“I will not order Senior Tribune Nonius Fuscus to demean himself in such a manner. That is my final word.”
“Demean himself? He has shown contempt for your centurionate in front of the men, on the parade ground and in broad daylight. He has demeaned us all!”
“You have heard my final word,” Tertius said through pinched lips.
“In which case I request my discharge from The Second Lucan.”
“Come, come, Titus. You speak in haste, I’m sure. Will you not sleep on it at least?”
“I request my discharge from The Second Lucan,” First Spear Centurion Titus Attius repeated blankly.
Within three days, he too was gone.
“Everything is changing around us. Be careful which side you choose in such times,” was his parting advice to Otto.
That night as he lay in bed, Otto recalled the words of Lucretius, “Time changes the nature of the world. Everything passes from one state to another and nothing stays as it is.”
Chapter 15
After Titus Attius took his discharge, he was followed by a steady stream of men and junior officers who had either served their full terms of engagement or requested transfers. Naturally, they were the experienced legionaries, corporals and centurions. Replacements were found easily enough but the make-up of the legion had altered. Of the nearly five thousand who had endured the siege of their camp on the Rhine, less than two thousand remained. Otto looked around the table one mess-night and realised with a shock that only he and Tertius Fuscus shared the experiences of that time. The talk around the table was different as well. Most of it was gossip about Rome and the latest scandals. Otto could play no part in these conversations and he became increasingly withdrawn. He was not a member of the inner circle, therefore he was ignored and excluded. This increased his sense of isolation. He turned further inward and was consequently more disregarded.
Spring changed to summer but brought no joy to Otto who now performed his duties conscientiously but avoided the other officers as much as possible. He spent most of his free time riding or with Felix in their quarters. A letter from Rome brought some cheering news.
“To Prefect Otto Longius, Greetings,
I trust all is well with my friends of The Second Lucan and especially with you, Otto. It was a happy day for me when circumstances forced me to resign my commission, although it did not feel like it at the time. Our Emperor has reorganized and increased the number of the Urban Cohorts and I am now tribune of one of them. I command five hundred men. We form up and look menacing if there is unrest on the streets, sometimes we break up riots and combat armed gangs. Hardly the danger and excitement of legion life on the Rhine but at least I often get to sleep in my own bed at night.
My mother wept with relief when I came home and is busy trying to find me a suitable wife. My injured hand is an obstacle to her efforts but she is undaunted. She describes my missing thumb as “a badge of honourable service to Rome”. I just call it bad luck.
I have made the acquaintance of a Praetorian officer called Cassius Plancus. He says he met you when you were presented to the Emperor. Cassius asks to be remembered to you and if you recall the night of the Trojan pig? He would not tell me what he meant by that. I hope it is not insulting.
Enough for now. Please reply and tell me how you are getting along under Tertius Fuscus. Do you ever hear from Boxer? How is the awesome Titus Attius?
Rufus Vulso Soranus.”
In his loneliness Otto took huge pleasure in reading and re-reading the friendly, candid letter from his former comrade. He wrote back, circumspectly, unwilling to say too much in case his words were intercepted and used against him. This was the start of an infrequent but warm correspondence and of something else. It made Otto decide to reach out to Vitius Longius in Luca. He had clutched his resentment of Sabina’s reaction to his joke about marrying Poppaea to him all this time but it had brought him no happiness. He sent a note to the city asking if Vitius would meet him at Massus’ barracks the next day at noon then applied for a day’s leave. No-one showed any interest in where he was going or why and the permission was granted without comment.
Centurion Massus was a friend to both and was ready to act as referee if needed over a flask of the best wine taken in his private office. In fact, it was difficult to see who was more delighted at the reconciliation, Otto or Vitius.
“I had no right to speak to the lady Sabina as I did. I ask your forgiveness.”
“As I ask yours, once again you were offended when a guest in my home.”
Otto smiled wryly. “It seems that I have a knack of alarming your wife. At least she no longer thinks I am waiting for the chance to murder her in her bed!”
They laughed and clinked wine cups.
“All over finding a wife, eh? I told Vitius you should have asked me,” Massus said.
“It seems too hazardous an undertaking,” Otto replied and went on to relate the story of Soranus’ injured hand and his mother’s effort to obtain a suitable match for him.
“Don’t worry, when the time’s right I’ll sort you out a good ‘un,” Massus told him
A few days after his return to camp, Otto received a note from Aelia saying how glad she was that the rift had been mended. “The ties of mutual respect and friendship between us are too strong to be discarded over a foolish quarrel,” she wrote.
One mess-night, Priscus was well gone in wine when he shouted down the table to where Otto sat alone at the far end.
“Hey, Otto, why don’t you get this fabled gold crown out to show your brother officers? Come on, it will be fun., We can all try it on.”
“I think not, sir.” Otto told him calmly.
Priscus flushed. “I order you to fetch it, now!”
“I respectfully decline,” Otto replied.
“Oh, do you? Then I shall send out and have it brought to this table. How do you like that?”
“The Tesserarius guards the legion treasure…”
“I know perfectly well who the Tesserarius is and what he does…”
“Then you will know he would not accept an order to remove any man’s personal belongings from it and if pressed, would refer the order to the priests.”
“Not much of a feat anyway,” said one of the new tribunes. “Everyone knows the Germans are always drunk. Probably find that old king was slightly drunker than Otto and fell of his horse!”
A roar of laughter broke around the table. Otto said nothing and finished his dinner in silence. But that was not the end of the matter. An anonymous wit caused Otto irreparable harm by scrawling a piece of doggerel on a wall where everyone could read it.
“How do I get a crown asks Nonius,
Simple, kill a king like Longius.”
From the instant it was read and repeated among the men, Otto’s days were numbered.
Priscus never failed to take the opportunity of belittling him to Tertius Fuscus. Otto’s morose behaviour played into his hands.
“The man’s clearly out of his depth, Tertius. Anyone can see how unhappy he is. It has a bad effect on morale…”
“I cannot simply dismiss him. He was promoted Prefect of cavalry by General Drusus…”
A disastrous event with long-term consequences for the whole of the Roman world sealed Otto’s fate. Drusus broke his leg in a riding accident. Infection set in and he died. Some whispered he had been poisoned on orders from Rome but whose orders no-one could, or would, say. His elder brother Tiberius was grief-stricken. Always a bitter man, the death of Drusus snuffed out the last spark of human feeling in him but nevertheless, he walked in front of his brother’s funeral cortege all the way from Germany to Rome.
There was no longer any obstacle to the removal of Otto Longius from The Second Lucan. Even if Tertius Fuscus did not take on board all of the poisonous things Nonius Priscus had to say, Fuscus had a cousin who was a senior decurion down south near Brundisium. He had complained that it was too hot and the mosquitoes bothered him. If a vacancy ar
ose nearer to Rome he would be delighted to fill it.
The legate and the senior tribune called Otto into a private meeting.
“Prefect Otto Longius,” Tertius began, “As your commanding officer I am reluctantly forced tell you that I am unhappy with your continued presence in my legion. Your surly manner has been noticed and the way you hold yourself aloof from the other officers damages morale. I urge you to do the right thing and resign your commission.”
“I took an oath under the eagle. I cannot break it,” Otto told him.
“Officers have the right to leave the army if circumstances require it. Nowhere and by no-one is that regarded as oath breaking. You took an oath to serve Rome and Rome thanks you for your service which has now come to an end. You do nothing but harm The Second Lucan if you remain. Go now with honour for the benefit of your legion.”
Otto was devasted but made a Herculean effort to remain composed and in control.
“Do it the easy way, Longius,” Priscus added. “Otherwise you could be accused of a military crime or even have an unfortunate accident one night….”
Otto looked at him in disgust then turned to the legate.
“Do you intend to let what this man has said pass?”
Tertius Fuscus shrugged but made no further remark.
A crowd of off-duty old sweats stood around the mule-cart while the Tesserarius under the supervision of the chief priest loaded it with Otto’s treasure. After talking things over with Otto, Felix, had taken his own discharge; they had agreed to face whatever came next together. He sat immobile on the seat looking straight ahead, studiously avoiding Priscus who was also standing by. Chest after chest filled with small leather bags of gold coins were counted out. The Tesserarius kept the tally with an abacus and the priest nodded his assent as the beads clicked over the wires and the amount grew.
“That must be far too much. Count it again,” Priscus complained.
“It is correct. I have supervised the filling of the chests and I am satisfied that all is exactly as it should be,” the priest told him.
“What about all those looted silver arm-rings he wears. Surely the legion is entitled to a share of them?” Priscus demanded.
“They were all won in single combat, sir. Personal property of Otto Longius,” he was informed.
“Why don’t you fight him for ‘em, Tribune Prickus?” a voice shouted out of the crowd of legionaries.
A burst of laughter followed but when Priscus spun around, he could see nothing but straight faces. He strode away without looking back. The laughter rose again and followed him across the parade ground. Otto was handed a final sack, this one containing silver; his past month’s pay less deductions. The priest asked him to acknowledge a receipt for eighty-two thousand six hundred and thirty-five denarii. He reached down from the back of Djinn, signed and took back the priest’s copy of his will in favour of Lucius. His connection with The Second Lucan was now severed and he was no longer an army officer. The cart rattled out of the fortress with his grey gelding tied behind. Otto followed without a backward glance.
He was half a mile on his way when he heard approaching hoofbeats. The decurion ordered his turma to halt.
“Routine patrol, sir,” he told Otto. “Happened to be out this way so thought we might as well accompany you into Luca. Could be bandits around, you never know.”
“You will be in trouble with the senior tribune if he finds out,” Otto replied.
“But he won’t, will he men?”
“No sir!” the troopers shouted in unison.
At the city gate they turned back with a final salute. Otto and Felix entered alone. Massus took one look at the contents of the cart and detailed six of his men to escort Otto around to the bank.
“I am no longer an officer. I have resigned my commission...”
“Makes no difference to me,” Massus told him. “I don’t want citizens robbed and murdered in the streets in broad daylight, let alone Equestrians. Look very bad on my monthly report, that would.”
The chests were deposited. Otto rented a private box in which he placed his gold crown and cup. His business was done. They stamped back over the paving stones to Massus’ headquarters.
“I need a favour of you,” Otto said.
“Ask away,” the centurion replied
“Can you store my weapons and armour for me? I’m going to be staying at the Wayfarer’s Inn and I think they might be too much of a temptation for some of the other guests.”
“Oi, you two,” Massus shouted to a pair of his men idly eavesdropping, “Get this kit into the armoury where it stays untouched, mind, untouched until further notice.”
Otto gave the centurion twenty denarii to reward his temporary guards and pay for storage before making his way over to the inn. As soon as he was out of sight, Massus sent a runner to Vitius Longius with the news.
Otto and Felix had barely put their belongings into their rooms and seen to the stabling of their two horses and mules when Vitius burst in, followed more sedately by Massus.
“My dear Otto, whatever has happened?” Vitius demanded.
All four of them sat at a quiet table in the dining room with bread and wine in front of them while Otto told his story. Felix added his own experiences.
“This is appalling, unheard of!” Vitus exclaimed once the tale was told.
Massus snorted and raised his eyebrows. “Unheard of? Why do you think I am serving here as city garrison centurion? I was the famed “Cyclops Massus”, saviour of the army and holder of a silver spear. For six months I was on my way to being First Spear Centurion of my legion and then it began. Innuendo, belittlement, always given the worst duties, why? Envy; but not from the centurionate, no, from senior officers. I am common and they are noble. They resented that my commoner name was known and their noble ones were not. So I took this appointment and I am not discontented with it. If anyone outside of Rome’s privileged circle of influence rises up, be sure he will be cut down. Otto’s golden crown has cost him his commission as surely as my silver spear cost me my promotion prospects. That’s how it is, cheers,” he finished and threw back a cup of wine.
After a long silence while they all contemplated the injustices of this wicked world, Vitius spoke up.
“What now, Otto? What will you do?”
He shrugged. “The army does not want me. My life would not last many days among the Suevi over the Rhine. I have land here…
“And friends,” Massus said.
“Good friend,” Vitius added.
In an uncharacteristic gesture of affection, Otto placed a hand on both of their shoulders.
“I have land and friends,” he continued. “I shall stay here and lead the life of a farmer.”
Massus and Vitius passed a quick grin between them, noticed by Felix who smirked as well. The thought of Otto chewing a straw while he leaned over a gate admiring his sheep was hilarious.
“You’ll need a house then. Can’t live in an inn forever,” Massus remarked.
“Have a word with your banker,” Vitius suggested. “He will know someone who is desperate to sell but doesn’t want to advertise the fact. You’ll find a bargain. I’ll go with you if you like...”
Otto frowned. “It seems like taking advantage of another man’s bad luck to get the best price,” he said.
“Which is what farmers do all the time so get used to it!” Massus told him.
There was a small villa for sale half a mile outside of the city overlooking the river. It had a perimeter wall, garden and orchard, stables, bathhouse and outbuildings. It was built of brick under a tile roof. The mosaic floors were not of the highest artistry but were in good condition. It was close enough to Luca to be secure against bandit raids but far enough off to be private. Otto bought it for twenty-two thousand denarii because the owner was up to his eyes in debt due to his faith that it was only a matter of time before the dice ran in his favour. They never did.
Vitius brought his family to inspect it. F
elix led them from room to room explaining the special features of each one.
“Catches the morning sun, ladies. Opposite the main gate so a good view of whoever might be coming or going…”
“You will need furniture and household slaves,” Sabina told him, as if there was no difference between buying a chair or a human being.
“And a wife, perhaps?” Aelia added mischievously.
Sabina flushed. “Otto, I am sorry…” she began but he cut her off.
“No need, there is nothing to be said. I think we should accept the fact that we will fall out from time to time but let’s always forgive each other and remain friends.”
“I don’t want any slaves,” Otto told Felix once the visitors had gone.
“Well you can’t expect me to do everything. What am I for here anyway? Do I stay or what?”
“You stay and your position is second in command. You get your keep and a hundred denarii a month. That suit you?”
“It’ll do. Now, about these slaves…”
The slave-dealer sized Otto up by his equestrian’s tunic, soldiers’ boots, belt and sword.
“Greetings general,” he said with a gap-toothed smile. “What can I do for you today, noble sir?”
Otto remained silent, unable to bring himself to say he was there to buy people.
“House slaves, good strong ‘uns. None of your runaway farm-hands lashed half to death,” Felix called from his seat high on the cart.
“Nothing much in at the moment, new shipment coming in at the end of the month. I could let you have a gander at the leftovers but they won’t do for a refined gent like yourself, sir…”
“Show me,” Otto told him brusquely.
He walked into a walled courtyard with iron cages on three sides. The stench of unwashed flesh and faeces made his eyes water. He gagged. The slave-dealer no longer noticed. As he had said, most of the cages were empty but a few on the far wall were still occupied. He stopped and turned to Otto.
“Look, there’s nothing here for you. This lot will go to the farms or the mines next auction. Do yourself a favour and come back at the end of the month when the good stuff comes in.”
Knight of Rome Part II Page 23