Whom Gods Destroy: A Novel of Ancient Rome (The Sertorius Scrolls Book 4)

by Vincent B Davis II

  “Yes, but it’s much more than that.” I turned it over in my fingers, the torchlight glistening on its polished edges. “Years ago my ancestral tribe fought the Romans. When we lost the war, the Romans were so impressed by our bravery and courage they immediately decided to strike an alliance and make us part of their Republic.” I lost myself for a moment while I tested the fit. It fixed perfectly on my finger, as it had my father’s. It’d always seemed so large when I was a boy and I was amazed it fit me now.

  “What does that have to do with the ring?”

  “The Roman general gave this ring to my ancestor as a token of peace and friendship. It’s likely worth more than this home.”

  “That’s amazing, Quintus. I had no notion it was so important,” she said, but I knew she couldn’t understand how much it meant to me. No one could, save perhaps my mother. “You can use it to seal every letter you send home.”

  “I will. Thank you, Arrea.” I leaned down until my lips meet hers.

  And because Mercury, god of mischief, loves ruining moments such as this, Gavius and Apollonius came pounding up the stairs behind us.

  “I can’t sleep, pater,” Gavius said, his voice deepening every day. If he was anything like his father and me, he would be growing his first chin hair soon.

  “I tried to stop him,” Apollonius said. “He demanded to talk with you.”

  Gavius and I had grown much closer over the past two years, since Arrea and I had married. As a boy he had clung to Arrea, but the older he became, the more he relied on me.

  “Join us.” I released Arrea and waved them toward us. I poured a little bit of wine into a cup and handed it to Gavius. “What seems to be causing you insomnia?”

  “It’s the moonlight. It’s too bright,” he said, taking a tiny sip as he wasn’t fond of the taste yet. I hoped that would remain the case.

  “Master Gavius,” Apollonius said, hands akimbo on his hips, “I’ve told you to shutter that window at night. That should do the trick.”

  A father’s intuition told me the moon wasn’t the cause. He was dreading tomorrow.

  “Come here, lad.” I pulled Gavius between Arrea and me. “Apollonius, grab yourself a cup too. Tonight is a night for celebration.”

  “What’s to celebrate?” Gavius said. “The Quirinalia isn’t until next week.”

  Watching a child grow up is incredible. In each word, in every movement, I could see shades of others. He had Titus’s pragmatic and serious demeanor, and perhaps his mother’s sadness. He had Arrea’s gentle spirit and resolve, and he shared my sense of humor and good looks—or at least I told myself that. It brought me joy to hear him repeating terms or phrases he’d picked up from me.

  “Tonight is special, because it’s your last night as a boy. Tomorrow you become a man,” I said, retrieving my cup of wine.

  “I’ve not dawned my toga virilis, father. Have you drunk too much?”

  Arrea’s furtive laugh hung in the air.

  “The toga virilis is just a symbol of manhood. But many boys become men before their time because the Fates demanded it. And this is such a time.” Everyone looked at me skeptically. “Tomorrow I am departing for Greece, and your grouchy old tutor Apollonius will be accompanying me. So tomorrow you will be the pater of this house. You’ll have to protect your mother—”

  “And listen to her as well.” Arrea smirked.

  “Well, yes. Certainly. Listening to women is part of manhood.” I leaned closer to him. “Believe me.”

  Arrea jabbed me in the ribs.

  “At times you may even have to answer to your father’s clients,” Apollonius added. Gavius’ eyes widened at this.

  “He’s right,” I said. “And you’ll have to visit your grandmother in Nursia to ensure she doesn’t become lonely. Oh, and work with my horse!”

  “I’ll do it, pater,” Gavius said, straightening his shoulders.

  “Well, then raise your cups.” I lifted my own. “To Gavius!” They echoed it and drank from their cups.

  I would miss this moment when I was in Greece.

  I ruffled his hair. “Now, go sleep, and give your mother and me some privacy.”

  He scrunched his face but allowed Apollonius to lead him back into the Domus.

  “He’s so much like you,” Arrea said.

  “Hopefully some time apart will make him more like you then. If you had been born a man, you’d already be Consul,” I said playfully, but her smile faded.

  “Let’s hope it’s not too long apart.”

  I put my arm around her, and we stood in silence, staring out over the city as the temple’s torches were extinguished one at a time.

  Scroll II

  We approached the Ostian docks while it was still dark. A single fire from the lighthouse illuminated our path and the ships awaiting us.

  “You will write to us soon, won’t you?” Arrea asked, both of her soft hands around mine.

  “Of course, my dove. You have my word.”

  “And you’ll be safe?”

  “I have Apollonius here to protect me.” I gestured to my friend and freed slave who winked at Arrea and little Gavius. He hadn’t said much on our walk to the docks, probably more nervous for the trip back to his homeland than I’d previously realized.

  “Good morning,” Lucius Hirtuleius approached, rubbing his eyes warily.

  “A good day for a sea voyage,” I said while he kissed Arrea on either cheek.

  “Much too early to be awake, if you ask me. But if I’m forced to be up, we might as well be sailing the Mare Nostrum.”

  I hadn’t told Lucius about the haruspicy. As traditional and superstitious as any Roman, the truth would haunt him.

  “Which one is yours, pater?” Gavius asked, fascinated by the vessels and their sails flapping in the early-morning wind.

  “If you’re legate Sertorius, it’s this one here,” an old sailor said, joining us.

  “That’s me,” I replied, extending my hand, “and you are?”

  “Captain Municius. This is my vessel,” he said. He had a rather rugged handsomeness until he smiled, revealing rotten teeth.

  “How do the waters look, Captain?” Arrea asked.

  “This is my wife, Arrea,” I said.

  “I’m pleased to meet the man who will be keeping my husband safe,” she said with a curtsey.

  “Aye. I’ll do that. The waters will be choppy, so prepare for the ride. But we’ll make it there just fine. I’ve sailed on the first day of war season for nigh on thirty years and haven’t lost a vessel yet. I’ll get him there, ma’am.” He bowed his head and kissed her hand. She leaned toward him and whispered something to his ear. It must have been quite funny, as his laughter rang out and cut through the still morning air.

  “Care to explain?” I asked my mischievous bride.

  The captain lifted his hands in mock surrender and stepped away.

  “I told him you have a deathly fear of the water, my love.” She grinned.

  I shook my head and chuckled. I would miss her dearly. “Let him find out when I’m emptying my stomach in the sea for two weeks. No need to spoil the surprise.”

  Bells sounded throughout the bay.

  “First to board! First to board!”

  “I’m afraid that’s us, dove.” I leaned in and kissed her lips, savoring the taste. “I will see you again soon.”

  “You swear it?”

  “On the Fires of Vesta.”

  I turned then to Gavius and pulled him into my embrace. He’d grown like a weed since Arrea and I had wed. I no longer needed to kneel to his height or pick him up. I figured he would be as tall as myself by the time I returned.

  “Goodbye, pater,” he said.

  Gavius was Titus’ son, stubborn and tough. He did his best to send me off in front of my men with the most stoic and respectful goodbye he could muster, but I could see the shimmer of tears in his eyes. “Goodbye, my boy.” I kissed his head and ruffled his hair. “The next time I depart for campaign I
imagine you’ll be riding out alongside me,” I said and his face shone with pride.

  “First to board!”

  “We can hear, you old bastard,” Lucius grumbled as he tightened his horse-hair plumed helmet and tried to blink his eyes awake.

  “Lucius, I’m afraid you’re becoming an old man before my eyes,” I said and Apollonius chuckled.

  “I’m afraid you’ve been an old man since we were children.”

  “You may be right,” I said.

  We fell into line with the rest of the men who were previously identified as the first to board. We would sail the ocean on quinqueremes, which could each hold four hundred and twenty men. After you included three hundred rowers and twenty deck crewmen, there’s only enough room for about one hundred soldiers. The legion under my command had 4,000 fresh recruits, so you can do the mathematics to determine the great quantities of boats our expedition would require. Only three boats could line up abreast in the harbor, and we piled up on the ramp to Municius’ vessel in the center.

  “We’ll have to name her,” Lucius said.

  “Who? I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” Apollonius said.

  “The ship. Every ship must have a name.”

  “I think I’ll call her the Medusa,” I said while we inched closer.

  “Why? Because she’ll petrify our enemies?” Lucius asked.

  “No. Because she petrifies me.”

  “I don’t care what I have to do to get to Greece. My first chance to win some glory for myself,” he said. He was Tribune Laticlavius for the seventeenth legion, as the fourth under my command already had one enlisted. There would certainly be a chance for glory, but I’m not sure why he’d want it.

  “Glory isn’t worth it, amicus, I assure you.”

  He shook his head. “That’s easy for you to say.” I noticed something different in his eyes, something I’d never noticed before. “You’ve already achieved it. Perhaps I’ll say the same when I have some glory of my own, but before that I must acquire some.”

  I was about to reply when we a shout from the docks diverted our attention. “Don’t forget us, you bastards!”

  Too dark to see the men piling up behind us, I already knew who it was—my boyhood companions, the Insteius twins, characteristically late.

  I tried to conceal my grin and looked up at the sun which just now peaked over the ocean in the east. “I was afraid we’d have to sail without you.” I shook my head in mock disappointment.

  “Spurius here took me to the wrong dock. We boarded and were halfway to Sicily before we realized it was an old fisherman’s vessel,” Aulus said breathing heavily as Lucius and I both pulled them into an embrace.

  “Well, I’m glad you made it back in time, comrades. Greece wouldn’t be the same without you,” Lucius replied, perking up for the first time that morning.

  “You’re right. Greece will never be the same after Aulus gets ahold of it.” Spurius laughed, the love he had for his twin brother evident in the look they exchanged.

  “They call Sertorius… sorry, Legate Sertorius… the Hero of the North. Well, by Juno’s tits they’ll call me the Hero of the East.” He beat his fist against his breastplate. Since I had last seen them I had fought in several battles, embarked on a perilous espionage mission, became a senator, lost my brother and a host of other friends, and seen Rome on the brink of destruction. After everything it’s remarkably refreshing to see some things hadn’t changed.

  The line thinned out before us and we could finally step onto the vessel which was to be our home for the next two or three weeks. The boat bobbed up and down with the gentle morning current, and already my heart raced. I held onto the railing. I wasn’t cut out for long sea voyages, not after my near-death experience as a child. The trek would be long, especially with the priest’s warnings ringing in my mind.

  Triton’s scourge will pull your men to their doom and dash your ships upon the rocks.

  Three days on the sea and I still hadn’t adjusted. I was quartered in a small room with some of the other officers, and unfortunately sleeping on the upper loft. The wood creaked with every big wave the rowers hit, and I bounced along with them.

  I threw a straw pillow over my head to force myself back to sleep, but eventually gave up. Bile began rising in my throat so I hurried to the deck.

  Surprisingly the sun had already burst upon the horizon, reflecting right to the ship like a paved road to Olympus. The cool, crisp, life-giving air filled my lungs and settled my stomach.

  “Good morning, legate!” Aulus shouted with an exaggerated salute from the port side of the ship.

  “I see you’ve risen before me, gentlemen. I can respect that,” I said, approaching the twins.

  “Risen? How can one rise if one never set?” Spurius asked, raising a finger to his lip like a contemplative philosopher.

  “Lucius’ feet were stinking up the entire room. It was unbearable.” Aulus scrunched his face.

  It was remarkable how two men could look identical, and yet somehow totally different. Sometimes I thought I imagined it, but everyone else seemed to agree. The features of their faces were almost identical, the short light hair atop their heads the same. And yet, Spurius was the more handsome of the two. More serious and more respectful, too, but Aulus always had better luck with the opposite sex. Why? Because he kept them laughing.

  “You’re right, Aulus,” I said. “The last three days have been the longest of my life.”

  “It will all be worth it when we arrive.” Aulus rubbed his hands together and licked his lips. “In all my days I’ve never been with a Greek girl.”

  “So you’ve been with a woman of any kind now, Aulus?” I asked, knowing the answer already from our childhood adventures.

  Aulus burst into laughter, irritating some of the groggy deck crewmen.

  “Here’s old Quintus. He gets married and thinks he’s every woman’s Apollo. Remember how nervous girls use to make him, Spurius? ‘S-s-say how are you today, L-licinia?’” he mimicked.

  “Not every woman’s Apollo, just one woman’s Apollo. You little bastard.” I gave him a punch in the ribs and he feigned agony.

  “I wonder how Balbina will feel about your gallivanting with Greek girls?” Spurius asked his brother with a raised eyebrow. I often forgot they were married. Strange that two men so integral to my life were married to girls I’d never even met.

  “We discussed it before we left,” Aulus said. “She has two rules. The first is that I shall not sleep with another woman of equal station. Second, that I don’t lie with anyone younger or more beautiful than her.” We shook our heads. “You really mean to tell me you don’t plan on enjoying any Achaian cunny? We may be gone a long time.”

  “It would break the heart of my Cassia,”Spuruis said. “I don’t even lie with our slaves.”

  “My wife is a Celt, I remind you,” I said. “She’s liable to track me down and geld me if she caught wind of it.” My heart sank as I remembered the sweet face of my Arrea.

  Aulus cracked his mischievous smile and nudged Spurius. “He’s finally found a woman who doesn’t make him nervous, that’s what it is. ‘E-e-xcuse me, A-a-phrodite, how much for a r-romp?’”

  The laughter made my stomach churn again, so I hurried away. I knew if I threw up in front of them I’d never hear the end of it. I made my way to starboard and pretended to be contemplative when really I was heaving overboard. Luckily, I hadn’t eaten in so long there wasn’t much for me to offer the sea. Then again, if I did, perhaps I’d find some relief. When I stopped heaving, I noticed a young legionnaire quietly sitting close by.

  “I apologize. I’m sure that wasn’t pleasant,” I said, but he didn’t look up. A knife in his hand, he whittled away at a block of wood. “What are you working on there?”

  “A dog,” he said, cheerfully. “I think I’ll make several of them to sell in Greece. If I make enough perhaps I could buy a real dog. Do you think they have dogs in Greece?” he said, as if to himself. His vo
ice wasn’t high-pitched by any means, but I could tell it belonged to a young man.

  When he looked up, this appeared to be the case. I didn’t spot any stubble on his chin, nor wrinkle or sunspot. I assumed he was at least my height, but thin as a pilum. I guessed he was no more than sixteen.

  I smiled as if he were joking, but he didn’t appear to be. He wanted an answer.

  “Oh, yes. Certainly. I’m sure they have dogs. But what would you want to do with one in the legion?”

  He returned his attention to the block of wood. “You know… maybe we could train him and he could be a real legionnaire.”

  I could tell he wasn’t speaking in jest. “Well,” I said, sitting beside him, “what would you do if our enemy hurt this dog?”

  I saw rage pass before his eyes for an instant.

  “I wouldn’t like it.”

  “What is your name, soldier?”

  “Castor.”

  “What about your full name?”

  He seemed confused for a moment then nodded. “I told the registrar my first name was Gaius… cause that’s everyone’s name. But I’ve only ever been called Castor. My parents died of the fever when I young and I only remember hearing them call me ‘boy’.” A wide smile split his face. “Everyone called me Castor because I had a dog named Pollux who went everywhere with me! But he died last winter.” As quickly as the smile appeared, it vanished.

  “I’m sorry to hear about your Pollux. I have a horse named Sura, and I’ll be bearded and ash-covered for a month or more when she rides to Hades.”

  His eyes spread wide, and he jumped to his feet and to attention. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, obviously not noticing my crest. “I didn’t know you were an officer.”

  “At ease, at ease. Sit. We’re all equals when we sail on Neptune’s waters.” It wasn’t really true, but for some reason I wanted to continue our conversation.

  He sat again, but seemed less comfortable than previously, and returned to his whittling.

  Some squawking galls took turns diving to the water, bobbing for fish. I wondered how they could fly so far away from land.

  The waters were calm. Aristocrats would have paid fortunes to have a toga as blue as the sea beneath us. I thought of the bad omens and wondered if Didius was right. Even I wasn’t trembling when I glanced over the railing, which says a lot.