The Snake Catcher

by Bilinmeyen

  I frowned at that. It sounded like a dog’s duty, though, of course, it wasn’t.

  Maximus chortled as he noticed my sour look. “Look at them. Raw barbarians the lot of them. You speak Latin, citizen?”

  Tiberius clapped a hand on his thigh again. “That one is not a raw barbarian. He speaks and writes Latin.”

  He sighed. “Can they fight?”

  Tiberius began to look mad as a bull with a pierced nut, and Maximus noticed it. He was about to bow to the great man, but Tiberius went on. “They are part of the Guard. They’ll train when it’s time to train. The ones not on guard duty will take part in all the training. You will make sure they learn how to be soldiers, when they can be spared. They can fight. Make them fight better. As I said, make sure our citizen here guards at night. He failed me, and this is his punishment.”

  Maximus grinned and looked sorry for me. “Punishment before he has even joined properly, eh? Yes, we will make a soldier of him. And them. We’ll teach them good. The field of Mars will soak up their blood and tears like any man’s. And will this special assignment for the third and fourth ever end?”

  Tiberius smiled thinly. “When I’m no longer in danger. Now, as for the day after tomorrow, they’ll join the Guard during the funeral. Make sure they know how to act, dress them up like proper soldiers. This gutter scum look has to go, and don’t make too much trouble for them this evening and tomorrow. They loved my brother, as much as any of his soldiers did.”

  At that, that man called Maximus bowed and turned to look at us. I frowned and spoke out, “The women? Cassia? Mathildis? Did they go to Palatine with your mother, Lord?”

  I felt unreasonable fear clutch my heart.

  Tiberius saw it and nodded at me. He walked over, and despite acting like he hated my guts, he leaned closer and spoke calmly. “Your third and fourth will guard them. And so, she also is safe. She will always be safe. Trust me.”

  “Yes, Lord,” I answered. Tiberius hesitated and turned to Gernot, and pulled a thick, large pouch out of his belt.

  He threw it to him, with some reluctance, and spoke to me. “This is a fortune. A huge fortune. Use it well. I’ll not ask it back, but with it, you could buy many answers. You can use it to make smart decisions. Use it as you see fit. It is from Drusus.”

  Gernot held the heavy bag, and hid it.

  Tiberius smiled. “I think he’ll have the best use of it. Be patient, men.” He walked away to discuss with the various Roman nobles waiting for him.

  Maximus whistled to get our attention. “So, lads, I’m Decurion Maximus, once of the Batavi, and now an ass kisser of the Rome’s highest family. I run the group of criminals that are called the third turma. You’ll do what I say, what the Prefect and the Decurion tell you to do, and you’ll serve in shit, if need be. You’ll obey and look polished. This is not some flea-infested war band from the depths of Germania, no. This is the guard of the Tall Ones, and you’ll be as disciplined as any legion. Despite that, do not call yourselves soldiers. You’re not part of the army. Know that we are servants. Soldiers belong to the state. We belong to the Princeps. And with that, know we get paid better than a soldier. You won’t, at first, since you will have to buy your uniforms, gear, and such. Just like real soldiers.” He leaned forward with a wicked smile. “Your pay will be withheld until it’s all paid for. You’ll eat with the others for a month, and forget the merrymaking and the free time. Though our lord gave you a bonus from Drusus?” He eyed Gernot. “Lord Drusus was a generous one. You must have served him well enough, so I doubt I need to repeat these instructions, eh? I think you’ll be fine.”

  I nodded and spoke sourly. “We’ll manage and learn, I guess. What now?”

  “Now?” he said with a bored voice. “Look, citizen, learn to keep your mouth shut. No matter how disappointed you might be with this service, it’s ahead of you. You’ve got handed what most of the boys want so desperately. It’s a sour apple to have to serve in the Guard, even if you were given the prize already, but deal with it. Or leave. Tiberius lobbed a hard bone your way. Guess you pissed him off. Stone-Jaws is what they call him, and you were caught between those grinders. Don’t make yourself a target in the Block.”

  He glowered a bit at me, and then nodded towards Rome. “As for now? We find you your place. They will let the lad sleep under the sun tomorrow, and the people will get to have a look at him. They’ll bury him day after tomorrow. The third will guard the high and mightiest tomorrow, and we have plenty of time to see how to make you look like civilized men. On the day of the burial, we will guard them all, including Tiberius in the Forum, and then march through the city to the Circus, where they shall speak to the people again. Then we’ll stomp away again with the praetorian toy soldiers for the Mausoleum of Augustus. All that day, you will stand in attention near him, not too far, not too close, because we are an embarrassment to the family. Five hundred fancily draped barbarians make them look like tyrants, where the Princeps wants to look anything but. However, fail to guard them, and you shall die terribly. We’ll ride for the Block now.” He indicated along the wall. “Our fort’s not in the city proper. It’s on the other bank of the Tiber, by the fields of Mars. Can’t billet soldiers inside the city, not easily, and the guards have to endure the same discomfort. The fort’s fine. It’s an ugly bit of masonry, but sufficiently stocked. We’ll outfit you, groan at your ineptness, and you’ll learn, or I’ll kick your rears until all uncouthness drips off you.”

  “Try,” Tudrus said darkly. He, too, was beginning to understand Latin.

  Wandal agreed, though he had not understood a word. “We won’t take—”

  I waved them down, as Maximus frowned at them like a wolf. “We’ll learn. They’ll learn to shut up. Listen, this Batavi called Chariovalda told me there would be a relative of his in the guard, and—”

  His eyes enlarged into huge pools of blue. “You know Chariovalda?”

  “He saved me once,” I answered. “Many times. I fought with him in Germania. For him. He and I are friends. Do you know who might—”

  He roared happily, and smiled like Sunna was warming his bones after a week of snow. “He is my uncle! And so, you are the ones he sent word about!” He tapped a scroll on his belt. “The mail came really late. Some mix up in the delivery service. The rider stayed in Gaul for a week, and probably took a holiday. Chariovalda told me to make you miserable. Happily, that’s what Tiberius wants as well. I shall!”

  “He is a bastard.” I grinned, “but I love him well.”

  “He once tried to seduce my girl.” Maximus shook with laughter, his face red and puffy. “She slapped him and poured ale over his head and lap.” He leaned closer and winked. “And because you know him, you shall have our own ale and mead this night. No matter what Tiberius told me to do to you.”

  “Thank the gods!” Tudrus breathed, and whispered frantically to Agetan and Bohscyld, who sat up with rapt attention. Maximus looked at them with apprehension, and probably wondered if he could rescind the offer.

  We took our leave of the funeral procession. Drusus had moved on from our care. I’d avenge him, I’d keep his beloved ones safe. I gazed at the tall walls of Rome, and felt listless with the hopeless burden, but I would.

  Julia.

  I’d meet her soon. I’d meet the woman Father had loved, the woman who had wanted Drusus dead, the wife who had hoped Tiberius joined Drusus, and who had caused the deaths of so many others. We rode over the hill of the gardens, took to smaller roads outside Rome, squinting up at the fabulous hills, bedecked in the blanket of colorful roofs. They glimmered at the last lingering evening light. We passed campus Agrippa, a serene, silent field full of flowers and trees, and saw the round mausoleum of Augustus, where Drusus would be buried. We passed into the field of Mars, wondering at the swampy greenery and the occasional massive buildings to our left, and finally saw the Block. We crossed a bridge over the Tiber for the fortress of the Germani guards, a square, block-like building forlornly squat
ting on the other side of the Tiber, like an unwanted guest staring through the doorway at Rome, and rode in through opened gates.

  At the gate, a blond man looked up at me.

  He was a youthful man. He was the champion who had served Hulderic, my grandfather. It was the berserk champion, who left us the day Maroboodus took over Hulderic’s village.

  It was Adalwulf.

  “Hello, boy,” he said and smiled thinly. “I hear you killed Leuthard. Well done. We didn’t much like each other.”

  “You!” I breathed.

  He grinned widely. “I’m your Decurion. The Decurion of the fourth turma.” He stepped close and waited until Maximus rode further, and spoke. “You see, I serve Tiberius. In a way, I always did. Though I never hurt your grandfather while doing so.”

  “You served—”

  He nodded. “Met him after an adventure west of the river. Welcome, and make yourself comfortable. It’s home.” He frowned. “Though I was sent word I must make you miserable. You curse Tiberius as long and loud as you can. I have a hunch the prefect—Kleitos—will not like you. He has been very upset and nervous since he was sent word he has no control over who guards Palatine and the family. Too upset. Keep an eye on him.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The barracks were inside and below the main keep. The whole fortress was made of stone and brick. Each turma had their own barrack rooms, with beds and cabinets for each man. There were the familiar latrines, which we had all dreaded in Germania, and a small bathhouse at the edge of the courtyard.

  Maximus gave us our gear.

  That meant we had to let go of our old one.

  We traded the fabulous armor few Germani could even dream of, for even more fabulous armor. There was the gleaming lorica hamata, long chainmail, but the new one reached all the way to our knees. There was a wide, black leather belt, a buckle of silvered brilliance, and a cingulum militare belt, with silvery studs running down each leather strip. We wore good quality pants, which were sure to single us all out as foreigners, and a tunic of white under the mail. Our simple caligae were replaced by exceedingly well-made, calf-high black leather ones, and we were also given boots, black in color. The helmets were handed out to us, and after some trial and error, we found the right fits. They were bronze, open-faced, with a long nose guard and a crest of white hair.

  “Shit terrible in battle,” Tudrus grumbled at the long hair billowing from top. “Some bastard’s sure to yank you to all fours and then someone will rape you with a spear. I want my helmet unadorned.”

  Maximus made a leering face. “Germani are lucky to have a helmet. Though your skulls serve well, being thick as shit bone. Stop crying.”

  We were given new swords, though I stubbornly kept Nightbright. Hasta spears were carried out, and shields, with the symbol of a black bull painted on white.

  “This is more like it,” Tudrus said proudly, handling the shield with gusto and dropped half of his gear to the dust. That disaster was met by chuckles all around us, and some mocking calls from the back of the armory. We were handed white, warm capes, saga with bull face fibulae. We were given a dagger, a pugio with a balteus belt. The sturdy hasta was powerful and well made, and had a red tassel near the top.

  “We done?” Tudrus asked desperately. “We are good for three wars, and—”

  The armorer laughed spitefully. “No, you are not. There will be greaves for your pretty legs. Manica to cover your arms and shoulders. Sublicaria to keep your balls from dangling out. Undergarments, you peasant dolt. Then patera where you’ll eat from. A pack, bedsheets, and—”

  Maximus smiled as we were trying to make sense of it all. “Enough. Take the armor, bed sheets. You’ll get extra tunic and pants as well. And take the patera. The campaign gear will be given out later. Get your stuff to your beds. And give away your old gear. It will be held for you.”

  We did. I turned to go, hauling a full load of gear.

  Maximus stopped me, and tapped what was on my head. “That helmet as well,” he said, and made a leering face. He dared me to make an issue out of it. The Quadi frowned, since it was their father who had given it to me. “I—”

  “You will get it back,” Maximus said, exasperated. “I told you. Or it will be sold to pay for your funeral.”

  I tugged it off, my heart heavy. It had been the cause of fear amongst my enemies, a famous device of a terrible warrior, and now, I’d trade it off to be just like everyone else.

  But, I kept Nightbright, and Maximus sighed as he let me.

  That evening, we endured mockery and laughter by the turma of men, who were mostly Batavi. As we made ready our gear, the men who were spared guard duty sat around tables, drank mead, and ate mutton and vegetables. They were in a merry mood, mostly, and it didn’t take us long to feel welcome, especially as we shared our past with Chariovalda. They abandoned all doubts about us, and we had an excellent time.

  Adalwulf was not there, and I wondered where he had gone.

  In the end, we all toasted Drusus until our heads buzzed, and the next morning, we all regretted it.

  ***

  We were preparing in the barrack. It was damned early, and we were seated like men waiting to be condemned. Men around us were eating the remains of a very frugal breakfast.

  The hangover was horrible.

  Wandal looked like he was about to fall from his chair, I felt dead, and had a bruise on my cheek, though I had no idea where I had received it. The Quadi brothers looked strangely gray. Brimwulf stank of vomit, as he sat and suffered with muttered curses. Gernot was actually unconscious, or close to it, leaning on a wall. All our beards were being cut by a thin Greek, whose face was lathered with sweat. A bath had been promised for the noon. Rochus, the only one of us even remotely happy, looked his handsome self, and had had the beard cut to within inch of his skin. The Quadi twins’ beards were square, which made them even more boulder-like. Tudrus and I felt ours constantly, and cursed because we both felt we looked like fools. We kept staring at Brimwulf, who was shaving it all off. He looked like a different man.

  Later, we started to pull on the gear as the others, hearing the distinct sounds of the Decurion approaching, did likewise.

  Maximus entered and grinned at us as we were busily latching on greaves and manica. He winked at us and nodded towards the men, who were rushing now. “Fit for a brothel guard duty, eh? You’ll fit right in. I’ve seen all kinds of feasts up there on the hill, so it’s almost appropriate you look fancy as whores. You’ll wear a toga over all of it in the duty.”

  Brimwulf grimaced. “A toga? Are we going to fight in a toga? Will look dammed strange when we try to saunter after a murderer or a thief in the dresses.”

  Maximus scowled. “But, in a dress you shall be, nonetheless. Thuenor’s ass! Can’t you dress any quicker? This isn’t cow herding duty!” We tried and rushed to pull on chain and caligae. “Yes, a toga,” he went on. “That’s how the nobles dress in Rome. You will as well. You need to look presentable. Underneath, the armor. Over it a toga, and spear and shield to make you look as vicious as cheated gods. You’ll look fat as well. When in duty, you’ll stand still; you’ll not pick your nose, fart, and gods be damned make sure you are never drunk on duty. You’ll not take a piss. Piss inside the palace or the homes of the high and mighty, and I’ll make sure you piss sitting down. As for today—”

  A man entered the armory.

  He was bald and gaunt, wearing a rich tunic of red. His cingulum militaris belt was studded with tiny golden faces, and his eyes were gray, like a winter sky before a storm. He scoffed, as if we were leftovers from a week-old feast, turning to Maximus after a moment of incredulous scrutiny. “These the wet balls from up north?”

  Maximus saluted the man, towering over him. “They are the ones, sir. Haven’t had time to check their balls, though. I imagine some might be wet.”

  The man showed no appreciation for his humor, and stepped before us. We straightened with all the gear we had managed to pull on, and
met his eye. He was the prefect of the guard, and he named himself with such arrogance, it bordered on being ridiculous. “I am called Kleitos, you motherless bastards. I hear one of you is a citizen?”

  “I am a citizen,” I said icily. For some reason, I felt instant dislike for the man. He was too nervous, too arrogant, and didn’t make up for it in any way.

  His eyes shot open, and he looked horrified as if he were being molested by a rabid dog. “Your Latin… It’s like two cats fighting in an alleyway over some scraps. All of them look like they fell on their heads when growing up. I bet they did, all of them.” The man’s eyes scrutinized my friends, one after another, and his face twitched with disgust. “They are Germani all right, and none takes offence at what their tiny Greek prefect spat at them? Not one is protesting, thinking about ripping my arm off? Let me guess. They do not speak Latin.”

  I nodded. “They do not speak Latin. Much. But, they have been known to remove body parts from their enemies.”

  He rubbed his face, squinting, and tried to figure out if that had been a threat. “It defies common sense you would be assigned here. Outsiders, through and through, barbarians of the woods. Barely intelligent, if I’m kind. Not even from west bank of your muddy little river. I bet you aren’t. You look like your mothers were raped by bears.”

  “We are from the east of the river,” I said.

  The man shook his head, looking. “Tiberius says some ragged, dirty band of shits join my guard. That I no longer have a say in who does what in the damned Guard is a terrible travesty. And nobody tells me why.”

  He was nervous. Perhaps he thought he was being replaced. They should have told him something.

  “You should ask Augustus,” I said steadily, and added the word, “sir,” in a very small, disrespectful voice. “Augustus also named me. Nero Claudius Corvus. That’s my name.”

  He clenched his fists. “Augustus named you? Even he approves of this?”