Her eyes shut again, and seemed to completely disappear beneath those wrinkled lids.
“No,” she said as if she had discovered something fascinating, “you’re afraid of being remembered. But remembered poorly. By your men, your mother, friends, lover…your fellow Romans.”
“Of course I want to be remembered as a good man. All do, or should,” I replied.
“You’re living for your epitaph. You’re a man already dead, at least in your own mind. You must live in the present, warrior. In this world, not the next. Each day you do not, you miss an opportunity to write your legacy.”
My heart beat quicker still, and I wondered what she meant. I don’t think she was referring to my memoir.
“Legacies aren’t written on scrolls or iron tablets, but in the hearts and memories of men. Every day you waste an opportunity to speak into the lives of the men you serve with, your legacy wanes away.”
I started to reply, but she opened her eyes again, and this time with a piercing glare.
“For that is why you are here, is it not? For your men? For those who have already died beside you, and for those who may yet still die?”
“Some men think I’m a coward for surviving a great battle. Some in my own family feel the same,” I blurted out without thinking. I was under her spell.
“How can you be a coward, when you have given the greater sacrifice? They sacrificed but a moment and now will commune with their loves ones in a hall of heroes. But you linger on, losing sleep and the ability to eat, to reconcile with your conscience.”
“It isn’t the same. Not in my mind, or in anyone else’s.”
She ignored me and continued. “The great general himself once struggled to sleep at night.”
“He told you this?” I said, straining to imagine Marius saying those words to a prophetess.
“No.” She looked away. “But he didn’t have to. The great general no longer kills with the sword but with the wave of a hand and the point of a finger. So now he doesn’t sleep at all. And sometime, warrior, the same may be asked of you.”
She looked at me again, and for the first time, her eyes fixed into mine, searching deeply. I was afraid of what she found.
“I would rather train horses,” I said with a gulp.
A frown creased her purple lips.
“And the dead would rather be alive, but it isn’t the right of a man to determine his sacrifices. They did not choose, and neither do you.”
I was transfixed, unable to look away from those deep pools of her eyes, when suddenly she struck my forehead with her palm. And then again, harder.
When I collected myself, stricken and perplexed, her thin brows were burrowed and her cracked lips were formed in a menacing snarl.
“So do what the gods command! Be the man you must be!” She released my hand, and only then did I realize how intense her grip had become.
She stood and tossed more incense on the fire, which was followed by a puff of smoke and fresh crackling.
“Go, I must rest,” she said.
I stood and picked up my helmet as Martha sank back into her pillows, a hand over her eyes.
“You look stricken, friend,” Lucius said as I entered our quarters. “Have you seen a Gorgon?”
“Something much more frightening, in my estimation,” I replied, sitting on the chest at the foot of my bed.
“There’s no blood in your face. What is it, then?” he asked.
I returned the most serious look I could muster.
“A woman who could see right through me.” Lucius erupted with laughter before I finished speaking.
“Now don’t make me write a letter to Arrea, amicus!”
“No, no, it was Marius’s prophetess. That Numidian woman we hear so many whispers about.” I unbuckled my helm and scratched at my chin. “I don’t know if she’s sent from Mount Olympus or Hades, but she seems to know all about me.”
“I can answer that one for you: she’s from Africa! All sorts of conjurers and magicians down there. And you always called me the superstitious one!” He plopped down on my bed.
“Damn it, Lucius, what have I told you about sitting on my bed? You’re covered in mud!” I felt very juvenile for a moment, but old friends have a habit of bringing that sort of thing out of you. In response to my complaining, he messed up the blankets and ruffled the pillow, forcing me to pick it up and hit him with it. We laughed for a moment, ignoring the confused and slightly embarrassed glances of the other tribunes in the tent.
Then I remembered all that Martha had said.
“Lucius,” I said, interrupting our playtime, “have I been an infernal grump since we arrived here?”
His brows burrowed as he pulled his own trunk nearer and took a seat.
“What do you mean?”
“Marius says I’m demoralizing the men,” I said, ignoring the fact that the ears of the other tribunes were perking up.
Lucius exhaled. “He’s just worried about you, as I am.”
“I’m certain the consul is worried about many things, but I doubt that my well-being is one of them,” I said. Lucius didn’t reply. If he had nothing to positive to say, he’d rather not speak; it was just his way. But his silence told me everything I needed to know.
“Come on, then.” I stood and fastened my helmet.
“Where to?” Lucius looked up with wide eyes, as if I were talking about deserting.
“To spar.”
“To spar?”
“That prisoner says I need to know how to fight single-handedly, and all I know is unit tactics. So…let’s spar.” It took him a moment, but eventually a grin split across his lips.
“You don’t have to ask twice to get me to beat up on you a bit.” He grabbed his helmet and ensured his lorica was tight. As we exited, the grin vanished from his face. “What about your leg?”
“I don’t think that will stop the Cimbri, do you, amicus?” I said with a grin. “I’m fine. You’re not getting scared, are you?”
“I’ll get the wooden swords, then.”
We gathered a few practice gladii and shields and met in the road between the praetorium and our quarters.
“Here?” I asked as I looked around.
“I don’t see any chariots racing through, do you?” he said, steadying himself behind his shield.
“As you wish.”
Some of the mules who were just finishing up with their second watch gathered around.
“Aye, what’s going on ’ere?” one shouted.
“I’ve got six denarii on Tribune Hirtuleius!”
“I’ll bet a skin of wine on Tribune One Eye!” said another, laughing.
“We never had quite an audience growing up, did we, brother?” I asked as we began to circle one another.
He lunged forward but then stepped back as I approached. We continued to wheel about.
“Remember how I used to whip you when we played with sticks out in your grandfather’s pastures?” I said, noticing more and more mules gather to watch us.
“I believe I was a bit smaller than you then.”
“I think I still have a few inches on—” Before I finished speaking, he swung high. I deflected it with my shield at the last possible moment. I didn’t remember swordplay moving so quickly with two eyes.
He already had the advantage. I was on the defensive and felt unable to attack. My sword arm was paralyzed as I fixed my one eye on the movements of his feet.
He lunged forward, but this time planted his feet and pivoted to the side. He struck a decisive blow to my shoulder with the tip of the wooden gladius.
“Come on, brother, you can do better than that,” he said, giving me enough time to reposition myself.
He came again, this time from my blind side. I shifted my shield in time to deflect the initial blow, but he recoiled quickly and cut at my ankle.
“Anyone could do better than this,” he said with a smirk, looking away for only a moment to nod triumphantly at the spectators.
“You’ve been practicing,” I said, forcing a smile.
“I’ve waited a long time to get my revenge.”
He shuffled forward now, swinging savagely from left to right. As I followed the movement of the wooden tip, trying to match it with my shield, Lucius brought the crest of his own toward my nose, causing the light of my eye to vanish for a moment.
I stepped back with a grunt and immediately felt the iron taste of blood on my lips.
“Ready to end it for the day?”
“I had no idea you were such a showman, Lucius,” I said, but I repositioned myself to let him know I wasn’t done.
As the blood settled on my tongue, the prophetess’s rolling eyes returned to my mind. The chatter of the soldiers circling us faded away, as did the stinging of my nose. The focus of my eye seemed to fade a bit, but the sound of Lucius’s sandals in the dirt became crisp. I heard the jingling of his chain-mail lorica.
This time when he attacked from my blindside, I met the wooden blade with a bash of the shield, and then shoved my own into his rib cage.
He stumbled back and shot me a look of surprise.
“That might leave a bruise,” he said with a cough.
I puffed out my bleeding nose and smiled at him.
He approached more carefully now. This time, I approached him as well. I swung, he deflected. But I kneed him in the thigh while he was off-balance, sending him to a knee. Before he could readjust, I placed the tip of my practice sword against his neck.
He looked up and we both cackled.
“Well, who wins, then?” one of the mules asked anyone listening.
“The one with the sword to the other’s neck, half brain!” shouted another.
“The other’s bleeding, that’s got to count for something.”
I shoved the wooden tip of the sword into the dirt and offered Lucius a hand.
“You just intimidated me with that one-eyed and mean scowl. It’s not quite fair, you know?” Lucius smiled. “I’m a much more pleasing target.”
Before I could debate Lucius’s boasting, a cry sounded from across the camp. It echoed off the walls and in our helms. It took a moment for us to determine where it originated from.
As it continued, it became clear that the wailing belonged to our general. Marius’s voice was unmistakable.
We dropped our sparing gear and sprinted though the crowd of soldiers.
The frozen mud had been converted into liquid by the efforts of marching soldiers, and it splashed along our feet as we ran.
Lucius and I arrived along with several other officers and mules, to see Marius down on a knee with a hand over his face. Sulla was trying to help him to his feet.
“I will kill them all! I swear by Jupiter, Mars, and all the gods…I will kill them all!” he shouted, revealing a face swollen with anger, veins bursting on his forehead.
“Come, now,” Sulla said.
“No!” Marius pulled away from Sulla’s grip and stumbled a few steps. He approached the terrified orderly who had delivered the letter and grabbed him by the lorica before thrusting him to the dirt. He raised his fist to strike him, but Sulla quickly coiled his arm around Marius’s to stop him.
At last he relented and looked around the camp, breathing heavily, his lips only beginning to quiver. Such a display was unbefitting of the general, and Sulla knew this. He tried to pull him in and lead him back inside the tent, but the righteous anger in Marius’s eyes was not to be dimmed.
“When I am done with the Cimbri, I’ll go back to Rome and kill them all!” Marius shouted, his voice now hoarse. Sulla knelt beside him and whispered quietly. I was barely able to hear him.
“Marius, perhaps we should return to the praetorium. We can grieve for him privately,” he said. Marius rubbed a forearm over his lips rather forcefully and blinked rapidly.
My heart began to pound as I thought of the possibilities. I look at Lucius, whose brows were burrowed and his chest heaving. He shook his head at me as if to say he had no idea what that letter might have contained.
Marius finally stood and allowed Sulla to lead him away, his eyes still fixed on the scribblings before him.
“Back to your training, soldiers!” Sulla shouted over his shoulder. He met eyes with me and gestured for me to follow.
When I arrived at the praetorium behind the consul, he let his tears flow freely. In all my years, I had never seen a man appear so contrary to his nature. He laid his head down on his desk, pushing scrolls and provisioning documents aside.
“Have a look.” Sulla pried the letter from Marius’s grip and extended it to me.
“They killed…they killed my boy,” Marius said and then moaned into the wood of his desk.
I read the words carefully, over and over, to ensure I had understood it correctly. Marius’s son-in-law, Maximus, the former consul and close ally of Marius, was indeed dead. The letter contained no real information, and certainly no condolences. All it said was that the man was dead, and that he’d been struck by lightning.
“Tribune, go out there and tell no one else to enter. The two of you can stay, but this is no time for a social gathering,” Sulla ordered. Lucius nodded and turned before he had finished reading the words.
“Maximus was in the prime of his health,” I said, almost to myself.
“Struck by lightning. The ancient way of saying that he was murdered, and for just causes. No doubt they spread such lies about Romulus when they finally smothered him.” Sulla exhaled. Marius was weeping more softly now.
“Why would they do this? Who would have anything to gain from Maximus’s death?” I asked. It didn’t seem real. I thought of Maximus and his infectious laughter, and how he had so bravely led us into battle. He had been a friend and a leader to me, and he still seemed very much alive. If there was ever an honorable man, Maximus was one of them. It seemed as though the gods had completely ignored justice, instead allowing cruel men to prosper.
“He was on trial for Arausio. As the evidence was being collected, the prosecution must have concluded that they could not win—that Caepio was the real culprit. If they dragged him through the courts and allowed him to testify before the people, it would have shamed Caepio—but more importantly, all of his family allies. They could not allow that to happen,” Sulla said.
“So they killed my boy. To save face.” Marius raised his head. His cheeks were still damp from the tears, but they had dried in his eyes. Now all that remained was a quiet hatred.
“Who, then? The lawyers? The leading families? Caepio himself? Who? Who would have done this?” I asked.
Lucius entered again, eyes wide.
“What has happened?” he asked. Sulla handed him the letter.
“It does not matter who did it. I will make them all pay. They’ll soon know that Gaius Marius is no man to be trifled with,” the consul said.
“I wouldn’t talk like that if I were you, Marius,” Sulla said. “You might find a lawsuit of your own upon your return to Rome.” Marius stood abruptly, allowing his chair to clatter to the ground behind him.
“You will call me ‘Consul,’” he said, pointing a finger at Sulla.
“Apologies, Consul,” Sulla said, defiantly meeting Marius’s eyes. He waited until the general’s anger dissipated. Marius picked up the chair and returned to his seat.
“Quintus Caepio will be the first to go,” Marius said to himself. “Volsenio! Bring me pen and parchment,” Marius barked.
Sulla threw up his hands in exasperation.
“I’ll have his body rotting in the Tiber by the time we begin campaigning.” Marius now lifted his eyes and looked directly at each of us. There would be no lawsuit. No one would ever know. “Out with you. All of you. Leave me be,” he said as he began his scribbling. Sulla was the first to leave, and Lucius followed him. I lingered for a moment, sea
rching for anything to say that might dissuade Marius from this mad pass. I could think of nothing.
I departed in time to grab Lucius by the arm. I nodded for him to follow me back to the tribunes’ barracks.
“Did you hear what he was saying?” I said, doing all I could to tamper my fear and keep my voice quiet.
“I did.” Lucius looked over his shoulder to ensure we were alone. We were, save for Apollonius, who was tidying up my quarters.
“What are we supposed to do?” I pleaded.
“What can we do?” Lucius asked.
Apollonius stopped his sweeping and looked to see if we were in need of help, but inferred from our disposition that it was better to leave us alone.
“No, Apollonius, join us,” I said, and patted the bed for him to sit down beside us.
“Lucius, he plans to assassinate a Roman citizen!” I said through gritted teeth. Apollonius’s eyes spread with fear. “Tell no one what you’ve heard,” I said, and Apollonius nodded, already knowing this.
“Just as they assassinated his son,” Lucius said.
I shook my head, fury rising.
“That does not make it right. And we do not know who did it.”
“There is nothing for us to do, Quintus,” Lucius said.
“Caepio has a son and a wife, Lucius.”
“After all that he did to me…after all he did to you, you want to do something to save him?” Lucius asked, perplexed.
I stood and paced for a moment.
The Caepiones had taken me into their home. Despite the corruption that they deliberately involved themselves in, and tried to embroil me in as well, they had taken me in. They’d eventually threatened my life and sent henchmen to attack Lucius and the consul elect, Maximus, whom he was protecting. I was just as aware of all this as Lucius, but they had taken me in none the less. I had dined on their bread and shared their wine. I had walked with Quintus Caepio’s son, Marcus, to the forum, and listened to his wife, Junia, read poetry.
I did want to see their family’s downfall. I wanted to see power in the hands of those who deserved it, like Marius, but I couldn’t stand by and allow one of them to be butchered.
The Noise of War Page 11