Timo looked over his shoulder at his wife and the two of them smirked. “You attempt to flatter, methinks, but I’ll be fifty-seven next month. I can almost remember when Corinth was burned. And the Roman governors since have been intelligent enough to work with me. I have Greece’s best interests at heart, and their best interest is to avoid war with Rome. Rome’s best interest is to avoid war with Greece.” He leaned back and gave a toothy grin. “Everyone wins.”
Didius finally picked up his wine and drank deeply.
Silence continued until one of the dogs decided to break it. He raised his wet, black nose which wiggled black and forth as he sniffed for something interesting. Whatever the mutt was looking for he found it in Didius’ direction.
My Proconsul started inching back, sensing what was happening before the dog even reached him. The dog’s tail wagged more the farther Didius moved away.
“What is he doing?” Didius asked.
“Who?” Timo asked, partaking of his wine.
“The dog. Why is he approaching me?”
“I think he likes you, general,” I said, concealing my laughter.
In a moment of anticlimax, the dog simply licked his knee.
“You know, commander, those licks are actually quite valuable,” Timo said. “I call him Hippocrates because… well, I was stabbed long ago. A man with an army is often the target of such events it seems. I would have died there in the street if this little man hadn’t come to me.” Timo scratched behind the dog’s floppy ear. “When the priests of Asklepios arrived they said there must have been a healing salve in the saliva of the dog. Since then, I give a home to every stray dog I find. But Hippocrates is the only one who sleeps in my room. Isn’t that right, Hippo?” The dog spun around and returned to his master with a wag of the tail.
“You want ten percent of our taxes? For the entire province of Greece?” Didius said.
To my surprise, he seemed to be considering the offer.
“Correct, barely covering the cost of paying my men. Of course, the more you tax the more work I’ll have to do to keep civil unrest at a minimum.” Timo reclined and ran his fingers through his wife’s red hair. “If war breaks out you stand to lose a lot more than ten percent.”
Didius tapped his fingers against his cup of wine as he took another sip. “Deal.”
“Splendid!” Timo clapped his hands, stood, and gave Didius a kiss on either cheek. “I believe we’re going to be the best of friends. I’ve a special gift for each of you to celebrate this momentous occasion, if you’ll give me just a moment.” He gave his wife a passionate kiss before departing.
“I need to use the latrine.” I stood before I could reconsider it. I didn’t know why, but I trusted Timo. Perhaps I was under the spell of his charm. Perhaps I was better equipped to spot good men after seeing so few over the years. Either way, I trusted I could ask him a question and receive an honest answer. I descended the stairs to the main floor and nearly lost myself in the maze of marble columns and busts of the gods, but Timo spotted me from a distance.
Unalarmed by my intrusion, he approached. “Good. Perhaps you can help me,” he said. He waved for me to follow him, but then turned and extended his hand. “I do apologize. I don’t believe I recall your name.”
“It’s Quintus, sir. Quintus Sertorius, legate of the Fourth Legion.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Quintus Sertorius. I have a treat for each of you, but none will benefit more profoundly than yourself.” He received a bundle from one of his servants and extended it to me.
Within was an luxurious purple toga, the softest I’ve ever felt. I had a newfound respect for the purple dye as well, after seeing the painstaking process by which it was made. “I… don’t know what to say. Thank you, sir.”
He smiled. “The rest will get one too, but it’s fitted to show off these muscles of yours. You’ll break the hearts of every maiden in Greece.”
“I’ve a wife at home, so I’ll avoid that as much as possible,” I said, smiling from ear to ear.
“Keep it for her, then. She’ll think she’s married Adonis when you return to her. But in the meantime, don’t deprive the ladies of Greece from something to look at, or they’ll be forced to coo over old men like me or your commander.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Come. You can help ensure I bring enough.”
I followed him to an open courtyard in the center of the home, reminiscent of a Roman peristylium. Several dogs of varying shapes and sizes chased each other, and butterflies fluttered in the air. Chickens pecked errantly at seed spread on the tiled floor. In the center was an altar dedicated to the protector of the home, Zeus Herkeios, with burnt vegetables and sweet cakes on it.
Several purple fabrics were stretched over looms and completed togas were folded neatly on a table beside them. Not even at a senator’s symposium had I seen so much expensive cloth.
“Does Phaidra do the weaving?” I approached the loom.
“Gods, no! She can’t cook, clean, or weave.” He cracked a wide smile. “But she loves me. And I love her.” He counted out a few of the complete togas and handed them to me.
“I’ve heard men call their wives many things before, but never friend. That’s what you called her before. How have you managed to stay so happy for so long?”
“I married for love, that’s why. I had everything on Gaia’s earth I could desire. Everything except my Helen of Troy. I saw her as a child and put a curse on her that would one day make her fall in love with me.”
“And it worked, gods be damned,” Phaidra said, appearing at the doorway. “Your guests grow restless. Come now.”
“Yes, my queen,” he said with a bow. “How many more do we need?”
“Two I believe,” I said. A servant came and took them from us both and proceeded up to the balcony. I stopped him before he could do the same. “If I may, I actually have a question for you, Timoxenos.”
“Of course. What can Timo do for you?”
“I was wondering if you’ve heard anything about Romans being enslaved here in Greece,” I said. “I’ve only been here a few days and I’ve heard and seen strange things. I’m concerned for the welfare of our citizens.”
He inhaled, furrowed his brow, and nodded. For a moment I feared he would respond the way Atius and the tanner had. “I do not know much, Roman. I do know if I am overheard talking about it my life could be at risk.” The comment was especially shocking because Timo owned his own army.
For the first time I believed it all. Every suspicion I had was turning out to be more than paranoia. “I have no desire to put you in harm’s way, Timo. I only need to know if this is true. And if it is, I must do something about it.”
He seemed to consider whether he should say what he was about to. Eventually, he gave in but lowered his voice. “It is true. They aren’t isolated circumstances, either. Romans are disappearing in the night… men and women of good standing, too.”
Sudden onset nausea and vertigo overcame me. It took all my strength to remain on my feet.
“I—”
“But listen to me. You cannot do anything preemptively—not even discuss this with your commander,” he said, drawing near. “Lives are on the line. Greek and Roman lives. I will be in Athens for the Great Panathenaia festival in two months. Come to me then and we will discuss things in more detail, and more privately. Until then, listen with two ears and watch with your one eye, but do not speak at all.” He winked and slapped my shoulder.
Timo was jovial and grand again by the time we reached the balcony. But he was right about one thing: I couldn’t speak at all.
Scroll IX
For the first time since Ostia some sense of normalcy was established. Didius formed a redundant but useful training schedule with my aid. We managed to hang on to a modicum of legionary discipline by requiring every man to muster on the fields of Attica before sunrise. We ran sword drills, defensive formations, response to ambush, and missile training until at least one or two of the men had fa
inted from the heat of exertion. Didius had us rolling boulders, boxing, and throwing javelin as often as possible, watching it all as he paced the length of the training field with his arms crossed.
In the evenings, I dined with my gracious hosts. Niarchos fed us well, and I imagined he spent more than he ought on a potter’s wages, but he refused any form of payment when I offered. In the evenings he taught Kirrha the basics of pottery design. She delighted in the wet clay gliding through her fingers when Niarchos spun the potter’s wheel. After we had cleaned up the mess this inevitably created, Anthea would bring out her harp. She attempted to teach Kirrha this as well, but we soon learned Kirrha had played the instrument since she was old enough to walk. Soon the student became the master, and we all marveled at the spectacle.
Despite this, I did as Timo suggested and kept my ears pinned back and my eye open. I was determined to find out who was responsible for the abduction of my people. But as the weeks turned to months I wondered if I had made it all up. Perhaps it was all part of the same dream that led me to a speaking dead woman hanging from a tree.
I told Apollonius of the dream, and he refused to say definitively if it had any meaning. Dreams can tell us things, instruct us, but sometimes they were just dreams. Regardless, her words echoed perpetually in my mind, taking on a new meaning each time.
Nothing noteworthy happened until a meeting of the officers the day before the Panathenaia festival. We met at the home where Didius was quartered, which belonged to a stately old priest.
“Let me see you, child,” the priest said when I entered, his voice low and gravelly. I stepped closer, and found he had a different meaning of ‘see’. His leathery hands touched my face and explored the contours. “My name is Kallias, priest of Poseidon. It’s an honor to meet you.”
He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t determine who. He had a calming presence though, and I would have rather stayed and talked with this priest than meet with the officers. “My name is Quintus Sertorius. It’s an honor. I have great respect for the priests,” I said, thinking back to the priest of Asklepius who encouraged me years before.
He paused when he reached my eye patch. “It appears we have at least one thing in common, Quintus Sertorius,” the old man said with a smile, his vacant eyes staring past me.
“It appears so. Have I arrived at the right time? I was told we were meeting governor Didius here.”
“Yes, I will show you to him. Will you assist an old man?” he said. I took his hand and led as he slowly shuffled through his corridors to the courtyard.
Every adornment and trapping within the home revealed the image of some god or another, some ancient tale or another. It wasn’t luxurious, by any means, especially not compared with a home like Timoxenos’. The place seemed a rather odd choice for Didius to stay, but he told me previously, ‘It’s the safest place in Athens. If we do stir up trouble, the people are less likely to attack the home of a state priest than anywhere.’
Several of the other officers—including Lucius and the twins—were already gathered. They watched over Didius’ shoulders as he moved terra-cotta figurines around a map of Athens.
“I’ll leave you to it then. Gods keep you, child,” the priest said as he departed, to my disappointment.
“Legate Paullus, report,” the Proconsul said without looking up.
“Two down with flux, one missing,” he said.
Didius glared over his shoulder. “What did you say?”
“One missing, sir.”
Didius’ open hands slowly transformed into fists. “If he does not report by fourth hour tomorrow, or if he hasn’t been captured or killed, I want him scourged and crucified for desertion.” He looked to each of us to ensure we understood. He must have noticed me wringing my hands together, so he said, “Legate, I know Roman citizens can’t be crucified without trial. He gave up his citizenship the moment he swore his oath.”
He had a habit of reading my mind, and my thoughts irritated him. I was relieved he couldn’t see the look on Aulus’ face behind him. The twins had never been exposed to this type of severity.
“Proconsul… he… he’s a good lad,” Paullus said, “I’ve sent a detachment to find him. He’s probably just gone off and drunk too much wine, sir.” Paullus lowered his head.
“And how will we ensure others don’t do the same if we do not offer swift and complete punishment?” Didius said. “My order is not up for debate. Legate Sertorius, report.”
“Two down from flux. One from training injury,” I said.
“Any missing?” he asked.
“No, Proconsul.”
“Good.” He continued to move pieces around the map, placing one at each gate and intersection. From the number of them, I concluded they represented cohorts. “We need both legions at full capacity tomorrow. We need two cohorts in Piraeus, another two on watch by the postern gate, one on the Acropolis, one in the agora—”
“I’ll take the agora with the First Cohort,” I said.
He shook his head and smirked. “You want the agora? Do you have any idea what chaos awaits you during a festival like this?”
“Certainly. I want to be where I’m needed most.” I didn’t actually, but our rigorous training had prevented me from visiting the one thing in Athens I desired most to see: the Stoa. My father’s philosophy was born here.
“So be it.” He flicked his wrist at me. “Actually, this reminds me. You need a new shield-bearer, legate. That damned Jew of yours looks like he’s going to faint every time he carries your shield in training.”
Paullus laughed, thankful the attention was off him. I gritted my teeth. “If you require I have another personal attendant—”
“For your military tasks.” Didius sneered. “Yes I do.”
“Then I will choose legionary Castor of third cohort, sixth century,” I said.
The First Spear Centurion of Paullus’ legion guffawed and slapped his leg. “Queer choice, legate. He’s quite possibly the stupidest little shit-worm I’ve ever trained.”
“Sometimes it takes the discerning eyes of a legate to realize the potential of young soldiers.” I glowered at him until he frowned and lowered his gaze.
“So be it. You can give him a pay increase if you like, but it’s coming out of your wages,” Didius said.
“I’ll do that.”
“Legate Paullus, I want you and your first Cohort on the Acropolis then. Tribune Hirtuleius can lead a cohort at the postern gate. And you two,” he pointed to Spurius and Aulus, “can take the two cohorts to Piraeus. I expect there to be trouble there, all the foreigners shipping in and out.”
Spurius smiled and Aulus’ eyes widened. They hadn’t been required to lead in any capacity thus far, and from the looks of it Aulus wasn’t thrilled with the opportunity.
“Affirmative, Proconsul,” Spurius said, straightening.
Didius quickly assigned the rest of the cohorts and their respective leaders to various gates and checkpoints throughout the city and immediately outside of it. When he finished, he straightened. “There can be no civil unrest. Do you understand? None. If there are rabble rousers, aggressive athletes, or belligerent fans, you have only to report it to Timoxenos’ men. They will take care of it and we won’t be held responsible. There can be no civil unrest. Do I make myself clear?”
We all nodded, although I wondered how much of it we’d actually control.
“Good. After the festival, I want a century from the Nineteenth Legion to travel with Timoxenos back to his home. Legate Sertorius, you’ll take that Herennius fellow and go yourself if you wish.”
“As you wish, Proconsul,” I said, trying not to reveal how pleased I was to have a chance to talk with Timoxenos further.
“You’ll be transporting his payment back with him and I won’t allow anything to happen to it. I’m not paying it twice,” he said.
“I would be careful not to keep written accounts of this payment, Proconsul,” Legate Paullus said, still flushed fr
om the conversation about his missing soldier. “The senate would question the legality of such a—”
Didius slammed his fists on the table. “Generals can hire mercenaries. And that’s what he is. A mercenary!” He bellowed. “He will be compensated when I want him to be compensated, and he’ll be discarded when I want him to be discarded.”
With no apparent reason for his anger, I wondered if something had happened before my arrival, but from the wide eyes of Lucius and the twins I decided they were just as stunned as I was. Ignoring my fear of his wrath. “The Proconsul is right. But I am surprised you want to work with him, sir… if it’s true you desire to earn a triumph in battle.”
He looked up at me. I tried to read what his eyes were saying, but I could not determine. His eyes were bloodshot and pink-rimmed, the crows-feet on either side more pronounced. He’d never looked so human, so old. “I am biding my time. I need to determine which god has cursed me.”
The room seemed to collectively gulp. No one wanted to ask, but eventually I did. “What do you mean, sir?”
He waved his hand around and shook his head at me. “The god who took my son. Whichever god gave those bad omens. I need to determine which god it was. Until then I’m paralyzed.” He looked to each of us again, searching for any objection. We all dropped our heads and stared at the floor. “And when I deal with whatever god that may be, we will be ready to strike.”
I took note that Didius said ‘deal with’ rather than appease.
“Strike, sir?” Aulus asked, careful to not meet the general’s gaze when he turned to him.
“Our men are weak. They need to spill some blood so they can be ready when the next horde of barbarians come howling for us. Yes, tribune. Strike. Someone will die by the tips of our swords. If no good candidates present themselves, perhaps Timoxenos and his petty band of reprobates will do.”
No one dared to speak up, but I prayed he spoke in jest. Greece would be thrown into chaos if something happened to Timo or his men.
Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4) Page 8