own Mediolanum, although this was not foremost in my mind at that moment. I knew we had reached the villa because the gate was open, and I saw a dark figure standing there, but it was not Septimus, being much shorter and of a slight build. It was Algaia, who, while with not as much effusive joy as she had shown towards Septimus, still gave a small cry as she rushed ahead of us, embracing the man.

  “Chickpea!” Her voice was slightly muffled because of their hug. “What are you still doing here?” Suddenly, she pushed away from him, asking suspiciously, “Did Septimus not do what Titus ordered him to do?”

  The man shook his head, and now that I was closer, in the moonlight, I saw that my impression that he was young had been formed by his size, but he was in fact in his forties, and while his Latin was perfect, I heard an accent as he assured Algaia, “No, Juno, he did. I’m a freedman now, but Domina Birgit has been so kind to me, and she told me I could stay here as long as I wish.”

  I expected Algaia to lash out at him for using her hated slave name, but she did not, saying only, “That’s wonderful to hear, Chickpea! And,” she added gently, “I go by my real name now that I’m free as well. So you can call me Algaia.”

  “Algaia,” I saw the gleam on Chickpea’s teeth as he smiled at her, “is a lovely name. And Algaia it is.” Only then did he turn to look at Alex, gasping with surprise. “Look how you’ve grown up, Domi…”

  “It’s just Alex, Chickpea,” Alex stopped him, but he was smiling as well, and when he stepped up to the former slave, he embraced him as well.

  I was the last one, and once again, he gasped in surprise, but while I assumed it was, as always, because of my size, it was for a different reason altogether.

  “You are Dominus Titus’ son,” he breathed more than spoke the words, and I saw the glint in his eyes. “I would know you anywhere. You look just like him!”

  “Really?” Alex asked skeptically. “I mean, I always suspected, but it wasn’t until after…” He stopped, not wanting to say the words, something I had noticed we all were doing, which I completely understood, and he finished, “…I read his letter that I saw it.”

  “That’s because you’re blind,” Algaia retorted; the fact that these were the first words she had spoken, to either of us, I took as a good sign, and I confess I was reminded of the night we consigned my father to the flames that she had said she had known long before my father’s death that I was his son.

  “Yes, well,” Chickpea wiped his eyes, then turned as he beckoned to us to follow him, “Dominus Septimus and Domina Birgit are waiting for you.”

  This turned out to be something of an understatement, because we had barely crossed the yard when, from the courtyard entrance, a figure burst out of the villa, crossing over the open space towards us. It was a woman, who I assumed, correctly, was Birgit, Alex’s mother, and because there were torches in the sconces on either side of the entrance into the villa, I could see two things immediately. She was blonde, although later in better light I would see that it was liberally streaked with silver, and that, despite being a bit older than my mother, she was still very beautiful. And, I saw in that moment, she had quite a temper, because rather than embrace her son, she smacked him with her open hand across his face first, but she then wrapped her arms around him so quickly that I thought I might have been imagining it.

  “You have been here since before sunset, and you’re only now standing here?” she demanded, although her voice was slightly muffled.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Alex mumbled, and while I might have been inclined to tease Alex about some things, being terrified of his mother was not a subject I was willing to bring up, if only because he had seen me behave in much the same manner not long before.

  “You’re here now,” she said briskly, and it was this moment she turned to look at me.

  “You poor boy,” she whispered, then walked to me, looking up at me as I felt her eyes searching my face, but it was when she reached up and laid her hand on my cheek as she murmured, “Yes, I see him there, in you. You are Titus’ son,” that my own composure broke.

  It was strange, quite strange in fact; I had known this woman a matter of heartbeats, but when I leaned down so that I could bury my face in her neck and weep, I did not feel awkward doing so, and I wondered if this was what it felt like to have a family that was larger than just parent and child.

  Finally, she gently pushed me away, and while Algaia was last, she received the same warm greeting, then Birgit said, “Enough of this out here. Into the house. I’m certain that you’re hungry.”

  Before I could say anything, Alex informed her, “Mama, you’re going to be happier than you’ve been since we were all little. Gnaeus is always hungry, and he eats more than Uncle Titus.”

  I automatically opened my mouth to deny this, then quickly thought better of it; not only was it true, Alex had extolled the virtues of his mother’s cooking and I did not want to discourage her in any way. Septimus was sitting there at the table, but when we began to discuss the situation, Birgit stopped us.

  “There’s time for that in the morning,” she said firmly. “Now you need to get some food in you, then get some sleep.”

  Even if it had not been sensible advice, I know that it did not occur to Alex, Algaia, or me to argue the point; Birgit was, and is as formidable in her way as my mother, so we consumed the meal in relative silence, save for talking about our journey. I also learned that Alex had been speaking the truth; his mother is an excellent cook.

  I was given my own room, and I suspect that my head had just hit the bolster when I was asleep, but the manner in which I awoke was quite memorable. Not that it was violent or exciting in any way, just that it was…unusual. Essentially, I think that, somehow, I became aware that I was being watched, and when I opened my eyes, I saw that whatever instinct it is in us that makes us cognizant of being observed was working properly, as I was greeted by two faces staring down at me with quite solemn expressions.

  “Who are you?” the one that I had identified as the girl asked me.

  I did not move, mainly because I did not want to frighten the two intruders off, and I heard my voice, husky with sleep, croak, “I’m Gnaeus. Who are you?”

  “I’m Atia, of course,” she said crossly, as if I should have known this. “This,” she turned to the other interloper, who was clearly younger, and who seemed more interested in the floor, “is Manius, my brother.” With the introductions done, she demanded, “What are you doing in my house?”

  “Your house?” I widened my eyes; now that I was more awake, I was beginning to be amused by this exchange. “You mean, you own this house?”

 
; “No, my uncle Titus owns it,” she said loftily. “And,” she warned me, “he will be very cross to know that strangers are sleeping here!”

  I know she did not mean to, that she was completely innocent and was not being malicious, but the only defense I can offer was that the stab of pain was so sharp, and so unexpected that, before I could stop myself, I snarled, “Well, he’s dead, and I’m his son, so I’ve got as much right to sleep here as you do!”

  As I dictate the words, I actually cringe; it was an extraordinarily mean and childish thing to say, and if I had slapped her across her face, I doubt I could have hurt her more. She stood there, chin trembling, brown eyes gone wide and filling with tears, but she did not say a word, nor did she begin crying audibly. Instead, she spun about, and with her shoulders hunched and shaking, walked out of the room, while I felt horrible, wanting to stop her but not knowing what to say. Strangely enough, Manius did not follow her, just stood there regarding me with solemn but dry eyes as I finally sat up and put my feet on the floor.

  Finally, he asked in a shy voice, “Is that really true? Uncle Titus is dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it is,” I answered somberly.

  “And he was your Tata? Truly?”

  The use of that word hit me with the force of a blow, as I was struck by the thought that I had never gotten the opportunity to call my real father what is an endearment, and the man I once thought of as my Tata never allowed me to call him that, although I understand why now.

  For some reason, I was unable to speak, so I only nodded, staring down at my bare feet, meaning that I was completely unprepared for the feel of a tiny, warm, and slightly sweaty hand on my forearm, and when I looked up at the boy, he shimmered in my vision.

  “I am sorry for your loss, Gnaeus,” he said soberly in his little boy’s voice that he was trying to make sound so adult, which made it even more impactful, especially when I know he was simply parroting the words he had heard grownups use. “I grieve with you.”