Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “Tell Saloninus,” I addressed Alex, “that we’re going to be speaking in Greek.” Of course, I was already using it. “Let’s see if these bastards know that.” As Alex whispered this to Saloninus, I surreptitiously glanced over at Ivomagus, encouraged by what I saw on his face. When Alex turned back to me, I began, “They’re holding me hostage because they think that the Propraetor will be willing to pay for…”

  “What language are you speaking?” Ivomagus interrupted. “Why are you using this to communicate?”

  I did not even try and hide my satisfaction as I told him cheerfully, “Because I knew you savages don’t speak Greek, Ivomagus, that’s why. And,” I could not resist, “that’s what truly civilized people use anyway.”

  I was not surprised that this angered him, and he explained this development to Cogidubnus while never taking his eyes off of me. If anything, his brother reacted even worse, snarling something to Ivomagus.

  “My brother commands that you speak in Latin,” Ivomagus snapped, to which I tried to give a laugh that sounded genuine.

  “Or what?” I shot back scornfully. “You’re going to kill me? Right here? Right now? In front of,” since my hands were still bound, I had to use my head to indicate the Legionaries of my First Century who were standing shoulder to shoulder, each of them holding one of their pila on their shoulders, “my men?” I paused, then something made me ask suddenly, “Are you a wagering man, Ivomagus?” This startled him, but even if he was inclined to answer, I was not going to wait. “Because I’m willing to wager my ransom that you, your cunnus brother, and,” I used my head again to make a circular gesture to encompass the Parisii around us, “every one of these dogs will be dead before you can even touch me. Are you willing to accept that wager?”

  I got my reward from the expression of helpless fury on Ivomagus’ face as he translated what I had said, and judging from Cogidubnus’ own look, which mirrored his brother’s, I assumed that Ivomagus had interpreted every word.

  Rather than answer verbally, Ivomagus deliberately turned away to stare straight ahead, and I could not resist another jibe. “That’s what I thought.” Then, ignoring his hiss of frustrated rage, I turned back to Alex, resuming in Greek, “As I was saying, these stupid bastards think that the Propraetor is going to be willing to pay the ransom.”

  “How much is it?” Alex asked, and despite knowing this was coming, I still hesitated; I suppose because I was still struggling to comprehend what a massive sum it was.

  “He wants my weight,” I swallowed, “in gold.”

  Alex’s gasp was barely audible, but when he relayed this to Saloninus, he clearly did it loudly enough that Gemellus, Mus, and several other rankers could hear, enough of them sufficiently astounded that every man outside the camp in my party could hear it. I risked a glance at Ivomagus, and I saw him frowning, but in a manner that indicated he might be having second thoughts about the amount of money his brother was demanding.

  Once my men subsided, I heard how shaken Alex was when he asked, “What do you want me to do, Gnaeus? I mean,” he added quickly, “I do think that…the Propraetor,” I offered a silent prayer of thanks that he understood why I was not using Germanicus’ name, “would pay it.”

  “No,” I cut him off sharply, then repeated, “no. You’re not going to do that.”

  “But then what can we do?”

  “Septimus,” I said, knowing I did not have to use the last name. “You need to go see Septimus.”

  For, dear reader of this account, this was the solution with which I had come up, during the ride from the hall to our camp. I was going to rely on my uncle Septimus, although it is always difficult for me to think of him as such since he is only a couple years older than I am. While Saloninus led our men back to Ubiorum, Alex would make his way to Arelate, where he would prevail on Septimus to scrape up every possible sestertius he could to pay my ransom. I seriously doubted that he could get his hands on that much coinage, especially in gold, but I was gambling my life on the belief that, when Alex returned with whatever amount he brought, the greed of this petty barbarian king would hold sway, because even in my limited contact with the Parisii, I could see they were not a wealthy tribe. Prosperous, yes, but only moderately so, and I was certain that Cogidubnus had never even seen so much gold in one place in his life. Of course, neither had I.

  Now that I had relayed my instructions to Alex, I turned my attention to Saloninus, and for this, I switched back to Latin as I said formally, “Pilus Posterior Saloninus, I am transferring command to you, and you are now the acting Quartus Pilus Prior. Before I do, however, I am giving you this last order. Honor our agreement with these…” I forced myself to refer to them as “…people and leave at first light. Which,” I suddenly noticed that there was a lighter gray along the eastern horizon, “may not be possible given how close to dawn it is, so I amend the order. You will leave as soon as it is possible to leave, and you will return to Ubiorum, and report to the Propraetor as soon as you do. Hopefully,” despite my resolve, I could not stop the emotion I was feeling, “you’ll find the rest of the Cohort waiting for you, and that we haven’t suffered any further loss.” I had to swallow twice before I could continue, “When you report to the Propraetor, however, you will make no mention of my situation. Is that understood?”

  “Pilus Prior!” Saloninus interrupted me, his agitation clear, “You can’t expect me not to tell Germanicus why we’re returning without you! How am I supposed to do that? Lie to him?”

  Despite my irritation that he used Germanicus’ name, although it did not really matter, I also immediately knew he was right, and I had to stop myself from uttering a curse aloud.

  I thought for a moment, then as much as I hated it, I admitted, “You’re right, Saloninus. But,” I shook my head since I could not use my hands to emphasize my order, “tell him that I’m making my own arrangements to secure my release, and that I swear on Jupiter’s stone that I’ll return to Ubiorum as quickly as I can. Now,” I took a breath, “do you understand your orders, Pilus Posterior Saloninus?”

  Like the good Centurion of Rome that he is, he responded immediately, “I understand, and will obey, Pilus Prior Pullus.” Then, in a quieter voice that was infinitely more meaningful, he said, “I swear on the standard that I’ll get our boys back home, Gnaeus. They’ll be able to spend the winter with their families.”

  “I know you will,” was all I could think to say, because I could not have managed more than a few more words.

  “Now that you have concluded your business,” Ivomagus spoke up for the first time, and I could hear that he was still angry, “we will be taking the Centurion with us and allow you to make your preparations to depart.” He indicated me, “As your Centurion said, you do not have much time.”

  With that, he reached out and grabbed the reins of my horse that had been allowed to trail, turning my mount’s head.

  “Remember what I said!” I called out, meaning this for Alex.

  “I will! And I’ll be back as soon as I can!” He had to shout this, but I was just happy to hear that he understood.

  “Oy! Barbarian!” Saloninus’ voice rang out, with enough iron in it that our party, which was now about twenty paces away, pulled up, and we all turned back to see him pointing, not at me but at Cogidubnus, although he addressed Ivomagus, “Tell your cunnus of a brother that if any of you misbegotten sons of whores do anything to Pilus Prior Pullus, I’ll be back. And,” he shouted, “I’ll be bringing the rest of Rome with me, because Rome never forgets and Rome never forgives! Remember Carthage!”

  This last was delivered with the kind of bellowing shout that we use in battle, but all Saloninus did was speak the truth, one that has been delivered across the known world, and even in the torchlight, I could see Ivomagus’ face go pale. And, for the first time, I had a broad smile on my face.

  The way I knew my men had departed was when Ivomagus showed up in the same makeshift room where I had been held, and while he had two war
riors with him, neither were Berdic. Somewhat surprisingly to me, he was the one who actually sliced through my bonds, although he was speaking as he did so.

  “I assume that you are intelligent enough to know not to do anything foolish, Centurion. And,” I did notice how he almost hopped backward immediately after he severed the last piece of the leather thong that had been used to restrain me, “as long as you behave honorably, you will be treated with honor. You will, however,” he added needlessly, “always be under guard.”

  “As long as it’s not Berdic, then I give you my word that I won’t cause any trouble.”

  “That is wise, Centurion,” Ivomagus replied, and I should have noticed how he was moving carefully so that the two warriors were between us. “Berdic is one of our greatest warriors, and I am afraid that you would not fare well against him.”

  Oh, he may not have known me that well, but he knew me well enough, and I just barely managed to restrain myself from behaving in the very manner he had warned me about, although I did take some satisfaction from the flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

  Instead, I simply asked, “How is Berdic, Ivomagus? Is he having any trouble breathing?”

  I will give him credit; he did not say anything to this, instead only walking to the opening created by placing two of the partitions wide enough apart and walking out. When the pair of guards followed him, I realized that he expected me to follow, so I did so, and we walked out into the open part of the hall. There were still remnants from the feast, although several slaves were busy picking up the scraps and bones that littered the floor; I had noticed that the Parisii were indifferent to such niceties as not just dropping the remnants of their meals on the floor. It helped that they also love their hounds, and I had also observed that anything edible thrown down did not remain there very long. Aside from the slaves, the hall was empty of the celebrants, but my eyes went to the central table, which was still arranged as it had been the night before. Most importantly, it was what was on the table that got my attention, or the attention of my stomach.

  Ivomagus indicated the pile of meat and loaf of barley bread as he said, “I suspect that you are hungry, Centurion. Please eat, and once you are finished, my brother is sending his most experienced healer to attend to the wound on your head.”

  I was about to point out there were actually two, and of the two, I was most concerned with the gash that had been stitched up by Alex what seemed to be weeks earlier, then I realized that it would bring up how I suffered that wound. Walking to the table, I dropped down onto the bench, my hand already reaching for a piece of the roast boar that was cold now but was still very good. When a slave came with a pitcher and a wooden cup, I sniffed the contents first, which amused Ivomagus, although he mistook my reason for doing so.

  “I assure you, Centurion, there is no desire to poison you, as you pointed out to me several days ago,” he reminded me, and I confess I had forgotten that moment in the cabin of the ship where I actually felt some sympathy for this treacherous bastard.

  “I’m not worried about poison,” I said shortly. “I just don’t want it to be mead.”

  He chuckled at this, but I ignored him as I stuffed the food in my mouth, then washed it down with water. I consumed everything quickly, and I barely noticed that Ivomagus, the guards, and a couple of the slaves had stopped to watch. Only when I looked up and saw them looking at me did I have a hint they found something unusual, which Ivomagus brought up.

  “Centurion, I do not believe I have ever seen anyone eat as much and as quickly as you.”

  I still had my last mouthful that I was chewing, so I used that as an excuse not to answer immediately, because I sensed that this was something of a peace offering on his part, an attempt to establish at least a veneer of cordiality.

  Somewhat against my first inclination, I decided to accept it, so I shrugged. “I’ve always eaten a lot, and since I joined the Legion, I’ve learned to eat quickly.” I stretched out, let out a loud belch, then asked, “Now what?”

  “Now,” Ivomagus responded with a shrug of his own, “you are free to walk about Petuar.”

  “As long as these two are with me?” I jerked a thumb in their direction, and he nodded, although he said, “For now, yes. We will be rotating your guards. And,” he added, “neither of them speak your tongue, Centurion, nor will any of the others.”

  This made me chuckle, “You’re not taking any chances, are you, Ivomagus?”

  “No,” he agreed, “I am not. And when you return, I am certain the King’s healer will be here to tend to your injuries.”

  There was not much else to say after that, so I got up, and without a backward glance, walked out of the hall. I had to wait for three horses to be saddled, but when I mounted, before I could do so, one of the guards reached out and took the reins, shaking his head and offering a grunt that, frankly, I did not need translated to understand.

  “What is your name?” I asked this guard, who was a bit older than me, with a scar that ran diagonally across his face that meant there was a gap in his reddish mustache and beard. When he only stared at me blankly, I tapped my chest, and said, “Pullus.”

  Then I pointed at him, and while I saw that he understood, before he answered, he glanced at Ivomagus, who was standing in the doorway, who gave him a nod.

  “Cunovindus,” he said, in a surprisingly deep voice. Pointing to his comrade, he supplied, “Tincommius.”

  “Very well, Cunovindus,” I made a sweeping gesture with my hand towards Petuar, “lead the way.”

  I had to stifle my grin at his bemused expression, but he obeyed, and I took comfort in this small victory that I had issued an order. Little did I know how important it would become to find these small ways to fool myself into thinking I had any control over my fate.

  This set the pattern for the next several days, and I will say that Ivomagus was good to his word; I was allowed to roam about more or less as I pleased, but as I learned very quickly, the sights of Petuar can be seen in a morning. Indeed, the real highlight was when the healer, who had been there the first time I came back from Petuar and was surprisingly skilled, pronounced, through Ivomagus, of course, that the stitches Alex had put in could be removed so that I did not have to wear that stupid bandage. And Ivomagus was also telling the truth about rotating the guards; I was never guarded by the same combination of men two days in a row, and it would take a fair amount of time before there was a repetition of the same guard. Nor did they speak a word of Latin, which I tested by calling them a variety of names, but while smiling at them and using a friendly tone as I did so. Some of them were actually decent men who seemed to view my plight with some sympathy, although it never led to them turning their back on me. Honestly, what proved to be the most difficult aspect, aside from the boredom, occurred every market day, which was every fourth day, because there was no way not to see Bronwen there. The first time, which was two days after Saloninus and the men left, I struggled to stop myself from rushing at her to continue my diatribe that had been cut off the day of my capture. That day, a warrior named Gorteryn was one of the guards, and he clearly saw my expression when I caught the glimpse of hair the color of copper at the same stall she had been at when we met. Fortunately, she did not see me…that time, and Gorteryn quietly but firmly interposed himself between me and Bronwen, although he was facing me. He said nothing, just gave a shake of his head, and while I will not lie and say I was thankful at that moment, later, I did appreciate his action.

  The townspeople ignored me for the most part, at least to my face; I caught more sidelong glances or guilty looks when I turned suddenly than I can easily count, but they were not hostile. What proved to be more difficult than I had anticipated was my anger towards Bronwen. When you have a lot of time on your hands, and nothing much to do, I suppose it is natural for a man to dwell on the events that have brought him to his current predicament. And the more I relived what had happened, I began to have some doubts about my certainty that Bronwen
was an active, or even willing participant in my confinement. Cogidubnus was gone, returning to Danum, leaving Ivomagus in charge, and I felt certain that I was more likely to get the truth out of Cogidubnus than Ivomagus about her role, if only because I do not believe he would have cared one way or another about any problems it may have caused her. I do not think it should be surprising that my initial assumption was that Bronwen was Cogidubnus’ woman, or mistress, whatever the Britons call them, and I did know that the king was married, with four children. However, as I thought about it, replaying the scene over and over in my mind, there was nothing between them that gave me any inclination there was some sort of deeper connection, which seemed to indicate that she was being truthful about obeying her king. I considered Ivomagus as a possible lover, yet he had been gone for three years, but it was her demeanor, just before Berdic had knocked me unconscious, that continued to nag at me.

  As time passed, the greater the doubt and the more pressing the need to at least give her an opportunity to explain herself. The question then was, how could I do it? Gorteryn had proven that he had been warned about allowing me to get close to Bronwen, but I had assumed that it was because of Ivomagus’ fear that I would hurt her. What if that was not the reason? This thought came to me in the middle of the night before the third market day after my capture, bringing me bolt upright on the pallet that is the Parisii version of a bed. What if, I wondered, Ivomagus did not want me to talk to her because I might learn the truth? I did not go back to sleep that night, but when morning came, I tried to behave in what had become my normal fashion, consuming enough food that caused anyone who happened to be around me to shake their heads and whisper to each other.

  On this day, while one of the guards was new—his name Lugotorix—the other guard was Cunovindus, the first time there was a repetition in the men guarding me, so I suppose it was natural that I greeted him a bit more warmly. Which, I was pleased to see, he seemed inclined to reciprocate, giving me a smile that was missing a tooth right where the bald patch in his mustache was located. Regardless of this moment of amity, he still took the reins, but I just rolled my eyes, having accepted this indignity, which prompted a chuckle. The other man, Lugotorix, was a dour youth whose facial hair was still sparse, and at first, I thought he might view this duty as beneath him, but I would learn that this was just his nature. Just a day or two into my captivity, I began trying to pick up words in the Parisii tongue, but it quickly became obvious that Ivomagus had given instructions that the guards were not to participate. Still, I always persisted, and what I learned was that, when I pointed to a seemingly inconsequential thing, like a cow for example, all but two of the guards had seen anything suspicious in telling me. This was how I passed the time, pointing to a bird flying overhead, or at a tree, and this day, it was Cunovindus who provided the answers with a grin and occasional shake of his head, presumably at the similarity between teaching this huge Roman next to him and his children.