“Show me,” Otto repeated.
“Alright, a cook, then, I suppose” he unlocked a cage and flung the gate back. “You, out,” he ordered.
A ragged woman in her late twenties slunk out hunching her shoulders against a possible whiplash. The skin of her right arm and half of one cheek were red and puckered.
“She was a cook. The oil spilled on the fire, blazed up and left her like that. Her owners didn’t want her ugly mug around the place. Said you wouldn’t be interested.”
“Get back in,” he snapped but Otto stopped him from pushing the her inside.
“What is your name, woman?” he asked.
“Tullia,” she mumbled.
“Tullia, sir,” the dealer said and slapped the back of her head. “Tell you what, she has a son in there with her. Wizened little bugger like a sick monkey, only a few months old. I’ll chuck him in with her if we can come to a price. No guarantee mind, he’s on his way out in my opinion.”
The next cage was opened. A barely half-covered pubescent girl was dragged out.
“There you are, almost a virgin.”
“What does that mean?” Otto asked.
“Lightly fucked. Her master got on top of her so her mistress threw her out. No two for one with her though. She’s bled since she’s been here. One for the brothel, probably. Do you want to see more?”
Out of the last cage walked a tall, well-proportioned man. He looked like he might have been in his early thirties but it was difficult to tell because his face was a mass of new and old bruises; bright purple and fading through green to yellow. He had boot-stud injuries on his legs.
“Caught a fever and went deaf a year or so ago,” the slave dealer told Otto.
“What are all the marks on him?”
“Oh, kicks and punches when he didn’t catch on what was wanted quick enough. Can make you very impatient, a deaf man can…”
“Five hundred for all you have shown me,” Otto said.
“Oh come off it, a thousand at least!”
Otto turned on his heel and walked away.
“Alright then, alright but it’s stealing off an honest tradesman that’s what it is!”
They left the city seated on the back of the cart, ragged and stinking. Felix drove them down to the river where Otto ordered them to strip and wash. Felix was sent back and returned with some clean, second-hand clothes; ill-fitting and unsuitable but at least covering their modesty. They stood in a line looking terrified. Otto found that Tullia’s son was called Pollux; a famished mite with the sharp face of starvation. The girl was Didia. He smoothed the riverbank sand with the toe of his boot and wrote “Name?” with a stick before handing it to the deaf man. He looked at Otto with something approaching a smile, bent and wrote “Libius”.
Back on the cart he had them driven to the magistrate’s office where he formally gave each one their freedom. They looked at him in confused amazement.
“Now you can go where you want. You can come and work for me as free people. You will be fed, clothed and given wages, not much in the way of money but something.” He wrote his words on a borrowed wax tablet for Libius.
They decided to entrust their futures to this strange, blond giant who looked like a barbarian but spoke good Latin. They settled into his new villa and began to perform their duties under the watchful eye of Felix. Sabina was horrified when she visited and saw his “staff”.
“Who would want to live surrounded by oddities and cripples?” she asked. Felix walked past her ostentatiously hobbling. “I exclude our brave legionaries injured fighting for Rome against the barbarians…” she gabbled then saw Otto grinning at her. “Oh just be silent, before you even say it,” she snapped.
Otto tried to take an interest in his farmlands but his heart was not in it. He walked around his grounds, he hunted, he had long written conversations with Libius who turned out to be a well-educated and interesting man. He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of plants and trees and when his master did not recognise them by the names he wrote down, he drew them for him. He drew so well that Otto put him to redecorating the inside walls of the house with imaginary gardens of flowers, birds and animals. The results were spectacular, if the perspective was a little skewed.
Saturnalia came around. Felix ordered the household not to involve Otto on pain of dismissal. Winter gripped, released and spring arrived over the hilltops with milder winds and a green flush on trees and meadows.
Otto rode for hours into the hills and woodlands or fished in the river. He had given up his pretence of studying agriculture. It was a mystery to him and he accepted it would always be so. He roamed about his estate or the villa, increasingly lost and alone. Then Massus came.
“Ride with me tomorrow. I’m going up into the hills to visit an old friend. You might like him.”
“Who is he?”
“I’ll tell you as we go; it’ll pass the time. It’s a good hour or so’s ride. If we’re lucky, we might be asked to stay for a bite to eat. Still got your mail shirt and a lance?” Otto nodded. “Wear ’em. From a distance you could still pass as a warrior.”
Otto went in to ask where his equipment was.
“In here,” Felix told him.
His chain mail hung on a rack. It was shining under the lightest coat of oil. His helmet and best sword were propped up beside it. His army boots and belt had been newly polished and his leather subarmalis waxed and rubbed to a dull gleam.
“Why have you cleaned all this up?”
“I always keep your kit like this,” Felix told him.
“How did the helmet get here? I left it at the barracks.”
“Fetched it the other day when I went into the city. Massus mentioned you might be needing it for your trip…”
At that moment, Libius walked in carrying a newly cleaned oval shield and a sharpened lance. He smiled and nodded to Otto as he passed them to Felix.
“What’s going on here?”
“Nothing,” Felix replied with an attempt at wide-eyed innocence. “Look, you rattle round in this house like a pea on a drum or go out on your own looking miserable and come back hours later looking just as miserable. Take this little trip with Massus, do you good to have some company. I’ll give your arm-rings a clean up…”
He mounted Djinn, groomed to perfection, under the smiling gaze of his people. They were unrecognisable as the wretched rejects he had first encountered. Tullia felt secure and valued. It showed in her relaxed posture and calm eyes. Little Pollux was taking his first steps on chubby legs. Didia had grown and filled out; Tullia had become a mother to her. Libius’ handsome face was unmarked.
Felix waved, and Otto and Massus were off early on a sunny, April morning full of greenery and birdsong.
They rode along the riverbank for half an hour then turned off along a valley leading inland to the east. They travelled in silence for a few minutes until Massus began to speak.
“Right then, I’ll tell you all about my friend Julius Albus. Long story; goes back to the Divine Julius early on in his wars in Gaul. He was short of men, you see, so he offered citizenship to a tribe in Cisalpine Gaul in exchange for them taking the soldier’s oath. He ended up with a whole legion full of these big, blond “Romans” who didn’t speak a word of Latin to start with. Anyways, there was a huge stink about it in Rome but they fought well and the rest of Caesar’s army took to them, eventually. The legion still marches; they call it The Alaudae, which is to say “The Skylarks”; no idea why. As it happens, a few of them got knocked on the head and they needed replacements among which was my friend Julius Albus. Of course, that wasn’t his real name, that would have been something peculiar ending in “ix” but it’s how I’ve always known him. He was good at his trade and rose to be the second centurion of his legion. When their Tesserarius was killed, he took on the duties on a temporary basis but the men and officers trusted him so much, he retained the position as their banker and guard commander. He retired with a spotless reputation, medals welded all
over his harness and a shedload of money; Caesar’s lads were never short of loot. That’s the man you’re going to meet.”
“Sounds interesting.”
They altered their course again, heading a little north, down a defile and into a pleasant valley with a broad stream running through it. It was lightly wooded with ploughed fields. Lines of beech-wood posts with grapevines strung between them climbed up into the south-facing hillside. There were fenced pastures in which cattle and horses were penned, Sheep roamed freely cropping the abundant grass. A fine villa stood in the middle. Massus reined in.
“This is the next part of Julius Albus’s story. There he is, a likely, youngish man with more money than he knows what to do with and here is his late father-in-law’s estate; senatorial family, lost nearly everything in the Civil War except this land. Julius bails them out, marries the daughter, Clodia, and is enrolled in the Equestrian Order. He has one son who’s a decurion up north and a daughter. Come, on we might be on for lunch.”
They cantered into a yard where a tall man in his fifties stood with his hands on his hips watching them ride in. He was dressed in a plain tunic with a broad leather belt and soldiers’ boots. A blade somewhere in between a short sword and a long knife in size hung scabbarded by his side. His grizzled hair was cropped close and he was beardless but sported long, Gallic moustaches falling below his chin on either side of a wide mouth. His eyes were almost as pale as Otto’s.
“Greetings Centurion Massus,” he called.
“And greetings to you Julius. Let me introduce my friend the Equestrian Otto Longius, former Prefect of Cavalry and holder of a gold military crown. Otto, this is former Centurion and Tesserarius, the Equestrian Julius Albus.”
Otto bowed in his saddle and Julius returned the salute.
“Dismount and take some refreshment,” their host told them.
His groom saw to their horses and a few minutes later they sat at a stone table under a shady tree drinking good wine. Otto had removed his helmet which he placed on the table with his lance and shield leaning against it.
“It seems I’m honoured by the company of famous warriors; Massus with his silver spear and you, Otto Longius, with a gold crown. How did you come by it?”
“I killed a Marcomanni warlord in battle. He called himself King Helmund.”
“If he said he was a king and his men agreed, then a king he was. Don’t do yourself down by calling him a mere warlord, young man,” Julius told him with a smile. “I believe you have an estate near Luca, also as a result of killing this king, or maybe some other one?”
“No, sir, it was for saving my legate’s life in an ambush. In his generosity, the Emperor granted me citizenship, elevated me to the Equestrian order and awarded me the money to support my rank.”
“And that magnificent black horse?”
“The Emperor’s gold paid for him.”
“But not the arm-rings stretching from both of your wrists up past your elbows. Those you earned yourself, I take it.”
Otto grinned. “Their former owners didn’t hand them over willingly.”
They all laughed briefly, more as an indication that they were comfortable in each other’s company than at Otto’s attempt at wit.
“What do you think of my farmlands?” Julius asked.
“To be honest, sir, my opinion is worth little. I have tried but I am no farmer. I rely on my steward who is an honest man.”
Julius raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think he is honest?”
“He is too terrified of me not to be.”
Both Massus and Julius roared with laughter this time.
“Now that is a damn good reason. In any case, who ever heard of a German farmer?” his host asked.
They laughed again and more wine was drunk. Julius went silent for a moment and then seemed to come to a decision. With a slight nod to Massus, he rose to his feet.
“Come and meet my family,” he said and strode off without waiting to see if they were following. They walked under wide eaves into a tile floored chamber with plain white walls. Two women were sitting over a pile of sewing; repairing tunic hems and adding ribbon to necks and sleeves. They looked up when the visitors entered.
“My wife, Clodia,” Julius said.
“You are welcome here, sir,” she told Otto graciously with a bend of her neck. “And you of course, our good friend Massus.”
The other woman stood up and looked directly at Otto. He saw a young woman, dark-haired, the cornflower blue of her eyes accentuated by her olive skin, tall; close to six feet in her sandals, broad-shouldered with an athletic length of arm and leg nearly visible through the light material of her blue dress. She smiled. Otto felt like he had been punched, hard. His senses swam momentarily and he found himself unable to say anything in his confusion. She noticed his embarrassment and smiled, a hint of rose mounting in her face before she lowered her head and turned away.
“I forget my manners,” Julius went on. “Clodia, this is the equestrian and former cavalry officer Otto Longius. Otto, my wife and my daughter Lollia.”
“Ladies,” Otto mumbled in reply and felt too big and clumsy to be in this room in his heavy mail shirt.
The lunch that followed flew by in a haze for Otto. He wanted to look at Lollia but thought it would be rude to stare so he avoided her gaze, subtly as he thought. Finesse was not a strong part of his social skills so it was obvious to everyone, including Lollia who tried not to show her pleasure at her conquest. That too was plain to see.
“My daughter is a great admirer of horses, Otto. Perhaps you would show her your charger if I had him brought round to the front of the villa?” Julius suggested.
The two young people would be alone, it was true but they would be outside in broad daylight and plain sight so the decencies would be upheld.
“Well?” Massus enquired once they had left the room.
“Blessings on you, Massus,” Clodia said and kissed his cheek. “It seems as you were right. They are taken with each other.”
No-one gave down to earth Centurion Massus credit for social manoeuvring but he had said he would help his friends find a husband for their daughter and perhaps he had succeeded.
Lollia was eighteen, a little old to be unmarried and unattached. This had begun to cause her mother a great deal of worry. The young men of their acquaintance were intimidated by the girl; they did not want to be half a head shorter than their betrothed. In addition, although brought up by her mother as a proper young Roman lady should be, she had inherited a Gallic freedom of spirit and action from her father. She was a strong young woman and it was clear she would not be forced to play a submissive role. But Otto now, a proven warrior, towering above her, accustomed to women of independent mind; he was a distinct possibility as a suitor.
“Still, a German, a bloody-handed Suevian…” Julius mused with lingering doubts.
“You both know the Longius family in Luca, don’t you?” Massus asked. They signalled that they did. “Visit them. They have a strong connection with Otto, in fact, he took their name as a mark of his respect for them. They can tell you what sort of a man he is.”
Chapter 16
“To be honest, he terrified me when my son first brought him home,” Sabina told Clodia as they sat in the garden of her home with Aelia; Poppaea and Lollia had been sent out of hearing to look at the flowers. “I still get a shiver down my spine when he looks at me with those wintry eyes,” she shuddered, “like chips of ice. But he saved my son Lucius’ life when he was set upon by thieves in the city one night. What greater service could he do us?”
“I think I heard about that. Didn’t young Servius run away and leave Lucius to his fate?” Clodia asked.
“He went to find help,” Sabina told her firmly, keeping up the diplomatic fiction.
“I will be frank, ladies,” Clodia said. “Do you think he would make a good husband?”
“He has the income of a sound estate. He is a decorated former officer and an equ
estrian. He does not drink excessively nor is he addicted to the dice box. He has instinctive good manners although he is socially awkward. Altogether, I think he would make an excellent match….”
“But not for your Poppaea,” Clodia said drily.
“Look at the girls,” Aelia told her. They were a good way away standing with their backs to the ladies. Poppaea was the average five feet and maybe half an inch; Lollia was the same half an inch under six feet. Poppaea’s head came to the level of Lollia’s shoulder. “Otto is around six inches taller than Lollia, the same difference in height between my late husband and me. After marriage the babies are sure to come along. I will say no more out of decency.”
“No need,” Clodia said. “Your point is made.” She sighed. “If only Lollia had not grown so immensely tall, there would have been no problem but as it is…”
“Nevertheless she is beautiful. That counts for nearly everything with men.”
They all nodded their weary agreement.
“Are you going to marry him if they let you?” Poppaea was asking Lollia while they supposedly examined the flower beds.
“Don’t know; what’s he like, really?”
“Well, he’s killed loads of people and he wrestled our guard dog just for the fun of it. But he’s kind and likes to laugh. I would marry him if were allowed but I’m not.”
“Why not?”
“They’re frightened he’d split me up the middle. You know, on our wedding night! Do you think he’s that much bigger than other men all over?”
They burst into giggles then howls of laughter which floated down the paths of the garden to where the older ladies were discussing delicate matters unfitted for the ears of their virginal daughters.
Julius cross-examined Vitius on Otto’s financial standing.
“Julius Albus, normally, I would answer by referring you to Otto himself but I appreciate the seriousness of your interest. Although he is no blood-relative of mine, we have the strongest ties of mutual regard so I believe I may speak as if I were his uncle. His lands return an income more than adequate to support Lollia in a manner appropriate to her rank. His house is well-situated and in good repair. He can lay his hands on nearly one hundred thousand denarii lodged with his bankers and he is without vice, to the best of my knowledge, so there is no danger of his fortune being frittered away on whores or in gaming houses. I cannot say more than that I am proud that he has chosen to adopt our family name.”
Knight of Rome Part II Page 24
