He was weary from the long night spent weathering the storm, the long morning struggling to hold the transport's grumbling crew together through the terrifying voyage to the Epirus coast, and then the tribulation and utter savagery of the melee, from which he alone had emerged. The pain along his back, though biting, served to invigorate him, and he chose to focus his thoughts on the events of the past days rather than the dismal circumstances under which he now toiled.
The night aboard the transport had been a precarious one. It had been a tempest of all tempests, with waves that surpassed the height of the main mast, and blowing spray strong enough to tear a man over the side. Many a time had he watched helplessly as soldiers unaccustomed to sea travel were swept away by one of the moving mountains of green water. Many a time had he watched through salt-sprayed eyes as flashes of lightning revealed a world in turmoil, upturned hulls in their death throes, and the shrieking faces of the doomed bobbing in the boiling sea.
The century aboard Lucius's vessel had not been his own. In fact, the soldiers were not even from the Tenth Legion. They were the green troops of a newly formed Italian legion, made up of raw recruits that had sworn fealty to Caesar as a legitimate consul of Rome. Few, if any, of the green troops had ever experienced the savagery of battle, let alone the punishment that an angry sea can enact on those confined aboard a vessel. Lucius had experienced both on many occasions. A centurion's plume was not won easily. He was a battle-hardened veteran as his medals – the ones that, according to the prattling overseer, now lay on the bottom of the Adriatic – had attested. He had seen his share of battle, and knew the beast-like rage that got a man through such horrors. It was the only reason he was still alive.
The fight on the ship had been especially savage, and it had taken all of the discipline Lucius could muster to keep from snatching up a javelin and hurling it at the turd-sucking Optimates admiral who had ordered the slaughter. But, even in his rage, Lucius had the wherewithal to know that his fatigued arm, which normally threw with deadly accuracy, would have likely missed, and then he would have been feathered with arrows in the next moment.
The somewhat odd circumstances that had placed him aboard the ill-fated transport seemed to get odder with each passing day. He did not fully comprehend the elaborate intrigue of which he now found himself a part, but he knew that his murder had been one of the intended outcomes. It was with that in mind that he had surrendered. For dead men cannot settle scores, and he intended to fully repay the man responsible – the man who had sent him on this fool’s errand.
Lucius had not marched with the Tenth when it shipped out with Caesar all those weeks ago. He had been convalescing in Rome, recovering from wounds he had received in Spain. It was his first time ever setting foot in the renowned city – the seat of the empire for which he had fought for more than a decade – but the Rome he had read and dreamed about since his childhood, had turned out to be something of a disappointment. Around campfires in distant Gaul and Britannia, he had heard countless tales of Rome’s beauty and greatness, but he could not put those tales to the city through which he had groped for several weeks. The constant stench of sewage hung in the air, mixed with the aroma of rotting carcasses and flotsam backed up in the flooded Tiber. An impenetrable pall of smoke marred the view in every direction, to the extent that even the famed seven hills were mere shadows in the mist. Overcrowded streets, full of braying animals, merchants squabbling over every last sesterces, and a mob that never seemed placated, left Lucius longing for camp life. For all of the order and discipline Lucius had experienced in her legions, Rome itself had seemed a lawless cesspit of humanity, where every man from the lowest slave to the highest magistrate filled each day scheming against his rivals. Every race he had ever encountered was represented there, and they seemed more at home in the great city than he did. It was a confluence of cultures, a concentration of people who cared little what Rome’s armies did so long as the grain flowed and their businesses thrived. It was a noxious blend of the poor and the powerful, of those who had little and those who had much to lose. Masses of human beings lived on top of each other in multi-storied apartment buildings, smelling their neighbors' filth, hearing and often seeing their biological and carnal acts, and all amid the unremitting wail of infants.
Such sights were nothing new to Lucius. He had encountered similar conditions in countless villages and towns, some even worse, but he had never before seen it on such a grand scale. In sharp contrast to the destitute, the elite of Rome dwelt in houses of great opulence hemmed in by walls to shut out the unpleasant sights. Oftentimes, these houses even shared a block with the baser dwellings, and extravagant orgies transpired mere feet away from starvation and poverty.
It was to one of these debauches that Lucius was summoned in the midnight hour, four nights ago – the meeting that had started the chain of events by which he now pulled an oar and wore the chains of a slave.
Rome's current master of horse, the general Marcus Anthony – the de facto ruler of Rome while Caesar was away – had summoned him, and that was all Lucius had known when he had followed the messenger to the lavish villa in the Oppius district. He was led inside to find a debauch of staggering size underway, where Rome’s leading men mingled with the vilest of prostitutes. The naked men strewn throughout the villa were, by and large, Anthony's confidants, all of them drunk and all engaged in some sort of carnal act, some straddled by two or three women at once. Lucius recognized some of them from the campaign in Spain, but there were others, with grayer heads, that would have looked at home in a senator’s toga. The women were all coiffured in the latest fashions, their bodies glistening with scented oils. All seemed to be either laughing or swept up in a sensual trance. The many different perfumes that danced in Lucius’s nostrils did little to hide the presiding aroma, which was that of a well-frequented brothel.
“Lucius!” Anthony called to him from the other side of the room.
Lucius made his way across the expanse of gyrating human flesh, stepping over many intertwined bodies before reaching the couch where Anthony himself was engaged. With nothing else to do but wait, Lucius stood dutifully at attention as the master of horse finished a rather vocal coupling with a large-rumped woman, who made brief eye contact with Lucius before being forced to turn away by Antony's roughness. When the Master of Horse finally finished, he laughed heartily and smacked the whore on the rump to send her on her way.
"How do you fare, Lucius?" Antony said as he used a towel to dry the perspiration from his heaving chest.
"Well, sir."
"Glad I am to have you with me, Lucius,” Antony threw away the towel, and then drank wine from a cup which he first offered to Lucius. “When I heard you were lingering about, recovering from that near brush with death you had in Spain, I instantly called for your selection to my personal guard. I hope you don’t mind.”
“It was an honor, sir,” Lucius replied evenly, though in truth he was still puzzled by the appointment. There had been vacancies in the detachment of legionaries guarding Antony’s home and personal activities. As a centurion without a legion, Lucius had been ripe for the plucking. But he still found it odd that the boisterous Antony, with whom he had quarreled years ago on a nearly forgotten battlefield in far-off Gaul, would have chosen him. He did not like Antony, and from everything he had heard up until a few days ago, the feeling had been mutual. Ever since the appointment, Antony had been oddly congenial towards him, and this atypical conduct had prompted Lucius to be on his guard more than ever.
“It's your first time in Rome, is it not?"
“Yes, General.”
"Well, Lucius, what is your impression?” Antony gestured at the depravity all around them. "Have you ever seen a more hideous dump of human filth? These fat politicians, these wealthy bastards, leeching off of our public purse. It's pathetic."
Lucius thought he might ask the master of horse if he was not the host of this extravagant party, were these people not here at his biddin
g, and should he not be in Brundisium with the rest of the army preparing to cross over to Greece, but he knew such a challenge would not be wise.
“I prefer the camp, sir," Lucius replied simply.
Antony laughed out loud. "You’re always the trusty centurion, Lucius. I know I can count on you. Have you recovered from your wounds?" Antony slapped a bare hand on the ribs where Lucius had received a deep thrust of a spear. Lucius was not ready for it, but he managed to deal with the pain without flinching.
"Quite recovered, sir."
“Good. Very good.” Antony then drew a serious expression that seemed put on. “You have my sincerest apologies, Lucius, about my behavior last night. I did not mean to bark at you like that. You know well the churlish mood that overcomes me when I’ve been up late drinking.”
Lucius nodded, but did not respond, surprised that the general had even thought to broach the matter. Late on the previous evening, when Lucius had been captain of the watch, a cloaked courier had arrived bearing a secret letter for the general’s eyes alone. Assuming that the letter had come from Caesar, and that Antony would want to know its contents without delay, Lucius had conducted the agent to Antony’s quarters in the dead of the night. The drunken general had received the messenger cordially, but he had also taken a moment to give Lucius a verbal thrashing over the intrusion. Lucius had thought nothing of it, for it was certainly not his first time dealing with a drunk and verbose senior officer, and the outburst had been closer to the behavior Lucius was more accustomed to from Antony. Now, this uncharacteristic apology by the once again affable general made Lucius even more uneasy.
“The truth is, Lucius, I have been overstressed of late,” Antony continued, not a trace of the alleged anxiety in his deportment. “I’ve got four legions sitting on the beach, with fingers up their arses, waiting for a favorable wind to take them across the sea to join Caesar, and I’ve scarcely enough transports to fit them all. Meanwhile, the Optimates fleet cruises up and down the Adriatic stroking its prick for me to make an attempt. I pray to Stimula, Lucius, that the gods intervene on our behalf, but until they do, we must content ourselves with smaller objectives. And this brings me to the reason I called for you.”
Several voluptuous women wearing masks and lingering about Anthony's couch laughed between themselves and whispered as they stared at Lucius's large frame. It was at that moment that Lucius had noticed two other men sitting in the shadows. He recognized the portly eunuch Orestes – a blonde-haired, shifty-eyed fellow that spoke in whispers and who was also Antony’s chief advisor – and another man whom he did not recognize, a thin, intelligent-looking noble with iron-gray hair. Like Lucius, these other two were among the minority of fully clothed men in the room. The bulging eyes and fat lips of the pale-skinned eunuch rolled wistfully at the sights all around him, in contrast to the noble who appeared even more uncomfortable than did Lucius.
Antony made a motion and the noble rose and approached, leaving the eunuch alone to ogle at the surroundings.
"Legate Atilius Marcellus,” Antony introduced them. “Meet Centurion Lucius Domitius."
"A pleasure, Centurion," the thin-faced man replied somewhat restlessly, his eyes only briefly meeting Lucius’s.
"Centurion Domitius will act as your escort on your little errand, Marcellus," Antony said carelessly between drinks. "And you may be glad of that, my friend. There's nary a better warrior in the legions."
"Oh, I will take your word for that, my lord," Marcellus said in lightly veiled disinterest, distracted by the breasts of a woman brushing past him.
"Excuse me, sir," Lucius said with surprise at the assignment which he was now hearing about for the first time. "What is it that I am to do?"
Antony laughed heartily at the bewildered expression on his face. "Don't worry, Lucius. This is a simple matter. You will be bodyguard to Marcellus, here. Never once let him out of your sight. Not even for a piss." He laughed and gave the legate a good-natured shove. "Do as he says, but make sure he does as I have bid him."
Lucius cleared his throat once, doing his best to remain outwardly calm. "Pardon me, General, but it was my intention to rejoin the Tenth at the first opportunity. I am not the right choice for this -"
"There you go, second-guessing me," Antony interrupted chuckling. "And don't knit your Spanish brow at me, my valiant Lucius. You are the perfect fit for this task, and if you had half the patience of a flea on a turd, you will find that I have taken your desires to heart. Don't think the dozen requests you sent through my adjutant never reached me. In giving you this assignment, I am conceding to your request. Marcellus, here, is to deliver a very important message for me in Epirus. You will accompany him to Brundisium, board a vessel waiting there, and sail for the Greek coast. Once you have made land fall, and have conveyed him to his destination, you can go your way and rejoin your legion, and Marcellus can go his."
The sudden prospect of leaving this stink-laden city and returning to the army made Lucius momentarily let his guard down, and the elation must have been apparent.
"Ah, see? I do repay my debts," Antony said smugly at the look on his face, taking the opportunity to slap the bare cheeks of a young, dark-skinned woman shuffling past them as she refilled cups from a wine jug. "Be sure to make your way back here in a few moments, my lovely." Antony said ravenously, studying her breasts as one might select the ripest fruit from a tree. Lucius saw that the woman appeared somewhat frightened at the fate that soon awaited her, but she smiled obediently at the general and moved on.
"I do enjoy an Asiatic from time to time, Lucius," Antony said, watching the woman’s supple form float around the room. "Their eyes have something behind them that cannot be described. It's mysterious, like they either plan to cut your balls off or give you a romping you'll never forget. I could never get my fill of them when I was stationed in the east. One reason I regretted leaving. What say you? Ever had an eastern woman? That tart is woman enough for the both of us."
Lucius gritted his teeth. "Apologies, sir, but I must refuse such a generous offer."
"Bah! That's your problem, Lucius. You're all duty and no merriment. I think you'd hump your shield as soon as take that armor off. Well, stick with me, my austere friend, and we'll soon see about having that stick removed from your arse!"
Antony ambled over to a chamber pot and proceeded to urinate, still chuckling to himself, apparently mistaking Lucius's restraint for prudishness.
Lucius had certainly bedded his share of women in the course of his well-travelled career. His tall frame and rough features had drawn many to him in the lands conquered by Caesar's hosts. But his view toward women differed from that of Antony's. Though he had slain many a man with bare hand and sword, he would never force himself on a woman, as many conquering soldiers thought it their right. Nor was he naive enough to believe that the women who had invited him to their beds were affectionately pulled to him. He knew well that women in conquered lands often gave themselves over willingly to a soldier who would protect them from rape and worse from his comrades. More than once, he had slain a drunken legionary or auxiliary in some darkened alley after witnessing such offenses. His own mother and sister had been raped and murdered, and he bore a special hatred toward those who would perpetrate such a foul act, regardless of whether or not the guilty men were in his legion. In his own mind, those he had killed had been inadequate substitutes for the one man truly responsible for the murder of his family – for that man still lived.
That man, that two-faced butcher – one Marcus Valens, an exiled senator who had tried to do away with Lucius on more than one occasion – lived and breathed the air of this life while the spirits of Lucius’s family cried out to him for revenge. As much as Lucius despised the streets of Rome, he had ventured out shortly after his recovery, and had sought out the house of the Valenii. It had not taken long to find it, and it had been much as he had expected, an abandoned villa on the outskirts of the city that appeared not to have been inhabited for years. F
rom the few locals brave enough to speak to a probing centurion, he had learned that the house still belonged to the Valenii family. Someday, Marcus Valens would return. Someday, so would he – and he would finally avenge his family.
"I don't understand, my lord," Marcellus said suddenly, breaking Lucius away from his thoughts, and Lucius realized that the legate had been studying the medallions adorning the front of his armor. “Why this man?”
Antony furrowed his brow. "What’s there to understand? You have been gnawing at my bloody ear all day to give you a bodyguard. Well, here he is!" Antony was speaking in an oddly artificial manner, but Lucius could not discern the reason, nor if the poor actor of a general realized that Lucius was wise to it.
"Yes, of course," the legate said, eyeing Lucius uncertainly. "But, sir, I have misgivings about..."
"I don’t give a hyena’s testicle about your misgivings, man!” Antony said, suddenly angry. “This is the man I spoke to you about. One like Centurion Domitius will be enough. Besides, too many know about this, already."
“Might I speak with you for a moment in private, General?” Marcellus said rather abruptly, glancing once uncomfortably at Lucius.
Antony sighed, but nodded, and then, as Lucius waited, the two retired to the couch where Orestes sat, and all three men proceeded to exchange words in whispers, obviously not intended for Lucius’s ears. The naked Antony and the clothed legate did most of the talking, some of it appearing heated, while Orestes chimed in from time to time, never taking his eyes off of the moving flesh all around the room. Eventually, the legate appeared to concede on some crucial point, and then he rose and approached Lucius.
“My apologies, Centurion,” Marcellus finally said, his misgivings still visible on his face if not in his voice. “You are quite qualified to perform this task. I meant no insult to you.”
“Anything I need to know about, sir?”
“No.” The legate shook his head. “The general and I had a disagreement over a private matter – a matter quite separate from this one. You had best go prepare your kit. We will leave in the morning. Meet me at sunrise outside the Capena gate. And, please, do not tell anyone where you are going.”
Rome: Tempest of the Legion (Sword of the Legion Series) Page 7