by Jack Whyte
Picus drew the blade from its sheath respectfully, testing its weight in his hand and cutting tentatively at the air.
"Uncle Varrus, " he said, "I have never owned, or held, or even seen anything as beautiful as this. I thank you for the honour you did my father by crafting this for him, and for the honour you do me by considering me worthy of receiving it. " He turned to his father. "Father. I swear to you that I will try to hear this sword with all of the honour you would have bestowed upon it. "
A pretty speech indeed for a mere lad. I could see that Britannicus was moved. He stood and approached his son and embraced him without speaking. I felt Luceiia's eyes on me, and when I looked, they were awash with tears. Britannicus turned again to me and I saw approval in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and I wondered what he was going to say.
"Another cup of wine, Publius, my friend, to wet the head of the Empire's newest recruit. "
While Picus reverently showed his prize to the three officers, we toasted him, and we toasted the old Twentieth Legion, and then we toasted Varrus the sword-maker. When we had emptied our cups, Britannicus looked at his son again, his eyebrow high and imperious.
"Now, young man, you may retire. You are still a civilian and not yet of a legal age to bear arms. We bid you good night. "
When the boy had gone we sat down again.
"He's a fine-looking young man, Caius, " I said. "Looks like a Greek god."
"Looks like a damned Hun, is what he looks like! His mother's family all look like that. They maintain they're of pure Roman stock, but one of their ancestral grandmothers became overfond of a northern slave, if you ask me. "
Picus's departure seemed to be the unspoken signal for the break-up of the dinner party. Shortly after he had gone, the three young officers also excused themselves. They had to be astir before dawn and had a long journey ahead of them. Luceiia left Caius alone for a short while and went to confer with Diomede and the kitchen staff about arrangements for an early breakfast and rations for the travellers, and when she came back she bade us both good night and warned us not to stay up too long talking. Caius picked up the wine jug, which still held a good amount, and the two of us went into his cubiculum, where one of Diomede's people had a roaring brazier prepared for our comfort.
We sat together in companionable silence for a while, each of us busy with his own thoughts. Caius broke it by thanking me again for the gesture of the sword, and I shrugged it off, saying I could think of no better purpose for the weapon.
"Nevertheless, " he insisted, "it was a gesture worthy of a noble friend. "
"Good, " I said with a small smile. "I was a little worried — not much, but a little — that you might object to my giving it without consulting you. I did it on impulse, but the sword was made for you in the first place. " He shook his head. "No, Varrus. How could I possibly have any objections? It is a magnificent sword and one which I would have been proud to carry. But I no longer need a sword, and Picus will love it. There will be no other like it in his legion. And, by the way, I know I've asked you something like this before, but how did you get the iron of the blade so light in colour? Is it skystone metal?"
I grinned, shaking my head. "No, no skystones, no magic — merely one of my grandfather's tricks, Commander. We mix charcoal into the iron during smelting and tempering. It toughens and hardens the blade and somehow enables it to hold a much harder, finer edge. As a side effect, it seems to lighten the colour, too. "
"Ah, yes, your melting and smelting. You started to tell me about that once before, last time we met. Tomorrow I want to talk to you about it at more length. And what about the Celtic scrollwork on the sheath? It's the same as the work on the one your grandfather made, isn't it? The one Theodosius has now. "
"Yes, more or less. It was your friend Bishop Alaric who got me interested in that... among other things. "
He smiled. "Alaric is a catalyst. No one who meets him is ever unchanged. But Luceiia tells me you are a wealthy man now — a legacy from your grandfather, I understand? It sounds like a fascinating tale. I'd like to hear it, if you have the time. "
"There's not much to tell, Commander. " sat silent for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts. Then, in as few words as possible, I told him the story of finding the golden hoard in grandfather's pikes. He listened carefully, as always, and then began asking questions that led from the gold all the way to everything else I had been doing over the past five years. I answered them all briefly, hoping to get them out of the way and then get him talking about his adventures, but try as I would, there was no way I could sidestep his questions and work in some of my own.
I ended up by telling him the whole story of my run-in with Seneca, my flight from Colchester, and my troubles on the road to Aquae Sulis.
"So, " he said, finally, "it is to the Senecas that we owe the pleasure of your company. You have been here how long, now? A month? Two? And your initial encounter with the Seneca brat was a month before that, more or less?"
'"Less. " I said. "About two weeks, perhaps three. " "Does Quinctilius Nesca know you by sight?" "No. not at all. None of them really knows who I am. The scum I met on the road were looking only for a grey-haired man with a bad limp. That's all they have to go on. They'll never find me here. "
"Hmmm. unless Primus Seneca remembers that I had a friend with grey hair and a bad limp when he last saw me. which is not too unlikely!
Never underestimate these Seneca creatures, Publius. They are not like other men. They have a capacity for evil that is almost supernatural. " "In that case. Commander. " I said, troubled by the ominous tone of his voice and his immediate identification of a point that had occurred to me months before. "I had better move on. I see no point in attracting trouble here to your home. "
"Don't be naive. Publius, that will solve nothing. If they come here, they come: your absence will not deter them. You and I should get some sleep. It is late, and we have to be astir early tomorrow. We will talk more about this in daylight. But there's no need to worry, my friend. I have resources of my own. The first thing we shall do is check on the status of their spleen — ask a few questions and find out how active the hunt is today. It is more than possible that Primus never made the connection between you and me, with only a sparse description to go on. I have been away for a long time, out of sight and, we can hope, out of mind. Either way. we will know within fifteen days. Now we had better get to bed. "
"Commander. " I struggled with my thoughts. "Before we do, Commander, I have a question. "
His chin sank onto his chest, and I had the distinct impression that he was not listening to me.
"Commander?"
"Commander! That's three damned Commanders in one breath!" I blinked at this unexpected explosion, and he sighed in exasperation before turning to face me and continuing.
"Varrus, you and I have known each other, as men and as comrades, for over eleven years. I cannot think of one other man I admire more or esteem more highly. I am privileged, I believe, to call you friend. I know there is a part of you that has never stopped thinking of yourself as a centurion and of me as a senior officer, but I made you my primus pilus, Varrus, and I have never regretted it for a moment. I didn't do it out of friendship, either. You earned that promotion. Your talents and your natural abilities demanded that you achieve that rank. In many ways, you, my friend, are the embodiment of all that I hold worthy of honour in the term 'Roman. ' I know career officers by the hundred, and politicians, senators and emperors who cannot begin to be worthy of comparison with you. Don't look like that! I know you find it embarrassing to hear such things, but hear me, and heed me. My name is Britannicus to all of my colleagues and associates. My friends call me Caius. Nobody calls me Commander any longer, except you. My name is Caius. Now let me hear you say it, "
"Caius. "
"That's right. And I shall call you Publius. Except when we both forget in the heat of the moment, we shall address each other as friends and brothers. Agreed?"
&n
bsp; I nodded. "Agreed. "
"Good man! And I know you'll look after ray sister. She's a fine girl, Publius. Make you a grand wife and fill this house up with babies. Sons, Publius, sons! that's what a man needs. You can't have too many children. Look at what happened to me. I lost three of them in a month, and now my oldest is going into the army. If he gets himself killed, my name will die with me. "
He lapsed into silence, and I covered the pause by pouring more wine, after which we sat quietly for a few minutes before he spoke again.
"Well? What was your question?"
"It was about your family. " I hesitated and then plunged on. "I have not expressed my regrets since you came home, and you have made no mention of what happened. What did happen in Africa, Caius?" His hand shook as he stared into the bottom of his cup, leaving my question unanswered for so long that I started to excuse myself for asking, but he waved me to silence.
"It was bad, Varrus. Very, very bad. " His voice was low-pitched and lifeless, but I had no trouble hearing him. "I had known that it would not be pleasant in the first place, and I wanted to leave my family here in Britain, where they would be safe, but Heraclita would have none of that. She was adamant that Britain was not safe, with the way the damned Saxons were stepping up their raids, and I have to admit that, at the time, I tended to agree with her.
"Anyway, she insisted that this time we would go as a family, I had always soldiered alone, as you know, leaving her with the children, and she had never complained. I told you about it in the letter I wrote to you before I left, you may remember. " I nodded. "Well, against my own better judgment, I gave in to her arguments. Numidia had been settled for centuries and there would be no danger there, she said. Like a fool I agreed, because it would be pleasant, for once, to have my family close by. It was pure selfishness. I rationalized every objection that came into my own mind and I shut my eyes to the thousand and one possibilities that could work against us.
"On the way over, as you know, we stopped in Rome, and then again in Constantinople. She hated Rome. So did I. It is a very depressing place nowadays. Since the court moved away it's been almost deserted. There is still a court there, nominally at least, maintained by the so-called Emperor of the West, but it's a joke. Everyone who is anyone lives in Constantinople now. There's really only the Mob left in Rome, and the civil service people who keep them as happy as they can. It is quite dreadful. Constantinople, on the other hand, is altogether different. Alien and orientally mysterious. We would have enjoyed being able to stay there longer. " His voice trailed away, his thoughts obviously on the enjoyment they had known there, and then he snapped himself back to his narrative.
"Well, we arrived in Numidia eventually, and at first it was... sufferable. My work load was considerable and I had very little time to spend with my family, even though they were within easy reach. And then, within six months of our arrival, I fell sick of this pestilence. Our best physicians were helpless against it, and it spread like ripples on water. Nothing could stop it. You know what our army physicians are like. The first thing they did was to ban the drinking of water, but it made no difference. Our men were falling like leaves in autumn. Hundreds died, hundreds. And those who did not die did not get better — they just seemed to hang on, getting sicker again the moment they seemed to begin making progress. I was one of these. There were times when I thought I was going to die, and there were times when I was afraid I might not die. It was indescribable. It weakened me close to death, but it did not take me.
"And yet it took my wife, my daughter Meleiia and my two youngest sons, Marcus and Paulus. All of them within one month. That was the month when I was at my worst, and they decided not to tell me about my family, for fear the news would kill me. The medics expected me to die every day, but God had decreed, for reasons of His own, that I should live, and I did. The rest of my time passed as a penance, with neither military nor civil distinction but without further disaster, either. And here I am. "
"I am sorry, my friend, " I said. "I knew nothing of this until I came here a few weeks ago. Then I was appalled. "
"Aye, well!" He sniffed loudly. "It was years ago and I have grown used to it, almost. Except for the sometime memories that spring out of hiding to assail me when I least expect them. "
"What about Picus, General? Was he not affected?"
"No. The sickness never touched him, and thank God he had the strength of boyhood to block his grief and memories. " There was nothing more I could say that would not have sounded foolish, so I said nothing further. He changed the subject abruptly.
"I wish you had been here when we arrived yesterday. I'd have been interested in your reaction to the table conversation at dinner last night. Fascinating discussion of a terrifying topic. Wish you could have heard it."
"What was the topic? Tell me. "
"We were talking of morale. "
"Morale? That's a terrifying topic?"
"Yes, it is. " The seriousness of his tone did not even dent my tolerant smile at first, but as he continued to speak it faded quickly.
"I tell you, Publius, the morale of the legions has never been so low, not even during the Invasion, although that only affected Britain. It's a sickness that affects the whole Empire. The rot is everywhere. Mutiny is widespread — no discipline, no order, no structure left with any meaning. More barbarian mercenaries in the army today than there have ever been before, although every one of them now calls himself a Roman citizen. You know how I feel about that. But it's the structure that's lacking, Varrus. The foundation. There are no standards left. No symbols of worthiness for the young people of the Roman world to align themselves with. No values that can be accepted on faith and relied upon. The whole world's falling into chaos. " He fell silent for a space, then, "Do you know, Publius, " he went on, "that if I had made just a bit of an effort in Africa before the pestilence struck us, I could have had myself elected Emperor of Rome by my own legions? Do you realize what that means?"
I stared at him, wide-eyed, wondering what was to come next. I had never seen him so despondent.
"I, Caius Britannicus, now sitting here in front of this fire, could have been appointed, or elected, Emperor of Rome by my own soldiers. And I had fifty thousand of them under my direct command in Africa, with many thousands more who would have marched to join my standard. " It never occurred to me that he might be exaggerating. I knew that he was telling me the absolute and literal truth. I waited for him to go on.
"The soldiers of Rome have no loyalty to Rome, Publius. The State has deprived them of too much, and has betrayed their interests and their trust too often. There's no focus for the soldier's loyalty, so that when he does find someone in authority with whom he can identify, he will adhere to that man's cause with total, suicidal devotion. I was approached very quietly by some of my officers. No specifically treasonous statements were made, but I was given to understand that the armies were ready to install someone in power who would look after their needs and see to the refurbishing of the frontiers. I could have done it, Publius, had I not fallen ill. "
"You mean, you considered it?"
He was gazing into his own mind. "Considered it? I suppose I did. Of course I did. I thought about it. "
"And would you have done it?"
"Would I have accepted the Empire?" His eyes drifted from me to the fire. "I don't know. Perhaps I might have. I was tempted, at first, but I saw the temptation for what it was, and I resisted it until I fell ill. I had been in Rome, you remember, and in Constantinople, and I had seen nothing there that inspired any loyalty in me to anyone. And when I looked at my men and saw the way they were being treated by the same government, I felt guilty and disloyal to them. " He paused again. "Rome is nothing without her legions, Varrus. And yet she has consistently treated them like dirt for two hundred years and more, now. The few fine emperors we have had have all been soldiers — apart from Claudius, whom I believe, nevertheless, to have been the finest of the lot. Soldiers understand the ne
eds of Empire. They appreciate the need for discipline. They understand logistics and the laws of supply and demand. And they understand the need for strong communications over long distances, and the necessity of leaving command decisions to the discretion of the commander on the scene in times of emergency. Perhaps I would have made a good emperor."
My response was emphatic. "There's no perhaps in my mind, Caius. Your resistance to the temptation is what I would have wagered on. But that's not what's at issue here, is it? What do you expect to happen?" He shook his head. "I don't know. But nothing good has happened for a long time. If my soldiers were willing to make me emperor, then it stands to reason that other soldiers will elect other emperors from among their officers. God knows there's no lack of precedent. "
"But... " I stopped.
"But what?"
"Well, even if that happens, I can't see any danger to the Roman State itself. I know armies have elected emperors before. It was the Praetorians who put Claudius on the throne, although they did it as a mockery — they had no idea that they were doing a great thing for the Empire. There have been mutinies and even civil wars, but the Empire has always survived. And I don't see how a civil war in Rome could have much effect on us here in Britain. "
"It probably wouldn't, " Caius responded. "Not a civil war. But my fear is of invasion, not civil war. The point I was trying to make before I digressed is that there is no spirit left in the legions. The soldiers no longer care about Rome. There are barbarian peoples everywhere who are bitterly hungry for survival, Publius. For escape from their barren homelands to some place where life will be easier. Where they won't freeze in their thousands every winter. Where their children won't starve. And they all see the Empire as their Promised Land. Mark my words, Publius, one day, and probably soon, the hordes are going to penetrate the heartlands of the Empire, and when that happens, it will be too late to save Rome. But the first effect of the invasions will be panic. And the armies, every legion, will be called back from the frontiers to defend the city and the Campana. " I stood up and walked over to the glowing brazier, holding my hands out to its heat. When I heard Britannicus put his misgivings into words so clearly, it upset me. I didn't really want to continue this conversation, and yet I felt I had to.