Echoes of Germania (Tales of Ancient Worlds Book 1)

by H. B. Ashman

  At the very bottom of the scroll, Amalia noticed blood stains, branching out in a forklike pattern. What the hell? What was this thing?

  Amalia sighed. For weeks, she had anticipated meeting this scholar. If this woman was studying the scroll, surely she could teach Amalia about it. Not that she was expecting her to whip out a time machine, but Amalia had learned everything about this Drusus and his battles in Germania, and none of it brought her any closer to the truth about what had happened to her.

  It was disheartening to be so close to a new lead but unable to read the damn scroll.

  “Well, my apologies the scroll is not what you wanted,” Asinius said. “But you should hurry if you want a good spot to see our Augustus. There will be no other opportunity like this in your life.”

  Amalia nodded. She had wrestled with the idea all night. The mighty Augustus. How many statues and paintings had she seen of him in her own time? Any historian in the twenty-first century would make a deal with the devil to see the Augustus, one of the greatest Roman emperors. And yet she had bigger things to worry about.

  Amalia forced her lips into a smile. “Thank you, Asinius.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Amalia stepped outside and nearly tumbled into the crowd in front of the library.

  She would love to return home and see if any of the servants recognized the language on the scroll, but for now she had a more important stop to make.

  Marius’s crimson cloak was long and attached to his shoulders with golden brooches.

  It was an opulent outfit, for ceremonial uses, and was never worn in battle. Scenes from important Roman wars were depicted in gold on the front and back of his cuirass. One of them was a scene of the mighty Julius Caesar’s victory in Gaul, the famous general towering over a begging savage king. The cuirass was a present from Marius’s father for whenever Marius held audience with Augustus. It was a cunning play on his father’s end. He knew that Augustus owed a great deal to his uncle, Julius Caesar, and therefore admired him immensely.

  Primus’s voice caught Marius’s attention: “Has the wine and rice arrived from the East?”

  “Yes,” one of the cooks shouted back at him.

  Ever since Augustus had asked to meet at the Villa Vincius, the whole house had gone mad. Servants came and went with frantic looks on their tired faces. Flower merchants had been hired to decorate the atrium and gardens with hundreds of sweet-smelling flowers.

  Germanicus had shown up twice already this morning asking for Marius’s opinion on which armor he should wear. Marius sighed.

  It was a great honor for Marius that Augustus himself was visiting his villa. All of Rome would take it as a sign that House Vincius was favored by its First Citizen. But at the same time, it worried Marius; he wondered whether Augustus had another request that he could not refuse. Maybe he’d be sent to Aegyptus, where his brother had been trapped for years. Or Asia? Was Egypt’s peace failing now? Augustus could demand any task from him. And Marius would go.

  Marius stepped out of his study to make his way to the barracks and gather his officers when Primus almost ran him over.

  “Forgive me, my Legate,” he said with a bowl of grapes in his hands.

  Marius looked around at the never-ending horde of servants rushing from one place to the next. He realized that he had not seen Amalia in days. For some reason, he had expected to run into her today at some point.

  “Amalia,” he said, his eyes still searching the atrium, “where is she?”

  “Amalia?” Primus looked suddenly worried. “Has she troubled you, my Legate?”

  “No.”

  Primus waited for a moment as if he were expecting Marius to say more, then nodded. “She has been rather occupied as of late, constantly disappearing.”

  “To where?” Marius asked, turning to Primus.

  “To know that, I’d have to have her followed.”

  “Primus.”

  “Yes, my Legate.”

  “Did you have her followed?”

  “Of course. She has been frequenting the same locations.”

  “And what are those?”

  “The library mostly.”

  Marius nodded as if he liked that answer.

  “And an apartment in town behind the fish market.”

  Marius raised his eyebrows. “An apartment? What for?”

  Primus shrugged, adjusting his bowl of grapes from one hand to the next. “I have not had her followed into the apartment yet. I merely assumed she was meeting a lover.”

  “A lover?” Marius asked, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “Is she there now?”

  Primus narrowed his eyes. “Possibly.”

  “What number is the apartment?”

  “Apartment eight, in the fish market district,” he said.

  Marius turned, his crimson cloak spinning with him as he marched down the hallway.

  “Where are you going?” Primus shouted after him. “Our Augustus should arrive any hour now!”

  But Marius paid him no attention. He had time to make a quick stop at apartment eight. If Amalia was meeting with other spies, he would catch her in the act. And if she indeed had a lover . . . Marius shook his head. Was that disappointment he felt? But why? She was a freed slave. She could do as she pleased. And why not? Half his legion had secret women in town or elsewhere in Illyricum. He shouldn’t care. And he didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

  Marius mounted his stallion and rode through the streets as if he were marching off to war.

  Marius looked up at the grey three-story apartment building. It did not look that old, but the cracks in its stone walls suggested that it was poorly built—a common problem in poorer neighborhoods.

  The stairs leading up to the apartments were placed between two fish merchants, creating a pungent aroma for the whole building.

  Marius took the steps up to the first floor of the building. A dirty boy was sitting on the floor in front of one of the apartments. His little eyes opened wide when he saw Marius dressed in his ceremonial armor. He shot to his little feet and looked as if he would run. Marius held up a hand, then kneeled to match the boy’s height. He pulled out a silver coin from the purse on his belt. The boy’s gaze locked onto the coin.

  “Do you know where the woman with the golden hair is?” Marius asked the boy, holding the coin in front of his face.

  The boy nodded and pointed toward the apartment at the end of the dark hallway. Marius handed the boy the coin and rubbed his sticky hair. Grinning wide, the boy bolted as if he feared Marius might reclaim the coin.

  Marius watched him disappear around the corner and then made his way to the apartment door, which was wide open, a common practice among the less fortunate who had nothing worth stealing and needed to air out the stink of poverty.

  He stopped in the doorway and was about to knock on the wooden door when he heard Amalia’s voice.

  “No, please . . . it hurts!” she cried. Marius’s blood turned to fire. He drew his sword and stormed into the apartment, ready to cut off the head of whoever was attacking her. The shock of the scene unfolding in front of him made him stumble backward.

  Instead of finding Amalia beaten by her lover or slave traders or worse, she was sitting in the middle of a horde of children. Some of them noticed Marius and froze in terror, while others continued tickling her.

  A little girl with long, unkempt black hair was pulling on Amalia’s arm, desperately trying to get her attention.

  Following the children’s shocked gazes, Amalia turned toward Marius. Her white dress had small, dirty handprints all over, and her golden hair reflected the light of the sun, streaming in through the window. Beautiful, he thought to himself. She’s beautiful.

  “M-My P-Praetor,” came an old woman’s scratchy voice. Marius turned to see a woman with silver hair and a light woolen dress, which was brown from dirt. She was sitting on a chair next to a wooden table surrounded by baskets full of bread and fresh produce.

 
Amalia is feeding them.

  The woman leaned forward as if trying and failing to rise from the chair. Marius turned back to Amalia, who was staring at the drawn sword in his hand.

  “My apologies,” he mumbled, his voice sounding foreign to him. He sheathed his sword, then turned and left the room. He wasn’t running, but his steps were fast, determined.

  When he reached the street at the bottom of the stairs, it felt like he could breathe again. Warm sunlight fell on his face. He felt like a fool. He’d come here to find Amalia selling secrets. He’d come to catch her in an act of betrayal. He’d even come here to find her in the arms of a lover. What he did not come here for was to find the first act of true kindness he had seen since . . . since when? It was so long, so many years of war and blood, of screams and tears on the battlefield and beyond. He could not even remember when he had last seen selflessness like this.

  As he stood there in all his decorated glory, he felt a sharp sting in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt since his wife and son had died in childbirth. Marius Vincius wasn’t a cold-blooded killer, but he was a man of the legions, a soldier of Rome. But right here in the front of a rundown apartment, Marius felt the overwhelming toll the years of war had taken on him. He was tired, empty, and lonely.

  Marius looked toward the harbor. His Augustus would arrive soon. Judging from the distant cheers, his boat might already be in sight.

  An enormous crowd, thousands if not more, was crammed into Salona’s harbor to watch the mighty Augustus step off his boat. He was wearing a purple toga embroidered with gold. On his head, as always when making public appearances, sat the civic crown, a wreath of oak leaves tied with a fillet. His wife, Livia, and several other female members of the family followed him down the ramp. Their colorful dresses, makeup, and jewelry made them look like a flock of peacocks.

  The earsplitting cheers reminded Marius of gladiator games. Flowers were thrown, and some even threw coins.

  Marius, Germanicus, and Arminius were lined up at the end of the boat ramp, while Primus was standing behind Marius.

  “Did you find the spy . . . or lover?” Primus mumbled into Marius’s ear as they watched Augustus walking toward them.

  “No,” Marius said. I found something else. Something even more important.

  Marius’s gaze met Augustus’s, who opened his arms, his lips spreading into a smile.

  “My dear boy, oh what you have done for Rome!” Augustus said, kissing Marius on the cheek and embracing him as if he were his own son.

  Marius knew Augustus from his childhood years. As one of Augustus’s earliest supporters, Marius’s father, Marcus, had always had a special place in the heart of the mighty Augustus. Marius remembered Augustus as a towering, powerful man, the living embodiment of Rome. And yet, a lot of time had passed, and beneath the glittering veneer of Rome’s first citizen, Marius could feel the fragile body of an old man.

  “You honor me, my Augustus,” Marius said as Augustus released him.

  “An honor you truly deserve,” Livia said, stepping next to Augustus.

  “Thank you, Livia,” Marius said, doing his best to hide his surprise at seeing her here. Before she could respond, Marius’s father appeared from behind the crowd of guards and Augustus’s kin, his eyes glittering like the sea.

  A warm glow spread through Marius. “Father, I had no idea you would come.”

  “A surprise.” Marcus threw his arms around Marius, giving him a strong slap on his back.

  “One I truly cherish,” Marius replied, as his father pushed him back to look at him.

  “Germanicus,” Augustus said, turning his attention to his great-nephew.

  “My Augustus,” Germanicus said, and embraced him.

  His great uncle’s yes scanned Germanicus head to toe. “Livia, come here and look at our Germanicus. Marius Vincius has made a soldier out of him.”

  Livia rushed over, her purple silk dress sweeping over the cobbled harbor dock like a feather. Her face was gleaming with joy as she kissed her grandson on the cheek.

  “My Germanicus. You look so much like your father. His heart would ache with pride if he could see you now.” Her eyes filled with tears. Despite what others said, Drusus had been her life.

  “Like Drusus indeed.” Domitia stepped down the boat ramp, her mother, Julia, right behind her. Domitia looked stunning. Her dress was an expensive light blue, her hair braided in the newest fashion. Golden jewelry glittered from her hands, neck, and ears. She threw Marius a quick glance before focusing on Livia again.

  Leading the way, Augustus strode to the most beautiful of the chariots awaiting the guests. Marius was sure it was nothing like Augustus was used to in Rome. Two snow-white stallions were waiting anxiously to move, scraping their hooves against the cobbled road.

  “Germanicus, why don’t you ride with your great uncle?” Livia said. Germanicus nodded and followed Augustus.

  Marius mounted his horse and rode it next to Augustus’s chariot as well. “Would my Augustus like to rest before we eat at my villa?” he asked.

  “No,” Augustus said. “I have done nothing but rest on the boat, and I have longed to see the turquoise waters and rolling hills of Illyricum again. Let us ride through town first. Show me what Rome has done to Salona.”

  Marius nodded as he glanced quickly over his shoulder to see his father and the women get into the carriages awaiting them.

  Arminius, who had been standing quietly behind the carriages, also mounted his horse. He exchanged a few words with one of the praetorian guards, then the two rode off in different directions.

  No doubt Augustus was having Marius’s villa searched. But Marius had expected as much and had instructed Arminius to do as he was asked by the guards. Too fresh was the memory of his uncle Julius Caesar’s death on the steps of the Pompeii Theatre. Augustus was no fool.

  With a shout from the guards, the carriage train began its journey through the streets of Salona to the sound of the cheering crowd. Marius followed closely in its wake.

  The atrium was stuffed with centurions, Illyrian nobility, and servants holding trays of grilled dormice and Asian rice. At the center of it all was, of course, Augustus, sitting in a gold-lined chair, watching an Illyrian circus group reenact a bear hunt.

  Livia and Marcus were sitting next to him. Much to his annoyance, Marius was placed next to Domitia, Julia, and Germanicus. It would have been fine but for Julia’s endless stories about the nobility in her family tree.

  The main actor of the play suddenly screamed, lifted his spear into the air, and then did a backflip. A wave of applause rose through the crowd. The actor did another backflip before he finally rammed his spear into the man wearing a bear’s pelt and head. The bear man roared. It sounded so authentic that Livia and the other women cried out. Domitia even reached for Marius’s arm, just to withdraw her hand with an innocent smile that looked foreign on her face.

  “Bravo!” Augustus hollered. He rose to his feet, clapping loudly. Livia placed a hand on her chest, a faint smile on her lips. “You have to perform in Rome!” Augustus demanded. The performers gathered in front of him and bowed.

  “There would be no greater honor,” the actor holding the spear said. Then they cleared the stage for a man with a lyre. He waited for a servant to bring a chair for him, then sat down and started plucking the instrument’s strings in a soft and gentle song.

  Augustus, Livia, Julia, and Domitia walked over to the lounge chairs, stretching out on the fine silken blankets and pillows in red and yellow tones. Marius and his father followed them, sitting in the chairs beside the pillows.

  “What a great party,” Augustus said, as he lay back against a pillow and waved over a servant with a wine amphora.

  “The bear frightened me.” Livia laughed.

  “I thought it the best part,” Augustus said, smiling at her. “A pleasant change from our Circus Maximus. The older I get, the more I dread it. The screams, the blood.”

  “I agree, Great-Unc
le,” Domitia added. “Illyricum is truly a wonderful province. The sea, the weather, the food.” She grabbed a piece of marinated fish from a plate on a table next to her. “I finally understand why this province means so much to you, my Augustus.”

  “What a great place this would be to live,” Livia said.

  Marius looked over to his father, whose gaze was focused on the group.

  “My son is blessed to have been made praetor by our Augustus,” Marcus said. “An honor House Vincius shall never forget.” He sipped his wine. He was wearing a white toga with a small purple stripe, the robe of a Roman senator.

  “He deserves nothing less. He has brought glory to Rome,” Augustus said.

  “Indeed he has,” Julia agreed.

  Marius tried not to frown. This was more than suspicious. Julia complimenting House Vincius? Marius was not even certain why she was here in the first place. If he’d been able to get a private moment with his father, he would have asked, but there was never an opportunity. Livia and Julia had held Marius captive from the moment they stepped off the boat.

  “Remind me,” Julia said, “does House Vincius have any heirs yet? Please do calm my nerves and tell me you do.”

  Marcus shifted in his seat. “My other son has three daughters, all very honorable women of Rome. They—”

  “Marius, you have not remarried since Cassia’s death?” Livia said.

  Marius straightened in his chair. “I’ve been married to my duty to Rome,” Marius countered, with a smile.

  “And a good husband you have been,” Augustus said, lifting his cup in salute, obviously trying to bring an end to the subject.

  “And what a good husband you would make to an honorable Roman woman—a praetor like you, rich in land and honor. What a tragedy it would be if the linage of House Vincius came to an end without an heir. Don’t you agree, Octavian?” she asked, turning to Augustus.