Adalwulf and I had scarce time to share words previously, and we did then. He smiled sadly. “So. He died,” he said simply.
I nodded. “It was a hard blow. I liked him. I did.”
He looked down. “Any old wound is always dangerous. We both have plenty.”
“Aye,” I told him, and we sat there, quite for a long while, silent.
He finally cleared his throat and looked at his hands, which were shaking. “It was oddly peaceful in Rhodes. I travelled off the island just once. I was happy to return there.”
I looked down, and said nothing.
He spoke on. “Peaceful, and gentle, that island. Though, I admit, Flavus and Armin, when they were finally ransomed by Tiberius, made it a quarrelsome place. It wasn’t so for long, of course, just some months. Tiberius had just been elevated to return to Rome, and Armin took his orders from him willingly after they spoke, but he didn’t enjoy seeing me there. Lollius and his treachery was a hard blow for him. As was the death of Gaius. It will bother him greatly.”
I nodded. “He forgave Flavus?”
“I guess their common suffering at the hands of the pirates grew some roots,” he told me. “It is good, I suppose.”
“Have you heard from your family?” I asked. “I have a scroll from Cassia. Mine are well.”
He grinned, and placed two scrolls on the table. “Gisil is, I hear, very happy. So is my boy. Things are going well enough.”
I eyed the scrolls and felt uneasy. I had many from Cassia. She was alive and well, still, though something had happened. I was sure of it. She claimed she had been successful in the deed I had requested of her, but the scrolls sounded … bitter. “Do you think they will forgive us for all of this?”
He rubbed his neck. “Mine will. Perhaps Cassia will as well. As for the others?” He shrugged. “Ulrich seems like a bastard. He will do. Wandal?” He looked unsure and I felt sick. He spoke on. “I’m happy to see you made it out alive. Soon, we shall see our families, and the healing will start. I guess we shall be fine, except when we sleep. The dead will visit, I am sure of it.”
“Let’s hope it is soon,” I muttered. “Wandal is right. All this takes a long time, yet. My wife, your wife, our families, they grow old as we squat here,” I said with misery.
Gods, keep her safe, despite what I had asked of her.
“A year, some more time,” Adalwulf said bitterly. “And then we are free.”
“Free,” I agreed, and trembled at the thought of not seeing my family. I had grown without Maroboodus, without a father, and my son, not to mention my daughter Lif, were no better off.
Victims to Livia both, I thought, and of my choices.
A shadow moved in the stairway.
We turned to look, expecting a slave or one of the servants, but there stood Postumus, the last son of Julia, a hermit due to the malice of Livia, and now adopted by Augustus, but even more so by Tiberius, who had promised him to Maroboodus. He looked down at me, and nodded upstairs. Adalwulf gave me a quick, worried look, but I shook my head and indicated he need not worry. I got up, loosened the sword in my scabbard, and walked after Postumus. I hopped up the stairs, got to the top floor, eyed the rich colors of the walls, and walked after him as he disappeared into a room. Usually, women slept upstairs. He preferred the rooms there, and didn’t mind the slaves in the further rooms. I got there, and leaned on the doorway.
He looked at me. “Hraban.” He pronounced it like a Germani would, guttural and deep, like a hill groaning.
“Lord,” I said.
“What do you think,” he wondered, as he sat down, “would have been my name in the North?”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
I had hated Postumus.
He was the son Father had never seen, and perhaps loved best. Father’s pride for the blood of the Caesars mixing with our ancient family, had thrust me and Gernot both to the abyss.
“Name?” I said, taking a step forward.
“Name,” he snarled and rubbed his face. His curly hair was sweaty and he gazed at me, an impatient man, a truly tortured soul. “What would our father have named us?”
“Tiberius told you everything?” I asked.
He nodded. “He told me Maroboodus was part of a conspiracy, and that he and Grandmother had Drusus slain,” he said with shame. “He told me that Livia was using me to further her plans. Fine, that explained all the hate I couldn’t understand, the lonely years, the disdain by my own family. Of being …” He shrugged. “Alone. He said you are of Maroboodus as well. Half … brother?”
I shuddered. I had not expected to feel anything but anger, but that word, even with ‘half’ attached, did move me.
“Yes,” I said. “That we are. My mother died as did my grandfather for Livia and Maroboodus. A thousand others. Friends. My father, your father …” I smiled. “Our father. He is a rare bastard. But perhaps he would have called you Adalbern, Postumus. A noble bear. He is the Bear, you see, of our ancient family. Ill-omened, a liar, but perhaps he would have elevated you thus.”
He smiled wistfully. “You have elevated yourself, as he didn’t.”
“I am a man dragging the chains of my hatred for him around Midgard,” I told him. “Anything I have, I have taken by myself.”
He nodded as he looked at me, deep in his thoughts. “Plenty of scars, eh? In and outside.” He scratched his chin, looking devious. “Tiberius has plans for me. He is going to war with our … father. And yet, before that, he is going to send me to Maroboodus.”
I shrugged. “Yes. It is for the best. For him, for Rome, for your mother, and for you.”
“He is sending a troubled, troublesome shit away,” he answered. “And will elevate Germanicus instead of me.” His voice dripped bitterness.
“It is what Rome expects, and what Tiberius is working towards. You are an embarrassment, my lord.”
He got up, his hands in fists.
I grasped the hilt of Nightbright, and he gave that sword a quick glance.
He sighed, and crashed down on his seat.
I spoke. “It is an odd sort of honor. He is giving you away, and then he shall try to kill you all. But who knows, perhaps you will win, fighting for our father?”
“Augustus adopted me, finally,” he said softly, and I knew he was afraid. He still had some half-hidden hopes he would be carried to the Senate, hailed Augustus, draped in purple, and made master of all.
Yet, he was a bastard.
I mimicked him, furrowing my eyebrows, and adopted a demonic look. “Perhaps I should speak to Augustus, and remain here, and perhaps rule Rome. Yes, they shall accept me, and none shall find out my secrets!”
He cursed softly, and smiled. “Shut up.”
I chuckled. “You are a product of a Germani lord and your high mother, Brother. Augustus would never accept this. He would make you vanish like a fart, like he will your poor mother, Julia. You would disappear down some shit-hole, make your way down below, and rats would feast on your corpse. You know this. Cheer up! Father’s halls will set you free. You will be like the wind, respected, loved, and admired.”
His face twitched with desire, and then anger. He watched his hands, and balled them into fists, and frowned at them. “My mother. Whore, they call her. And I should accept Maroboodus as a father? He left us behind.”
I cursed myself, but spoke. “They loved each other, I think. Julia at least … loved.”
She had loved me as well, not something I had to tell him.
He shook his head in resignation. “I suppose I must take my chances with people I know nothing about, and get to know a father I have never seen, and kiss Fortuna each night for her luck. Perhaps he shall accept me, for my blood,” he said softly, and I felt a stab of jealousy, and he saw it. He cocked his head. “You said he is a bastard of a man? What is he like when he is not a bastard?”
Gods laugh, I could have punished him by telling him Maroboodus would be a father worth knowing, that he would never betray him,
and his love for Postumus was true, and not self-serving.
Instead, I told him the truth.
“Nothing. The man has no honor. None, Postumus. He is deceitful as a Gaulish merchant, and a liar even in his sleep. You will have to get to know him. He might be disappointed in you. He might use you, like Livia and Tiberius have used you. It is your wyrd. Be clever, when you see him. He can, occasionally, give you affection, if he slips, but make sure it is not for his gain.”
He sighed and nodded. “Wyrd. An odd word. Adalbern, you said? Another odd word. Midgard? Many new words, and a new world await me. Can you teach me the language, while we wait?”
“Yes,” I answered. “Perhaps I can. It will be an odd destiny, Postumus.”
“Yours is as well,” he said. “You have duty now with Tiberius, but shall I give … Father your regards? Will you stay in Rome?”
“In Rome?” I wondered. “I doubt it. I shall find my family, and find a cause, far from here, perhaps far in the North, where my … our family comes from. Or, perhaps, in the West. I’m not a young man.”
“Would you be a Marcomanni again?” he asked. “And aid me?” He licked his lips nervously. “And this Gernot, perhaps, would he? Would you aid me? With Maroboodus. I could ask Tiberius … you would have to fight Tiberius and Rome, but—”
I laughed and shook my head. “I doubt I can. I told you. I didn’t lie. I hate Maroboodus. I cannot stomach the intrigue any longer. I doubt I would stand him. But who knows what gods shall decide and we might find a common cause yet?”
He smiled and got up. He walked to me, and held out a hand. “Let us never be enemies, then, Brother.”
I grasped his arm. “I do not hate your mother. And perhaps, I do not hate you either, though I was sure I would.”
I didn’t lie. He was forthright, honest, and was nothing like the picture Livia had painted of him.
He tugged my arm. “You can trust me. Ask for help, if you will, and I will give what I have. If we both survive the war.”
I nodded at him. “Yes, Brother. I thank you. But we have time. Years, perhaps.”
I didn’t have to give him an oath, which made me grateful.
“Good,” he said simply, and turned away. “I am happy Tiberius didn’t release you after Gaius died. We have time to get to know each other.”
I turned to go. A year, or two, and we would travel north, provided Augustus didn’t die first. Tiberius would gather the armies, he would take his son, Postumus, and Germanicus with him to the war. In a year or two, Rome would be in war, the legions would be Tiberius’s, and the final phase of our plan would begin.
Postumus would be given back to Maroboodus.
Perhaps.
CHAPTER 25 (June 1 st, A.D. 6)
Two long years passed. Wandal, Adalwulf, and I grew close to Postumus, whose impatience we countered with friendship. Drusus the Younger was an irregular visitor to his house, and my dour half-brother, while watched closely, grew somewhat closer to his family.
Armin, Flavus, and his men were working tirelessly in the North.
Tiberius was also, as if bursting with energy and purpose after his long exile. He had spent the years containing the few Germanic tribes that were not in peace with Rome in the North, while at the same time training and even creating legions, ruling in matters Augustus had no energy for, and preparing for war against Maroboodus. Rumors of it had been echoing in the alleys of Rome and the floor of the Senate for years, and finally, the war was about to begin. It was a war that was to be fought not only over the amber, the insults, and hostility of Maroboodus, but to finish what Drusus had begun so many years before. While Segestes the Fat was an ally to Rome in Northern Germania, and the Luppia Valley was much pacified, and the Matticati and the Hermanduri were at least partially allied to Rome, Rome feared the unknown tribes beyond the ones it knew, and the Chatti were as implacable as ever.
And to keep a firm grip on his newly found power, if still not the favor and love of Augustus, Tiberius kept that war in the minds of all of Rome.
And that day, we were finally marching off to begin that war.
There were people in the domus of Postumus. The man himself was attired for travel. Drusus the Younger, his face much like his father’s, had grown to be like his father in his mood as well. He was dry and almost a humorless man, and was staring at Germanicus, who was looking around disdainfully at the domus where his relatives were waiting for final preparations.
Germanicus too, was attired for a travel. He was very bothered by my presence, and that of Ulrich.
He was twenty-one. He had grown into a thin, cruel-faced man.
Wandal and I had recently discovered we were over thirty, and though it hardly showed outwardly, we both felt our best days were behind us. Adalwulf was several years older. We stared at the three men, and especially Germanicus, who was in a damnably happy mood, his guards looking on from the corner. He truly didn’t know Postumus, but everything was about Germanicus to him, anyway.
“A questor!” he called out loudly. “Five years early.”
Ulrich leaned on me. “He seems to think the title of Questor means he is not a murdering little freak.”
I said nothing.
Drusus the Younger snorted and tried to put the man in his place. “You are still just a snot-nose. You are not a questor yet.”
Germanicus grinned. “Fine. Next year, they said. What do you say to that, eh?”
Drusus scratched his neck and shrugged. “You might get some shitty disease in the North, eh? Catch a bleeding plague, and you’ll forget all about being a questor. Mind you, Germanicus, gods dish out bad luck to the unworthy.”
Germanicus snorted. “No, the gods love me. I could bathe in the blood of plague corpses, and come out smelling of flowers.”
He looked supremely pleased with himself.
I shifted my feet, and spoke with wonder. “You’ll be a lion of a man, and can get plenty of pretty Guards to serve you day, and night.”
Ulrich snorted and chuckled softly, and Germanicus frowned at me, and then turned away, a look of burning fury on his face.
Both Postumus and Drusus tried to avoid him, as the final preparations were made. Germanicus, accompanying us to Tiberius in Illyricum, was going to be insufferable. The honors heaped on his shoulders were growing far too many, and he had come to expect what Gaius had enjoyed.
Patience wasn’t his strongest point.
Neither was virtue, or modesty.
“He is young, eh?” Wandal muttered. “He might—"
“He is a killer,” I said critically.
Wandal grunted. “I know what he is. So are we. Antonia is not—”
“Not happy,” I added. She would not be happy with Germanicus, not ever again, and Livilla and Drusus the Younger getting engaged made her even less happy. That had been a surprise to her. Her children were growing, and all displeased her, and yet, Rome loved them, save for Claudius, who was deemed an idiot even by Antonia.
Livilla married to Drusus the Younger.
I felt sorry for Drusus.
Livia had been happy, glowing, and growing old with joy and peace, and when I saw her. Thankfully not too often, as she seemed to have settled into a private, silent life with Augustus, waiting patiently to see her son overshadow all others. She always gave me a cruel, knowing look, as if she were an asp waiting for me to step the wrong way.
Augustus was rarely seen. The three years had aged him horribly.
He met people in his home, suffered from dark moods, and even his clients visited him less often, and rather waited for Tiberius, who travelled between the North and Rome.
Germanicus was walking back and forth. “A questor will have position with the legions, when the war begins. I shall see the enemy, close.”
“Postumus is going to stop him,” Ulrich said softly. “Watch him.”
Postumus stepped close, and clasped a hand on the shoulder of Germanicus. Germanicus flinched as he looked up to the eyes of a man
that was rumored mad. Postumus knew he would likely never see Rome again, and so he spoke harshly. “Good luck, Germanicus, if we see the enemy. Our fates await. Let us find glory and position. Augustus is like a father to both of us. Though,” he said with a small smile, “he has only adopted me. Why is that, I wonder.”
It was true. Augustus had, in haste and panic adopted Postumus, while Germanicus had been adopted by Tiberius, and the fact was well known to Germanicus. Germanicus frowned briefly, and scrubbed a hand on his fine sculpted leather armor, thinking deeply.
A centurion appeared, and with him a hundred Praetorians, and they escorted all of us in a long, armed caravan. Together we travelled north for the province of Illyricum.
***
Weeks later, moving at a leisurely pace because Germanicus and Postumus brought gifts from Augustus to cities and towns of Northern Italy, then to the people of Noricum, and finally to the tribes of Pannonia, we arrived amid the rolling hills and wooded fields stretching around the great city of Carnutum, where Tiberius was gathering his mighty army. To our north, the great River Danubius glittered a wide, green-blue ribbon across the greens and browns of the land, and over it, I knew, the Quadi and the Marcomanni waited for the war, gathering their warbands, and training the men. Most of the Roman legions had moved from Dalmatia to Siscia, then north to Pannonia, and finally to Carnutum, and the local auxilia was gathering there as well.
There were tens of thousands of such local militia.
The land was filled with the camps of a truly gigantic army. It would be terrible strain on the land to feed it.
“They say,” Germanicus muttered, eyeing the lines of marching troops that were moving to the side of the road as we rode forward with our wagons and horses, “that there are two more legions in Moesia and Macedonia, and they will march here soon enough as well.”
Drusus the Younger nodded. He looked unhappy.
The Bane of Gods: A Novel of Germania and Rome (Hraban Chronicles Book 5) Page 32