Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  “She would have been the best Legionary of all of us!” Septimus proclaimed, his words slightly slurred as he held up a cup towards her.

  The rest of us all raised our cups, shouting our agreement as she glowed with pleasure; this was the moment where I felt a stab of anguish at the thought that, once we were finished, I had to tell them everything. When the sweet course arrived, we learned that adding kinnamon to stewed apples makes them even more delicious.

  “This was all the children wanted to eat.” Birgit laughed.

  They had been the only ones relegated to the kitchen, but when Miriam got up the first time to attend to them, Birgit stopped her, saying firmly, “Placidia and Horatius have everything under control. You need to stay here and enjoy your meal.”

  The manner in which she said this, and more importantly, the manner in which my fiery aunt meekly obeyed reminded me that Birgit had been Miriam’s nurse, and had protected her when the family had been ambushed by the Latobici when my father and his family were returning to Siscia. It was something that I had observed before, but on this night, it was brought home to me how intertwined these people, who, if I was being honest, I had only known for a relatively short period of time, were with each other, and how they looked out for each other, without hesitation. Despite myself, I felt tears filling my eyes, and I could not blame the wine, since I had insisted on drinking only water. Thankfully, only Bronwen noticed, or more likely, she was the only one willing to let me know she had noticed, and she turned from her conversation with Gaius, who was becoming gloriously drunk and had been bragging to her about the Cocles girl.

  “What is it, my love?”

  I felt her eyes studying my face, but I could not really bring myself to myself to speak truly, saying only, “I’m going to miss them.”

  She surprised me then, saying simply, “So will I.”

  When I looked over at her, I searched her face for signs that she was just saying this to make me feel better, or perhaps not so alone in my feelings, but her gaze never wavered as she explained, “Gnaeus, I have just sailed across what you Romans call Our Sea, and watched as these people risked everything to help you. Just as,” she grabbed my arm, “you did to help them. I have never seen anything like it, and I have never heard of anything like it. You,” she turned and nodded her head to indicate my family, who at that moment were laughingly arguing about some moment concerning stolen figs and who the real culprit was, “and your family are the most remarkable people I have ever met. And,” she smiled at me, “thanks to my father, I had already met many people, from many lands.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but then I realized that there was nothing I could say that would top that.

  It was with a great deal of reluctance that I stood from my spot on the couch to announce, “There are things that Septimus and I need to talk to you about.” This was when Alex cleared his throat from his spot between his mother and sister, but when I glanced at him, he pointed to Septimus, who was next to Miriam…snoring, his head hanging over the edge of the couch. “You coward,” I grumbled, though I did not really mean it. Besides, I was certain that Alex knew everything that Septimus needed to say, and he obviously knew my part, but before I began, I realized that something was not right. “Let’s go to the kitchen and sit at the table,” I said.

  Then, without waiting, I held out my hand for Bronwen, who had followed my lead and had a clear head. Entering the kitchen, I was relieved to see that the children had been put to bed, and I waited for the others to file, or stagger, in and drop down into their spots. Servius had roused Septimus, and between him and Alex, they steered my uncle into the room; he was awake, but I was certain he would be of no use. Gaius was in not much better shape than his uncle, but to my eyes, it appeared as if he was rapidly sobering up, and I wondered if it was the sudden change in the mood. For some reason, I felt more comfortable standing and I had the sudden and absurd urge to go to my room to grab my vitus so that I could send the message that what I had to say was not up for debate, nor would I change my mind. Everyone settled into their accustomed spots, while Bronwen sat where she had been sitting since our arrival, and then all eyes were on me.

  Before I could stop myself, I plunged ahead by saying, “I owe all of you the truth, and my assessment of the situation that faces me. But, before I do, there’s something else I need to say.” I had to take a breath to steady my voice. “I have absolutely no regrets about my actions, and even if I knew the consequences that I’m going to be facing when I return, I would do the same thing, so please understand that. You,” I cursed the sudden lump in my throat, but I managed to force back the tears, “are my family, and I hope that by now you know that I’m proud that I know the truth, and that I’d die for each and every one of you.” I was unsure whether I felt better or worse seeing the sheen in everyone’s eyes and the rapid blinking, but now I hardened my voice. “That’s why I don’t want you wasting time and energy worrying about how you can help me get elevated back into the Equestrian Order. The simple fact is that it’s highly unlikely I’m going to be remaining in the Centurionate when I return to Ubiorum, which means that more sacrifice on your part to scrape together the money will be a waste.” For the first time, I addressed myself directly to Alex, and I used the tone of voice I knew that he would recognize, not that of a friend and de facto family member, but a Centurion of Rome, which I still was, for the moment. “And I don’t want anyone contacting my mother, for the same reason. It won’t do any good. I, and only I will be the one to speak to her about this.”

  I paused, which was not a good idea, because Miriam immediately asked, “What kind of punishment are you facing?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied honestly, but I was also being evasive, and to my chagrin, I saw that she was not fooled in the slightest.

  “Don’t play me for a fool, Gnaeus,” she snapped, confirming my observation. “What are the possible punishments?” She paused then, and now I could see the tears spill over, but her voice was still strong, “Could you be put to death?”

  “It’s…possible,” I answered honestly but reluctantly. My only consolation was that I had already forewarned Bronwen, although she was very pale. “It depends on whether or not we’re still considered to be on campaign.”

  “But the season’s over,” Miriam objected, yet another reminder of her familiarity with the Legions.

  “It is,” I allowed, “but it’s also possible that Germanicus has been ordered by Tiberius to continue the campaign into next season in order to finish Arminius once and for all. If that’s the case, then even in the winter, it’s considered part of the same campaign season because it allows the Legate to use the men for duties specifically designed to continue the campaign and not for other tasks. Like building a fleet, which is what we did last year at this time.”

  “But he’s been defeated and his army destroyed.” Septimus spoke for the first time, and while his words were slightly slurred, his words made perfect sense. “There’s no need to march in the spring.”

  “Not unless the Imperator wants to mount Arminius’ head on the Rostra, because while his army was destroyed, Arminius got away.”

  Alex had once again gotten to the heart of the question about my possible fate, but I saw the expressions of the others, and I hurried to say, “And the only way I’ll know that is when I return to Ubiorum, unfortunately. But,” I said with a conviction that, honestly, I was not altogether sure was sincere, “even if I knew beforehand that I’d be put to death, I would never run. That,” I concluded, and in this, I was telling the truth, “isn’t something a Pullus does.”

  Now that I had spoken my piece, and they accepted my decision to face the consequences no matter what, we went on to discuss other possible outcomes that might await me. None of which, as I would be learning in a matter of a couple of weeks, were anywhere close to what transpired.

  Once we reached a point where I felt we had exhausted the alternatives, I looked at Septimus, “Now it
’s Septimus’ turn. If,” I grinned, “he’s sober enough.”

  “Nephew,” Septimus stood, “my head for wine is legendary.” His exaggerated grabbing at the table, along with his weaving that was as overdone drew laughter, which I am certain was his intent.

  I took my seat next to Bronwen, and she squeezed my arm as Septimus began immediately.

  “Our home is safe,” he said first, and while everyone knew this much already, it was still greeted with sighs of relief. “And we have enough money to pay our expenses and taxes to the duumviri.” As I had, he paused, “But as near as I can calculate, we are more than two hundred thousand sesterces poorer than we were before…” His voice trailed off, but there was no need for him to finish, and I saw the pain in his face that I had observed every time the subject of his brother was mentioned. Somewhat oddly, at least to me, while Miriam had been prostrate with grief in the immediate aftermath of Gaius’ death, a year later, she seemed to have come to a place where she did not view her dead younger brother with the kind of sentimentality that was being displayed by Septimus in this moment. Gathering himself, he went on, “Now, some of this will undoubtedly be regained when we sell the cargo we brought from Alexandria, but I don’t have enough experience to know just how much money the peppercorns, kinnamon, and silk will fetch. My suggestion is that we invest some of that money back into the businesses that we managed to keep, and that we have some experience with. I’m not,” he spoke emphatically now, “planning on going into business as a merchant. Once we sell our cargo, we’ll be done with that. Although,” he turned to address Miriam, “I agree with you, sister. There needs to be some changes made, particularly with Numerius Prixus’ tanning business. His drinking has gotten out of control and what profits he makes he’s been spending at the tavernae around Arelate. It was something I intended to address,” he admitted with a wan smile, “but there were some other things that drew my attention.”

  There were some appreciative chuckles at his understatement, and I was one of them doing so. Seeing that he was finished, I decided to seize the moment back, my only intention being to keep this from becoming maudlin and overly sentimental.

  To that end, I stood up with my cup, holding it out as I ordered, “Everyone, fill their cup.” Everyone hurried to comply, but I do not believe that the amount of wine that got sloshed onto the table was because of their haste, but before I could say anything, Alex called out, “That better not be water in your cup, Gnaeus. You know that’s bad fortune to give a toast with something different from everyone else.”

  Mumbling something about superstitious nonsense, I still complied, draining the rest of the water, then ostentatiously reaching down for the jug and filling my cup.

  “Satisfied?” Ignoring Alex’s triumphant expression, I became serious as I realized I had not actually thought through exactly what I wanted to say. What came out was, “This last year and several months have been the most important of my life. For the first time, I understand what it means to be part of a family that’s more than just parents and son, and I have all of you to thank for that.” I cannot blame the wine for what came next, and I do not know who was more surprised to hear me say, “And I thank the gods that Gnaeus Claudius Volusenus is dead and gone, and who stands before you now is Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus. Yes,” I acknowledged, “what I know about being a good Centurion of Rome and a great warrior came from my father Titus. But what it means to be a Pullus? That,” I moved my cup to indicate everyone around the table, “I learned from each of you, and I thank Jupiter Optimus Maximus and all the gods in the heavens and below for that.” Again, I paused, trying to look each and every person there in the eye before I said, “Ave to the Pullus family!”

  For such a relatively small group of people, the noise they made was enough to wake the children and bring some dust sifting down onto our shoulders; by draining the cup, I made the mental step that preceded the first physical one of my journey back to Ubiorum to learn my fate.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was not surprising that, as much as we tried, our departure the next day was a somber affair, my attempts at humor falling flat, but after tearful hugs, kisses, and promises of prayers and sacrifices, Alex, Bronwen, and I departed Arelate, bringing nine horses, three of them pack animals, with us. The sky was leaden, and with a north wind, the intermittent flurries of snow were driven directly into our faces as we rode the Via Agrippa north. We did not talk much; frankly, I think we were all exhausted of small talk, and I know I welcomed the silence, occupying myself with watching Bronwen observing anything and everything around us. Her new cloak was lined with fur and had a hood, but at least it did not swallow her up as my sagum had, and the only sign she was cold was the blush of her cheeks and how the tip of her nose was red. When the silence was finally broken, it was only for Alex and me to discuss the prospects of Saloninus’ pass working again, and while we decided it did not hurt to try, when the man at the first relay station took one glance at it and grunted that it had been dated four months earlier, we never tried it again. Because of Alex’s foresight in having spare mounts, it was not much of a hardship, honestly. The next small crisis was when we had to decide between repeating our route of the year before when we did not take the upstream boat up the Rhodanus to the Dubis and went overland, which had proven to be the toughest part of that journey with Algaia. This time, however, we heard from too many travelers heading in the opposite direction that this winter was much worse than the year before and the passes were blocked, effectively making our choice for us. On the heels of this, the next difficulty was finding someone willing to transport three people with so many animals since it would effectively rob them of space for other cargo. Because of that, while I did not like doing so, I essentially paid a grubby boat master who called himself Annius Tullius double what the normal cost would have been, dipping into the five thousand denarii that I had been forced to accept by Septimus and Miriam.

  “That’s twenty percent of your entire cash reserve,” I had argued, and when they had still insisted, I tried, “But if you’re going to be putting those businesses back to rights, you might need some capital!”

  “You don’t seem to have much faith in me to sell our cargo at a profit, Nephew.” Septimus had said this with a smile, but it was Miriam’s retort that I had cause to remember.

  “So we’re no longer the richest members of the Head Count.” She laughed. “But you should know that it’s impossible to keep a Pullus down!”

  This had partially mollified me, although I am afraid that I let the idea that the master of this ship that was slowly making its way upriver had robbed me settle into my mind, so I was not particularly good company the first two days, until Bronwen told me in no uncertain terms that she was not putting up with my foul mood. And she was very matter-of-fact about it, informing me that if I had any hopes for coital bliss at the first opportunity that presented itself, I needed to put that resentment back in a cupboard in my mind instead of continuing to do what she called pouting like a child. Alex wisely pretended not to hear any of our quarrel, which took place at the back of the ship with the animals, not that it helped, but he showed even more judgment in never bringing up my meek and quick promise that I would no longer brood. Fairly quickly, the circumstances became so eerily reminiscent of the year before that my mind was occupied with other things, although this time, we did not have to rig up a canopy because there was already a cabin of sorts, consisting of canvas stretched over a wooden frame, not dissimilar in shape to a Legion tent, placed on the side at the stern opposite from the steering oar.

  Unlike the year before, Tullius did not have a son scurrying about, and whether his lone crewman was a freedman or slave, I did not care enough about to ask. And, just as the year before, the further north we went, the deeper the snow, and the more frequently it fell, meaning that Alex and I spent a fair amount of our time brushing off the horses. Otherwise, our time was spent under the canvas, having learned from the year before that usin
g charcoal in a small brazier kept us quite comfortable, and while I did not have my father’s scrolls, the night before we left, I had crept up into the Prefect’s library and filched his copy of the account by Divus Julius about his time in Gaul, which I used to begin teaching Bronwen her letters. I had already observed as much, but it was during this time I learned just how clever Bronwen is and how quickly she grasps new knowledge, and most importantly, how hungry she is to learn. More than once, it crossed my mind how most Roman men, of all classes, would view the idea of teaching a woman, or even entertaining the concept that their minds can be as agile as ours, and I suppose that it is because of my mother that I have a much different outlook. I never knew my paternal grandmother Iras, but I have heard enough about her, and observed in my mother Giulia that women can be every bit as clever; under the right circumstances, as I had learned with my aunt Miriam, they can also be every bit as ruthless as men. As diverting as this was, and enjoyable, always lurking in the back of my mind was that this interlude must end.

  I was not the only one who noticed the parallels, as Alex jokingly said when Bronwen was out of earshot, “At least she’s not pregnant.”

  “That’s true,” I had to agree, then I gave him a playful shove, “but it’s not because we haven’t been trying.”

  It was during this conversation, after we stopped laughing that, as we leaned on the railing watching the landscape drift by at a pace that was both excruciatingly slow and far too rapid at the same time for me, he said quietly, “Gnaeus, no matter what happens, I hope you know that I’ll be at your side.”

  “I know,” I assured him, and I did, and do. “But at the same time, you have Algaia and Iras to look after. And,” I hated to say it, but it needed to be done, “if I’m executed, you need to help Bronwen go home.”