Hostage to Fortuna

by R. W. Peake

  My first instinct was to lie, but I did not, knowing how well she has always been able to tell, so all I could offer was, “I wish I knew, Mama.”

  Once more, she suddenly came to me and wrapped her arms around my waist, burying her head in my chest, and I felt her body shaking as she sobbed silently…and there was nothing I could say or do to make her feel better.

  By the time the meal was ready, any sign of my mother’s distress was long gone; in fact, the moment she reentered the triclinium with me, I am certain that only Carissa and I, who knew her best, would have known she was upset. She sat and listened as we told an abbreviated tale of what transpired in Alexandria, and there was one matter that we had discussed as we were traveling, that she was not to learn about my decision to give Demeter the remainder of the money. Which, I confess, has given me some troubled sleep; the fact that I did not have any way of knowing how my family would still be poorer even after we recovered the money Aviola had stolen did not make me feel any better about it. When that topic came up, inside, I was a ball of tension, although it was not Alex I worried about, but Bronwen, yet when we talked about loading the money onto the ship, this was when we all realized something.

  “Pluto’s…” I cut myself off at the right moment, seeing my mother’s eyes narrow. “We forgot!” When I saw Alex did not immediately pick up on it, I reminded him, “What’s in those packs that are out in the stable?” He slapped his forehead, leaping up to join me as I called to Bronwen, “Don’t tell her anything!”

  When we returned, each of us carrying a pack from the horses, one of which contained the cloth and the other the peppercorns and kinnamon, I could tell that Bronwen had not said a word. I told my mother to close her eyes before I produced a sack of the kinnamon and held it under her noses, prompting her to let out a small gasp, but when she began to open her eyes, I ordered her to keep them closed.

  Withdrawing a peppercorn from one of the sacks, I told her, “Open your mouth.”

  “Why?” she demanded suspiciously, but this time, when she tried to open her eyes, Bronwen, who was fully into the spirit of the moment, put her hands over her eyes.

  “I’m not going to feed you a rat turd, Mama,” I promised, although I was laughing as I did so, which made her even more suspicious, but she finally relented.

  As I dropped the peppercorn into her mouth, I did as the merchant in Alexandria had advised, “You can chew it, but I’d suggest that you let it slowly dissolve on your tongue to get a better appreciation.”

  And, just as I expected, she instantly began chomping on the peppercorn, reminding me where my impatient nature comes from, and as we all had, she let out a gasp, but this was not of surprise.

  “I have tasted this before!” she exclaimed. “Lucius Cinna and his wife Lucia held a banquet last year, and they had these!”

  “Peppercorns,” I confirmed, then signaled to Bronwen to drop her hands from my mother’s eyes so that I could hold up the large sack of them as I told her, “I’ll leave some with you. But,” I turned and nodded to Alex, who tossed me his pack, “that’s not all we have.” Pulling the drawstrings apart, I opened the pack widely enough so that she could peer in, and once more she let out a gasp, except this time, there was no missing light in her eye, one of delight and greed.

  “I’ve never seen such fine silk.” She actually sounded breathless as she ran her fingers along the smooth fabrics. When she got to the green, she pulled it partly out of the pack, but she was addressing Bronwen. “This would look magnificent on you, Bronwen! It matches your eyes almost perfectly!” Before Bronwen or I could say anything, she dropped the green and extracted the darker red roll. “Although this,” she pulled it up to put it next to Bronwen’s hair, which had been the first thing I noticed, and it still takes my breath away at certain moments, “is almost as perfect.”

  Then my mother suddenly became almost shy, and I realized what she was about to ask, but it was Bronwen who said, “You may have however much of this you wish…Giulia. And,” she assured her, “in any color.”

  “Not any color,” I objected, and when Bronwen looked at me in surprise, I expanded, “Not that blue silk that that merchant called…” I tried to think of the word, which Alex helpfully provided, “…Diaphanous is what he called it.”

  “Yes, that,” I agreed, not wanting to go into any more detail than that.

  Fortunately, my mother and Bronwen instantly understood, because they exchanged an amused look, I suppose aimed at me for not liking to think of my mother wearing something that you can practically see through. It was too late for the cooks to use the peppercorns, but this did nothing to quell my appetite, although I seemed to be the only one who was hungry. This is not unusual, though; even before a battle, I have always had a healthy appetite, and while I have never given much thought as to why this is, I suppose it is because for the moment I am solely occupied with filling my stomach and nothing else matters.

  Our plan for the next day was simple; we had asked Mandalonius to go down to the docks, and he had learned that while the river was not iced over to Confluentes, after that, all army river traffic had been suspended because the ice extended a good distance out into the river from both sides, creating a situation where, if a downstream barge encountered an upstream barge, there would be no maneuvering room without endangering both. Since the previous year, the final stretch of road between Confluentes and Ubiorum had been improved, we would be better served riding than trying to find another barge to go the relatively short distance to Confluentes. Also, I did not want to run the risk of crossing the bridge to the camp on the other side of the river and end up being arrested. If that was in my future, I wanted it to be in Ubiorum, hoping that I had not enraged Primus Pilus Sacrovir to the point where he would immediately put me in chains and at least let me plead my cause, such as it was. Despite her best efforts, Bronwen could not manage to stay awake, but I had become accustomed to her preferring to take naps while we were on the boat, something she had not done much on the Persephone, although I put that down to the constant knowledge that we were on the open sea.

  After Bronwen retired, my mother immediately asked me, “Gnaeus, does she know what you’re facing?”

  I had expected this question at some point, and I assured her that I had not spared Bronwen any details, but she was not convinced.

  “I just don’t think that it’s a good idea to take her to Ubiorum with you, not when you don’t know what you’re going to be facing,” she fretted.

  It was, I conceded, a good point, but it was one I had actually broached the day before we arrived in Mogontiacum, that she might stay here with my mother, something that she had instantly and very firmly dismissed. When I told my mother this, she was unmoved.

  “You need to try harder,” she insisted.

  I have no idea where the inspiration came from, but before I had time to think, I countered, “If this happened to my father, and you were his woman…would you stay here?”

  It was, I confess, a supremely satisfying moment, rendering my mother speechless and unable to summon anything that could rebut what we both knew was the truth.

  Instead, she muttered, “Oh, go piss on your boots.”

  I knew she did this to make me laugh, and it worked.

  Moving on to safer subjects, she observed, “I can’t even imagine how trying this must be for Bronwen.”

  I certainly could not argue this, but I did feel compelled to point out, “She’s also enjoyed herself, Mama.” She regarded me with a raised eyebrow, and I felt my face flush. “Not like that,” I protested, then I gave her a grin, “At least, that’s not all she’s enjoying.” Ignoring her snort, I actually considered for a moment, and for the first time, I thought of the previous four months not as a series of challenges and dangers, but in its entirety, and it made me shake my head. “I’ve been from Germania, to Britannia, to Egypt. No matter what happens to me, I have no regrets, Mama. None,” I said firmly, wanting to make this point to her. “I knew
what I was doing, and I knew the risks I was running, so I don’t want you to blame my father’s family. They didn’t make the decision, I did.”

  “I know that,” she replied quietly, surprising me somewhat. “Because you’re your father’s son, Gnaeus, and I have no doubt that he would have done the same thing. Because,” she leaned forward to take both my hands as she said with an intensity that was, frankly, a bit unsettling, “it was the right thing to do. As much as your father cared, and you,” her tone turned a bit harder, “care about your career, nothing is more important than family, Gnaeus. Nothing.”

  In that moment, I understood what she was trying to do, but I did not say anything; we had argued too many times about my decision to stay under the standard. Besides, the idea of returning to the Equestrian Order was as far as away as the moon, and I thought it would be more likely that I would grow wings and fly to it than having Germanicus sponsor me any longer.

  My mother and I stayed up all night talking, about everything other than what came next, but she had convinced me to at least approach Bronwen with the idea of staying put, which I did just as much to let my mother witness my woman’s temper than having any hope she would stay behind. Mandalonius had the horses ready, but we had decided to leave the spares, which he would take to the livery stable and arrange for their return back to Arelate, which could take months. Somehow my mother managed to remain dry-eyed, although Bronwen was crying, and she actually clung to my mother for a stretch of time that made Alex and me exchange a glance, while I promised to send a message the moment I knew what awaited me. It was snowing again, and I had to force myself not to look back at my mother, standing there in her cloak at the gate, watching us leave, because then I would have been crying as well, and I knew it. Traffic was light, which was not a surprise, and while this section was still not completely paved, the roadbed had been graded and graveled, so we made excellent time, arriving in Confluentes before midday the second day after staying in one of the handful of inns that have sprung up along the road. It certainly is not as developed as the Via Agrippa, where it seems like you cannot go five miles without having an inn or taverna in one of the numerous small villages that have sprung up throughout Gaul. Confluentes had grown immensely once it became home to the 15th and 16th Legion, but it was in Confluentes we heard the rumor that the 15th was heading back to Pannonia, while the fate of the 16th was still being decided. This was the first sign that there was not a plan to continue the campaign against Arminius, but I refused to think of this as a good sign. And, with every mile closer to Ubiorum, the more desultory the conversation, and the more tense we all became. Despite my best efforts, I found myself snapping and snarling at Alex and Bronwen equally, both of whom suffered in silence.

  When the walls came into view, I drew up, suddenly unwilling to go any farther, but I tried to disguise this by asking, “I think we should get a room at Flavius’ so I can change, and you and Bronwen can stay there.”

  “You don’t want me to go with you?” Alex was clearly surprised, but on this, I had made up my mind.

  “I don’t want to leave Bronwen alone,” I lied, or at least partially did so. “Once I find out what’s in my immediate future, I’ll have someone come and let you know.”

  He either thought this was a good idea or knew better than to argue, and we resumed our journey, entering through the open gates, whereupon we immediately ran into a familiar face, one who came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the street to stare up at us like he had just seen a numen.

  “What?” I called down to him, the new scar on my cheek actually hurting from smiling so broadly. “You forgot what I looked like?”

  For a moment, Marcus Macer just stood there before, finally, he found his voice.

  “I’d forgotten how ugly you are,” he said, but I had already dismounted to stride over to him to ignore his arm to sweep him into an embrace, completely ignoring the sudden crowd of onlookers.

  Maybe, I thought, the gods are looking out for me after all.

  “I was out looking for Pictor, the bastard.” Macer’s tone was sour, but I was actually grinning, mainly because it was nice to hear the normal carping of a Centurion about one of his men. “He’s getting striped this time, no doubt about it. Putting him on cac detail hasn’t changed him.”

  “I haven’t heard you mention him before,” I commented.

  “One of the new men.” He grimaced. “He reminds me of Pusio.”

  That elicited a groan of sympathy from me. Pusio had been part of the emergency dilectus held by Divus Augustus in the panic after the Teutoberg disaster and had been one of the worst of the troublemakers that led to the revolt of the Rhenus Legions.

  This conversation took place in the room that I had rented, and I had to hide a grin at how Macer’s attention kept shifting to Bronwen, who was sitting on the edge of the bed trying to not appear pleased at my friend’s admiring glances. Alex was not present; I had had to order him to hurry to his apartment where Algaia and their daughter Iras were waiting, but he would not do so until he extracted a promise that I would alert him as soon as I needed him.

  With this out of the way, I asked bluntly, “How much trouble am I in, Marcus?”

  My stomach seemed to drop when he shook his head, but it was not for the reason I thought.

  “I wish I could tell you, Gnaeus, I really do. But Sacrovir has refused to discuss it with me.”

  “How angry was he when he learned that I didn’t come straight to Ubiorum?”

  This elicited a humorless chuckle from him, and I noticed he refused to look at me, frowning into his cup as he tried to sound casual. “Oh, you know how Sacrovir is. He had some choice words for you.”

  “Such as?” I asked, and now he shifted uncomfortably, so I repeated myself, which prompted him to answer, “He might have said something about how, once you learned the truth about your father, you seemed to think this made you special.” The manner in which he said it made me certain that he was withholding something, and I pressed him, “Marcus, I need to know what I’m walking into here.” This worked, yet he still closed his eyes as he finished listlessly, “And that you were counting on being Germanicus’ ‘pet’ to save you.”

  Of course, this was exactly what I was hoping for, but no man that I know likes hearing the bald truth when it is put in a certain way.

  Since Macer had brought the name up, I asked him about the Propraetor, but on this, all he could say was, “He was summoned to Rome for a triumph, and he left in October. Not,” he allowed, “happily. The word around the Praetorium is that he and Tiberius had a bit of a…falling out,” was how he put it. “Apparently, Germanicus wanted another year to go after and finish Arminius once and for all, but Tiberius forbade him from doing it. And,” he hesitated slightly, “I wouldn’t say that he was officially relieved of command, but that’s the effect.”

  None of this was good, but I was still moved to ask, “Who’s replaced him?”

  “Officially, nobody,” Macer answered. “But if there is something done against the tribes of Germania, it will be Drusus who leads us.”

  He fell silent, leaving me to consider my situation, and to put it plainly, I was not optimistic. Primus Pilus Sacrovir had never warmed to me in any way, and while he certainly was not fond of my father, I knew that Sacrovir had respected him immensely. If others, like Macer, were to be believed, the cause for Sacrovir’s ambivalence towards me was that he viewed me as a rival for his post, something that I still do not accept. Putting it in simple terms, not just my age made me a non-threat, but the fact that I am a paid man, in my view, effectively disqualifies me as ever being considered for the post of Primus Pilus. While it was a relatively new practice as part of the reforms carried out by Divus Augustus, the idea of a paid man ever rising to such an exalted rank seems preposterous.

  I broke the long silence by saying, “Well, I might as well go find out what’s waiting for me.”

  “May I make a suggestion?” Macer’s tone was gentl
e, but I was certainly eager for any counsel, especially from one of my father’s closest friends, and a fellow Pilus Prior, so I nodded.

  “I’d wait until tomorrow morning,” he advised, but when I protested this idea, he explained, “Sacrovir is not in a…forgiving mood today. I don’t know what it is, but he’s angry about something. I sent Lucco to find out, but all he learned was that he received some sort of message.”

  “A message?” I was confused. “Why would a message put him in such a bad mood?”

  “That,” Macer admitted, “I don’t know, but I do know what Lucco discovered, and that’s that the message came from Rome.”

  “Maybe he just learned that Drusus is going to come from Pannonia to take over as Legate,” I suggested, which made some sense, and he said as much.

  “Whatever it is, I think a good night’s sleep will help you more than it hurts you,” Macer said this to me, but his eyes were on Bronwen, who had been listening silently. “Now,” he glanced over at me with a grin, “I want to know how you managed to show up with such a jewel.”

  “We’re going to need more wine for that,” I assured him. Stepping out into the hallway, I shouted for the slave responsible for such things, ordering him to bring a jug.

  As I expected, the slave appeared quickly, but I had to send her out for another cup, which I filled and handed to Bronwen as I said honestly, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

  Just as when we left Mogontiacum, I got no sleep that night. Alex had returned a bit before the midnight watch began, and he immediately set to work, polishing all of my phalarae while I pulled out and inspected the tunic I use for inspections and other formal occasions. Macer had long before departed, assuring me that he had not seen me, so it was just the three of us during the late-night watch, waiting for the cock to crow. When it did, I rose from the bed I was sharing with Bronwen, whereupon Alex helped me don my uniform, everything perfect. My leathers were varnished, my hamata was supple and oiled, the transverse red crest of my helmet that signified my status as Pilus Prior was stiffened so that the horsehair stood erect, while my phalarae gleamed, yet I was acutely aware that this was all meaningless; it was not going to ameliorate whatever my punishment was to be, but it was still important to me.