Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  I saw the boat, about fifty feet out into the river already, and the men all looking back at me and shouting encouragement. Throwing myself forward, I thrust my arms out in an awkward dive, and just before my upper body hit the water, I felt something slash by close to my head, making a splash just ahead of me, then I was swimming, head down as I tried to close the distance to the boat, which was still perhaps fifty feet away since they had begun paddling. As I lifted my head to take a breath, I saw a spear slam into the boat, but it hit the curved side at an angle and bounced off into the river, then I dropped my head, intending to reach the back of the boat without taking another breath. In the process, I completely forgot that we were dragging a tree behind us in the water, which I was reminded about when my head slammed into the jagged end where we had chopped it down. The pain was terrific, feeling as if my scalp had just been sliced off, but it was the impact that would have killed me because it knocked me senseless as a thousand lights exploded in my head. I was not out for long, but it would have been long enough, and I do recall making an attempt to reach out and grab the tree, which I brushed with one hand. When I tried again, however, I hit nothing but water, and despite my dazed condition, I was certain that I was either about to drown or one of the Brigantes hurling his spear would hit his target.

  The hand that grabbed a fistful of my tunic and jerked me roughly enough that it made my head snap back did more to clear my mind than anything else, as I became more aware of my surroundings.

  “I’ve got you, Pilus Prior.”

  The fact that I immediately recognized Cotta’s voice I took as a good sign, but I was also confused, because as my vision began to clear, I saw the back of the boat still more than forty feet away. It was certainly true that Cotta had a good grasp on the shoulder of my tunic, and I could feel by the current of the water around my body that we were moving, although it took another couple of heartbeats for me to gather my wits enough to have a basic idea of our situation. Cotta had one hand on me, but his other arm was wrapped around the end of the tree that we were hauling back across the river, which explained why I was still such a good distance from the boat. Once I determined this, only then did I turn my attention back towards the Brigantes side of the river, except that I was having trouble seeing out of one eye because it had what I assumed was river water in it, but when I reached up to wipe it, I instantly could tell by the stickiness that it was blood, forcing me to use just one eye. It was enough to see that several of the Brigantes, still on horseback had plunged into the shallow water, a couple up to their horses’ bellies, where they were shouting all manner of things at us. Thankfully, they were not swimming their horses after us, and I suspect that even if I had the use of both of my eyes, I would not have noticed that their attention was not actually on us. With Cotta’s help, I was able to gain a purchase on the tree, the rough bark scraping my arm as I hugged the trunk, and it was just as I was doing so when I was alerted by a shout from Acisculus.

  “The boys are coming back!”

  I had been looking back behind us, and because of my position, it was somewhat difficult for me to turn my body enough so that the eye that was not filled with blood could look downriver. And, if Motius had not attached a lantern to the prow as I had ordered for their return, I would not have seen it as they approached Petuar. By the time the men had paddled the boat across the river, I was already shivering violently from the cold water, and I could hear Cotta’s teeth chattering. Then, finally, my feet touched the muddy bottom, and I released my grip on the tree, emerging from the water, Cotta following me as I staggered ashore. I was extremely dizzy, but I tried to hide it as I reached the edge of the dock, Acisculus guiding the boat back into its former spot, not that we thought the theft would go unnoticed. It took two tries for me to step up onto the wooden dock, then I felt Cotta’s hand on my back, giving me a boost, but I made sure to turn about and offer my arm to pull him up.

  “You know that you’re not going to have to worry about being put on cac duty for the foreseeable future.”

  He laughed at this, but I could also see that he was pleased, then he pointed to my head, “That’s a nasty gash, Pilus Prior. You’ll probably need to have it sewn up.”

  Cotta was right on both accounts, but other events occurred that meant it would not be seen to for the immediate future. First, the Brizo was approaching the dock while Acisculus supervised the men of the working party as they dragged the tree out of the water, so I began making my way to the spot where Motius would moor the ship. I could see the shapes of my men on deck, and I wondered what they had to be thinking after essentially doing nothing but donning their armor, getting on the ship, rowing downstream then anchoring out in the river for perhaps a watch, then turning around and returning. The plank was dropped, and immediately, Gemellus led the First down the plank and onto the dock. Thanks to the torchlight, my gashed scalp was clearly visible, which Gemellus immediately noticed, forgetting to salute in the process.

  “What happened to you, Pilus Prior?” He sounded so concerned that I did not feel right about snapping at him about his lapse, and I briefly explained what had transpired.

  Saloninus arrived before I had finished, and while he did not hear everything, he heard the important point as I pointed to the tree that was still dripping water onto the dock.

  “We got the mast,” I told them.

  “Weren’t we supposed to get two? Or three?” Saloninus asked, and this time, I could not restrain myself.

  “I fucking know how many we were supposed to bring back, but we got intercepted by some of those fucking Brigantes that you were supposed to draw away!” Even as I said it, I knew it was unfair, so before Saloninus could respond, I held up a hand. “I apologize, Aulus. I didn’t mean to imply you and the boys are at fault in any way. It was just one of those things, nothing more.” I went on to describe what had taken place and how we had been forced to cut loose the second candidate for a new mast from the sledge to enable us to have a chance to escape. “All in all,” I concluded, “we were fortunate. Gallus is hurt, but I don’t know how badly.”

  “And you,” Saloninus pointed at my head.

  “I really wish you’d stop reminding me of that,” I grumbled. “Every time I forget about it, someone is bringing it up.”

  “Well,” Saloninus grinned at me, which I understood, because he was facing me so that he could see Alex coming at a trot, “I think you might not want to forget about it right now, because you’re about to be…”

  “Pilus Prior!”

  The sound of Alex’s voice made me groan, knowing what was coming, and while I turned around to face him, it was reluctantly. And, not surprisingly, he came to an abrupt stop, staring up at my head.

  “What did you do to yourself?”

  To my ears, he sounded as if he was accusing me of something.

  “Why do you think I did it to myself?” I protested. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

  “I know you,” he shot back, completely unconvinced. “I won’t be surprised to find out that you did something stupid, like attack a band of those barbarians all by yourself!”

  This was not exactly what had taken place, but I knew that by the time the men of the working party were done, this would be precisely how it would be told, that I had attacked a warband of fifty Brigantes warriors on my own, so I did not even attempt to argue.

  It helped the situation with Alex that the gods decided to intervene, and it was Saloninus who correctly pointed out, “I think that’s about to be the least of your concerns, Pilus Prior.” When I glanced at him, I saw him pointing to the opposite end of the dock, the downstream side, and I followed his finger to see, coming out of the gloom, men on horseback, moving at a quick trot through the open gate.

  “Fuck me,” I groaned. “That has to be Ivomagus.”

  Which it was, and before I had time to gather my wits, he was clattering onto the dock, then dismounting from his horse to come striding up to us, and I doubt I would have needed
the torches to see how angry he was. Fortunately for both of us, he did not make any kind of overtly aggressive move, but it was not lost on me that immediately behind him, the black-bearded warrior and about a dozen other men were following behind him, and they were most certainly looking for a fight.

  Stopping a few paces away, Ivomagus’ tone was cold, and for the first time, I heard a hint of the same kind of iron that his brother Cogidubnus possessed in abundance. “Centurion, I hope that you have an acceptable explanation for your actions today.”

  There was, I reflected, only one way to find out, and that was to tell him everything.

  “Before we talk, I would like to see to my men, and to have this,” I pointed up to my head, which had at least stopped bleeding, “attended to. Can we talk in our camp?”

  “No,” he said flatly. “While I will allow you to attend to the things you mentioned, you will come to Lord Segovax’s hall immediately after you are finished. And you will come alone. I will have men waiting to escort you.”

  He did not wait for me to respond one way or another, turning to stride away, but it was the black-bearded warrior who, not following Ivomagus immediately, walked very slowly past me, glaring at me as he did so.

  Then, to our shock, he growled in barely understandable Latin, “I will kill you one day, Roman.”

  Honestly, I was too surprised, and perhaps still too dazed, to reply, so he took the honors in this exchange, leaving me to wonder: How many of these bastards actually understand what we’re saying?

  Chapter Five

  As Gemellus had predicted, the gash on my head did require being stitched up, and since our medici were not with us, it was Alex who performed the task, completely unmoved by my yelps of pain and growls of promised retribution.

  “Stop acting like a woman,” he finally snapped at me. “I’ve helped amputate a man’s arm who’s whined less than you have.”

  That settled me down, but our squabbling was not done when he attempted to swathe my head with a thick bandage that would have made putting my helmet on impossible. However, this was one time I won.

  “I have to meet Ivomagus at the lord’s hall, and I’m not going there without wearing my armor and my helmet.”

  His expression told me that I had made my point, so he wound a single layer around my head, although he warned me, “It’s going to hurt without much padding.”

  “It’s going to hurt more if I get my head bashed in because I’m not wearing a helmet,” I countered.

  “What are you going to tell him, Gnaeus?”

  I considered Alex’s question, then said simply, “I’m going to tell him the truth.”

  He helped me into my armor then, which he had carried back to the camp, but when he handed me my harness, he did so by picking up the scabbard, and he frowned.

  “It’s wet,” he said. I immediately recalled this would be the case and explained why, but when I finished, he did not say anything, instead trying to draw my gladius, the Gallic blade that is now more than fifty years old and yet is still the best weapon I have ever used, but it took him two tries.

  “Pluto’s balls, of course!” I exclaimed, and I was quite chagrined that I had not thought about it. “The wood of the scabbard soaked up the water and made it swell.”

  He went to the chest that had been aboard the Brizo and took out the spare scabbard now holding the gladius I had Decimus Scrofa make in Ubiorum, which was quite battered and had been the scabbard that had held the gladius I carried when I was Gnaeus Volusenus, a paid man from the Equestrian Order who thought his cac did not stink. While he did this, I grabbed a rag and carefully wiped the moisture from the blade I still think of as my father’s, wishing that we had some olive oil, but we had run out days earlier.

  “Thank you,” I told Alex as he handed me the old scabbard, which I attached to my harness. “If you hadn’t noticed that, I might have been fucked.”

  I saw that he was pleased, but all he said was, “Hopefully, you won’t need to draw it.”

  Nodding to him, I left the tent, walking to the Porta Praetoria, and I cannot say I was surprised to see that, just as Ivomagus had promised, there were a half-dozen Parisii warriors, but there were seven horses. Without being told, I walked over and leapt onto the horse’s back; if this impressed them because I was fully armored, I was not complaining. None of them said anything, but when they kicked their mounts and began heading towards the hall, I followed along. I was not fooled by how three of them chose to ride ahead, and three behind, but I felt reasonably confident that I was safe enough, for the moment. We could see the hall from a good distance; the outside was lit by torches, and we trotted up to the entrance, the doors being closed this time, and I swung down without looking anywhere but straight ahead, mainly because that black-bearded bastard was standing with some other warriors, and I felt his glare on me as I walked past. Honestly, I did not trust myself enough to look in his direction; I would liken it to two fighting dogs who are separated only by some iron bars, both of them wanting to tear into each other. In fact, I experienced what I would describe as an itch in my gladius hand whenever I was around someone I really, really want to kill, and at that moment, he was at the top of the list and my hand was itching. One of the doors swung open, and I entered to see that Ivomagus was seated at the same table where we had held our first meeting. If anything, the hall was more brightly lit, which made it uncomfortably hot, which I suspected was by design, but this time, he was not alone. Ringing the walls of the hall on two sides were men, all of them armed, staring at me with hard eyes and, if my guess was correct, a fair amount of hatred.

  Somewhat to my surprise, Ivomagus stood and indicated the bench on the opposite side of the table, saying only, “Please take a seat, Centurion Pullus.”

  I certainly was not going to disobey, but just as I had the first time, I chose to straddle the bench, with my gladius on the opposite side of the table, and I saw that Ivomagus did not miss this.

  “We,” he began, “have some matters to discuss.”

  Despite the gravity of the moment, I had to smile at his understatement, but I did not hesitate to agree, “Yes, we do, Ivomagus.”

  “Perhaps,” he began, and his voice turned cold, “you can explain what happened today.”

  So I told him everything, and I told him the truth. As I did so, I studied his expression, but while Ivomagus may not have been a king, he was from the royal house of the Parisii, and just like our patricians, he had been trained from birth to never, ever let his true thoughts and emotions show, unless he chose to do so. He listened closely but said nothing until I was through.

  After a span of several heartbeats, Ivomagus asked, “And why did you not wait until my brother was back? Why did you feel that you had to carry out this…plan of yours?”

  “Because I had no confidence that your brother would make the right decision,” I answered without hesitation.

  It would make sense that my response angered Ivomagus; that it did not was immediately apparent, at least to me, and it strengthened my belief that Ivomagus was not as convinced that Cogidubnus should be the one wearing the crown as he liked to portray.

  “Why do you say that?” he asked instead.

  “Every day that we stay here,” I answered immediately and honestly, “the risk of something bad happening increases.”

  “’Something bad’?” He cocked his head. “Please explain what you mean.”

  “I know that there are men among the Parisii who are trying to convince your brother that we should be slaughtered,” I said. Then I twisted slightly so that I could point directly at the black-bearded warrior, who I had seen enter the hall out of the corner of my eye after I sat down. “Men like him,” I continued, making sure I looked him directly in the eye. Then I deliberately turned away from him back to Ivomagus, savoring the look of outrage on his face as I did so. “But, Ivomagus, you need to hear me when I say this. If your brother listens to those men, and he attacks us,” I hated myself for admitti
ng, “yes, you will undoubtedly slaughter us to the last man. But,” I said harshly, “I swear to you, by both your gods and those of Rome, not only will every one of my men kill at least two Parisii, but before a year passes, you will see the full might of Rome descend on you and your people, and our Imperator will not rest until the Parisii tribe is nothing but a memory.” Before he could respond, I went on, “I am trying to get my men back home, away from Britannia, and without losing any more men or having to kill those with whom we have no quarrel. So,” I concluded, “I made the decision that it was better to risk a fight with the Brigantes in order to be ready to leave in a couple of days than it was to spend more than a week here where we’re not wanted.”

  Oh, I knew I was running a risk with this, declaring the power of Rome and our ability to destroy an entire tribe, but as harsh as it may have been, I was simply reciting a fact, and I counted on Ivomagus to know enough about us to recognize this was true, and more importantly, to not let his pride dictate his response. For a span of several heartbeats, I was worried that I was wrong, as Ivomagus’ face darkened, his mouth twisted into what I took to be a snarl, but it was how he half rose off his bench that caused my right hand to drop from the table into my lap. Then he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly as he sank back down onto his bench.

  “Perhaps,” he allowed, “there is truth in what you say. But,” his voice hardened slightly, “by doing as you did, you understand that you risked the peace between my people and the Brigantes?”