by C K Ruppelt
“We’ll try for that. Let us head north and stay out of sight,” Bradan replied, already turning his horse.
About twenty minutes later Elsed moved out from behind another patch of forest. He could look down the length of the town wall from this spot, all the way to the town’s gate where a slew of riders had just left the town. Likely their own people, though they were a little too far away for certainty. He reined in and turned in his saddle. “Lead everybody else to the north wall, Brenna. I’ll stay with a few warriors and get closer. If they are Suebi, we’ll try to slow them down. If they’re ours, we’ll try to help.”
“Just come back to me! Meet us on the main road heading west,” Brenna shouted at him while riding on.
Several of their friends had stopped around him. He turned towards the gate and kicked his tired horse to a gallop. As the distance shrunk he recognized the riders as their young warriors and children. He drew his sword as he noticed a troop of the enemy riding hard to cut them off. As he came by the first of the fleeing Aedui, he saw the first enemy riders converge with the end of the group. Trying to fight the Suebi off, the last of the townspeople were now slowly falling behind. His heart skipped a beat when he got a clear view of their last rider. My sister Aina!
He crashed into the first Suebi and engaged. Bradan passed him at full gallop, narrowly avoiding another Suebi, intent on heading for the end of the line. Elsed barely countered a ferocious attack, able to dispatch the enemy with a stab of his sword only once Rionach distracted the man from the other side. He looked ahead to where Bradan had made it to within twenty feet of Aina, who was trying to keep an attacker off her left side. Another Suebi slowly came up from her right and caught her with his spear. Her loud scream echoed in his ears when she fell out of her saddle. Only now did he realize his little niece on his sister’s horse clinging to the rear horns of the saddle. By the gods, no!
He kicked his horse hard, barely recognizing Iudica riding by with his own children. Bradan, still far ahead of him, crashed into the Suebi that had killed Aina. Both horses went down in a big tumble, his brother-in-law getting flung and landing hard. After rising to his knees, his best friend picked up the German’s spear close by and stood up. He raised the weapon, gripping it in both hands, and swayed. He’s hurt. Hold on, hold on, I am coming.
But Bradan was not waiting, starting to run instead for the man holding Aina’s horse and his daughter. The warrior let go of the reins to raise his shield in preparation for his attack, though another Suebi warrior had ridden a wide circle to come at the scene from behind.
“Watch out!” Elsed called, though it was of no use. Just before Bradan reached his target, the other rider punched his spearhead right through his back, lifting him clear off his feet. The remainder of the Suebi riders had made it onto the scene now and pushed between his friend and Elsed, taking away his one chance to reach Bradan or his niece. He mentally prepared for a suicidal attack but changed his mind when he remembered his wife and children behind him. They still need me.
With tears of loss and frustration streaming down his face, he turned his horse and followed the fleeing Aedui.
***
Brenna tightly held on to the young boy. Her group helped the town’s people down from the northern wall. It’s too many to carry for our horses, looks like most everybody made it here except for the warriors holding the wall.
“Grab only the smaller children, the others need to run for the forest to hide,” she shouted, guiding her horse away from the wall. She saw a few elders standing on the fringes of the growing group. “Please lead our people into hiding, keep moving as far away from the town as you can without risking discovery. We will come back to these woods with food and water, and more horses if we can procure them.”
“Thank you, Brenna, we will get them to safety,” one of the older women yelled back, already walking off to gather their people. Brenna nodded and turned back to the wall. Most of the town had already made it over, with only a few stragglers left. Scanning the growing group, she started to panic. Where are my children?
Rionach came over, with her nephew holding on tightly to her saddle. “I just heard from a friend that Aina took the young warriors and all the remaining horses out the gate with many children, including yours.”
She took a deep breath and let her eyes wander over the mounted warriors. Everybody had children with them in front of their saddles, behind, or both. Please, gods, let my children be well.
“We need to go, and we need to lure the Suebi away if we find them heading here. If they follow us for a while, our people will have”—she pointed with her head to all the town’s inhabitants now running for the nearest patch of forest—”a much better chance.”
She rode off without looking back at the town, their home for so many years. When they turned around the bend in the wall to ride straight west, she had some satisfaction that a group of Suebi chose to follow them rather than finish their ride to the northside.
695 AUC (59 BC), late summer
Twenty-five miles southwest of Vesontio, Free Gallia, heartland of the Sequani Nation
“Where should we focus next?” Ariovist, king of the Suebi and Sequani, asked his council of chieftains as they sat in the great hall around a long table. The dais below his feet also held the oversized chair he used as his seat of power. Another five thousand warriors had arrived from across the Rhenus just last week and needed living space.
“I want to suggest the area just east of where the Dubis bends south, halfway between Vesontio and the Vosago mountains. It is very rich land, and many of the farmers there raise horses,” one of his men replied. Several members of the council talked to each other in greedy excitement at the same time until Ariovist raised his hand.
“I agree, the prospect of freeing more horses during the resettlement of the Sequani farmers is exhilarating. Celtic horses are a treasure.” He grinned. This soft land already made me richer than my father ever was.
“My King!” one of his retainers interrupted him from the entry way of the great hall. “There is a Roman trader outside that wishes to speak with you. He is asking that you grant him hospitum based on the good news he brings you.”
“Hospitum?” Ariovist asked. He had heard that this word was very important to the Romans. It didn’t just mean hospitality, it also invoked divine guest rights including the status of friendship and mandatory exchanges of gifts. “Tell him he will have it only if the news he brings are worthy of such. Show him in,” Ariovist replied, rising from the table to walk over to his throne. His retainer left to return shortly with a tall and grossly overweight Roman wearing a pristinely clean and white toga. Ariovist frowned at the man in disgust. Why does he wear something so impractical? Maybe to distract from his physical weakness.
“Salve, king Ariovistus!” the trader greeted him jovially before bowing slightly. “My name is Marcus Mettius and I am a purveyor of Roman goods. Our Roman Senate entrusted me with a letter for you.” He opened a bag hanging from his shoulder and took out a wrapped scroll. “It seems you have powerful friends. You are now the latest new friend and ally of the Senate and People of Rome. Congratulations.”
Ariovist beamed and jumped up. He couldn’t stop himself and offered the detestable man his hand in friendship. I can’t believe my ploy worked. My gold must have reached the right people. Now that we have the same status with the Roman people, the Aedui won’t ever be able to talk the Senate into helping them against me.
695 AUC (59 BC), late winter
Rome, Italia, Capital of the Roman Republic
Caesar waited, fidgeting like a boy. His mother Aurelia came up from behind to squeeze his shoulder. “Not long now I’d imagine. They must be nearly here,” she said in a soothing tone.
They stood in his townhouse’s atrium, waiting for Calpurnia’s arrival. His extended family crowded all around him, including both his sisters with their families and his daughter Julia with her new husband Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus. A few friends lik
e Aulus Hirtius, Gaius Oppius, and Marcus Licinius Crassus stood against the back wall. This is my third one, why am I nervous?
Since Caesar himself was now Pontifex Maximus, the highest priest in Rome, the Flamen Dialis had to officiate the wedding by himself, though the man also presided over ten witnesses collected from the guests, to attest later that the marriage had taken place.
He walked close to the open doorway, just in time to see his bride and her family approach. Calpurnia wore a sparklingly white wedding gown, the sight of which made him glad that she had insisted on following tradition to the letter, even though it had taken her many weeks to weave the woolen cloth herself. That gown is amazing on her, she looks spectacular.
A belt around her waist was fastened by the traditional “knot of Hercules,” a symbolic safety measure to ensure only the husband would open it. She wore a floral wreath on her head covered by a slightly translucent yellow veil to symbolize her chastity and purity. A young cousin of hers walking in front held a lit torch, the flame transferred from her parent’s hearth this morning and carried it all the way to the Subura. I know my bride offered the traditional copper coin to the local neighborhood spirit on her way here to signify her joining the local community. Everything is as auspicious as possible.
“I give you water and fire,” one of Caesar’s nephews announced, stopping the bridal group before handing over a cup of water and another torch lit by the fire of his own hearth.
The old torch extinguished, her family carried Calpurnia over the threshold. As she was let down to stand by herself, she greeted Caesar. “Where you are Gaius, I am Gaia,” she spoke the ancient the words of the Earth goddess. Caesar’s same first name was pure coincidence.
“Where you are Gaia, I am Gaius,” Caesar answered, and walked up to clasp her hands. The Flamen Dialis now brought a small cake made from spelt flower as part of the patrician wedding tradition. Caesar and Calpurnia held it in one hand each and tore it apart between them, eating the resulting pieces.
“On to the sacrifice,” Caesar said to her. They moved over to a makeshift altar holding a bound and sedated sow. Cleisthenes handed him a ceremonial knife, which he put into Calpurnia’s hand before wrapping it into his own. He noticed she looked away as they stepped towards the animal. “Mother Earth receive this sacrifice and bless this union,” They both said in unison.
The deed done, they retreated a few steps, now officially married. The room broke out into cheers and the guests formed a line to congratulate the new couple. When Caesar’s daughter Julia reached him, she hugged him tightly and put her face close to his ear. “Hello father. I wanted you to know that I forgive you. I hated you for giving me to Gnaeus Pompeius without even asking, but I realized in the meantime that I could have done much worse. It helps that he’s treating me like a goddess,” she whispered. Though he knew Julia had meant to make him feel better, his conscience gave him a twinge for what he had done to her. He sighed and kissed her cheek. “Thank you my dear, I appreciate you telling me that.”
Now a beaming Gnaeus Pompeius stepped in to shake Caesar’s hand. “Congratulations, and may you be as happy as we are.” He stepped in close. “I will forever be in your debt about Julia.”
“I am glad and grateful for your support. We can talk more at the wedding dinner tomorrow,” Caesar answered.
“Murcia and both my boys will be there as well,” Crassus, who was next in line, added. Though traditionally reserved for family alone, Caesar had invited some of his closest friends and allies to the wedding ceremony. Dinner the next day was a different matter as it was supposed to be an open affair which would include many hundreds of people.
The last stragglers filed out of the house and his mother closed the front door. Cleisthenes busily directed the household servant’s efforts to clean a big puddle of blood on the atrium floor. Unnoticed by the celebrating couple, the move of the sacrificed animal to the kitchen had made a big mess, and the servants were nervous about possible repercussions.
“I’ll deal with that, don’t you worry,” Aurelia said, stepping in for a tight hug with her son. Calpurnia leaned in and put her arm over her mother-in-law’s shoulder. Though he knew his mother still thought the age difference scandalous, he was glad she didn’t hold it against his new wife. “Let’s go,” Aurelia said before leading the way to the back of the house. “I have your bedroom ready. No lights, as is proper for a wedding night, so you better undress before you get in,” she added, stopping in front of the doorway with her lit oil lamp the only illumination. She laughed and winked at her son. “Or you won’t be able to get that knot open.”
“Thank you, mother.” Caesar smiled as she walked away. As he turned to his new wife, he saw her hold the knot up to him. He had to laugh at her eagerness, and after a moment of uncertainty, Calpurnia freely joined his laughter. That’s a good start.
696 AUC (58 BC), late spring
Clusium, Etruria, Italia
I was stupid to trust Minatus even enough to think he would sell me legally. Velia had stopped in the dark hallway outside of her chamber, thinking back at that fateful moment some nine months ago. At a public auction she would have fetched a good price, maybe three to four thousand sesterces. That would have paid off her debt of eight hundred sesterces, and awarded her the difference, making for a good head start to buy her freedom back. But no, instead the despicable man had made a backroom deal with the manager of a lupanar, a common brothel, for the exact amount of the debt. Her new owner Fastie was a brute of a man, not looking at her once throughout the whole sales process.
“Everything alright, honey?” Titia asked her in the hallway. The older woman had befriended her right from the start. A gentle soul, she was the age exception among much younger sex workers.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking about the unfairness of it all. You know, nothing new,” she replied, giving her new friend a lopsided smile. “Maybe it would help me to let this go, but I can’t stop hating Minatus for what he did. I daydream of what I will do to him if I ever get the chance.” The man had not just made a shady backroom deal, as it turned out the scam was much bigger. Minatus was the secret owner of the brothel, and dealing with Velia’s debt this way would earn him ten times the amount she owed for every single year she worked here.
“Nothing wrong with a little daydreaming, especially if it keeps you going.” Titia mused. “Come on, let’s get to the atrium.”
“Ah, here comes the new favorite,” Fastie commented about her when they rounded the corner into the open space. Velia ignored the man, hoping he would let her pass without more teasing. Every morning, the women mingled here for breakfast while the other two meals of the day were taken in their rooms. Right after the morning call, they had to sponge bathe and make their way to the front of the atrium to receive a cup full of silphium tea. She had long since figured out that it kept her bleeding regular. Having any of us pregnant would cost Minatus too much profit.
She looked over at Titia, who had already finished her cup. “Come on, drink up so we can get some food.” Velia looked at her friend in gratitude. She had been in a deep depression for many weeks, but with Titia’s help something deep from within her had welled up to break through her apathy. Seeing Minatus visit from time to time had also helped, rekindling her deep hatred for the man, though between customers she mainly dreamed of finding her brother and somehow escaping this misery. There must be a way. Though paying for my freedom won’t be what gets me out of here, ever.
Fastie charged the men between four and six sesterces for her, depending on what she was supposed to do, but she only received a single as per visit, a small coin equal to a quarter sesterce. Most of those coins were collected to pay the rent for her small room, the scant clothing pieces she had to wear, and the small portions of food she was allowed every day.
“Where is Velthurus?” Velia asked. She just realized the boy was not around.
The young towheaded water bearer served one of two main corridors that both the
ir rooms connected to, his job to bring wash water to the women between every customer. Though only a small boy of six years, he was already a repeat runaway and forever branded by a tattoo spelling FUG on his forehead, the abbreviation for fugitivus. “Let’s find him or he will go hungry,” Titia responded.
The two women walked down both of the main hallways, calling for the boy, until they reached the small walled garden at the back of the domus. “Velthurus, you scared me,” Velia said as she walked up and knelt for a closer look. The boy’s eyes were teared up and he avoided eye contact, though she could see enough of the left side of his face to tell that it was black and blue from a recent beating. He fought her as she tried to pull him into a hug, but then changed his mind, hugging her back so tightly it hurt.
“There, sweet boy. Do you want to talk about it?” Valia whispered into his blond hair. In reaction, he cried even harder and increased his grip until she thought her ribs would crack.
She had resigned herself to her own situation, no matter how she abhorred and detested what she had to do every day, knowing that her body would never feel clean again for the rest of her life. The abuse of the helpless boy at the hands of Fastie was something else entirely and made her soul scream. She locked eyes with her friend Titia in wordless question. The look she received back made it clear her friend had no answers either. Will I ever get out of this horrible place? Even if my brother comes back home to help, he wouldn’t know where to find me.
696 AUC (58 BC), late spring
Mediolanum, Roman Province of Gallia Cisalpina and border area between Roman Province of Gallia Transalpina and Free Gallia, lands of the Helvetii.
