by Alex Gough
Odo blushed, his skin visibly reddening between the spots and the wispy tufts of his beard. ‘And you know Atius,’ he said, trying to cover up his embarrassment.
‘Of course,’ said Boda, and offered his hand. Atius hesitated, then shook it perfunctorily.
‘Are you staying in Colonia?’ asked Silus, throwing a glare at Atius.
‘We will return home tomorrow,’ said Boda, ‘and gather our men for war. The planting is done, and if the gods will it, we will be home long before harvest.’
‘Then tonight we will drink and gamble in the finest taverns in Colonia,’ said Silus.
‘I would love to join you,’ said Oclatinius. ‘But I have some reports to write, I am afraid.’
‘Well, you will have to make do with the company of myself and Atius,’ said Silus.
‘I can’t come either,’ said Atius.
Silus looked at Atius. He had never known him to turn down a drink.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not feeling well.’
Silus thought he should backtrack and tell Odo and his father that on reflection he too would be unavailable, so he could find out what was wrong with Atius, whether it was an ailment of his body or soul. But he felt a resentment towards his old friend. Ever since his rescue, he had been moody and withdrawn, and while it was understandable to some extent, Silus could not comprehend or countenance his rudeness towards Odo, who had been an essential part of the effort to rescue him and save his life.
‘Fine, just me,’ said Silus. ‘But don’t worry. I have a nose for trouble. By the end of the evening we will be bruised, drunk and broke.’
Boda laughed. ‘That sounds like my type of celebration.’
‘With your permission, Oclatinius, Boda, I will take my leave,’ said Atius.
Silus watched him go, then shrugged his shoulders. He would come round in time. Tonight he was going to have fun. And try not to think about Ima, as he got drunk with her brother and father.
* * *
‘You sent for us, sir.’
Oclatinius, seated at his desk, ignored Silus and Atius standing before him. He stared intently at the markings on a wax tablet before him. Silus tried to peek at the writing, but as far as he could see, it made no sense. Just random Latin words. Some kind of code, he guessed, from one element of Oclatinius’ web of spies. He shuffled his feet impatiently.
Oclatinius looked up. ‘Am I keeping you from something?’ he asked testily.
‘No, sir. Itchy foot.’
Oclatinius looked back down at the tablet, and Silus had the distinct impression he was no longer reading, just making Silus wait to annoy him. Eventually, he tossed the tablet aside.
‘I’ve got a job for you both.’
It wasn’t a shock; that was the usual reason for Oclatinius to summon them. But Silus wasn’t in the mood for more killing. So it was a pleasant surprise when Oclatinius said, ‘I need you to take a message to Mogontiacum.’
‘A message. What sort of message?’
‘A secret one.’ He handed Silus a scroll, with a wax seal. ‘Take this to the camp prefect in the Castra. You leave straight away.’
‘But… the Alamanni warriors arrive the day after tomorrow. There is the feast and celebration of the new alliance.’
‘Do I need to give you a reason why this message is urgent?’ asked Oclatinius acidly.
‘Well, it would be nice.’ That was the sort of rejoinder Atius would have usually made, Silus realised. Atius just stood in silence, making no indication he was even listening.
‘Just do as you are told, centurion.’
Silus took the scroll and saluted formally. ‘Yes, sir. Right away, sir.’
‘Get out.’
Silus strode out of Oclatinius’ office, fuming.
‘What are we, contractors for the cursus publicus now?’ he said.
Atius shrugged. ‘It’s something to do, isn’t it?’
Silus glared at him. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ He sighed. ‘Come on, let’s go and find horses. It’s well over a hundred miles. I guess we won’t be going to the party.’
* * *
Silus took a glug from his cup of beer and looked across the table at Atius, who was toying listlessly with his food. They had covered good ground in the day and a half since they had left Colonia, riding at a steady pace, leaving them half a day from Mogontiacum. They’d stopped as night fell to change their horses at one of the stations of the cursus publicus, before finding a tavern. Silus tried again to make conversation, though he was on the verge of giving up and going to bed.
‘Caracalla may bring Tituria back from exile,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ said Atius. And then as an afterthought, ‘That’s good.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’
Atius looked up from his plate, surprised.
‘What?’
‘I just told you that Tituria might be going back to Rome. The little girl who has been imprisoned on that forsaken island all this time. Whose family I killed, and which I feel guilty about every day. And all you say is, “that’s good!”’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘I don’t know. Anything. Something to show me that you give a shit. Something to show me that the Atius who left Lipari to go back to work for the Arcani, who laughed and drank and fucked everything that moved, is still alive, and didn’t fucking die in Germania.’
His voice had got louder and higher as he spoke, and he realised that his eyes had filled with tears, and they were overflowing down his cheeks. But he didn’t care.
‘You are my best friend. Close as a brother. I love you. But you are gone. I feel like I’m grieving for you, even when you are right in front of me.’
Atius’ eyes were sorrowful. ‘I’m sorry if I’m being distant. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Then talk to me. You used to be able to tell me anything. Whether it was which girl you were chasing, or doubts about your faith.’
‘I… I can’t.’
‘Is it what they did to you when you are in captivity? I get it. I get it was horrible. But you are tough, you can bounce back.’
‘What do you know about it?’
‘You think I haven’t suffered? You forgot I watched my wife and daughter die?’
‘No, but…’ Atius sighed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s not that anyway.’
‘What then?’
Atius took a deep drink. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter any more. By the time we return, it will be all over.’
A chill settled over Silus. ‘All over? What will be all over? What are you talking about?’
Atius pursed his lips.
‘Don’t hate me.’
Silus didn’t move, didn’t speak. His throat felt like it was threatening to close, to shut off his air supply. His eyes were locked on Atius’ eyes, unwavering.
Atius swallowed. ‘This mission is horseshit. Look at the message.’
Silus reached into his pack and drew out the scroll Oclatinius had handed him. He looked down at the wax seal doubtfully. The thought of opening it made him shiver, so ingrained was the prohibition against breaking an official seal. But Atius was scaring him. He broke the wax with his thumb and tore open the papyrus scroll. He read the message, then read it again. He turned the scroll over to check he hadn’t missed something written on the other side. Then he read it one more time, to be sure.
‘What the fuck is this?’
‘What does it say?’
‘It says, “Please thank the bearer of this message, and send him back to me. O.”’
Atius nodded. ‘I thought it would be something along those lines.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Come on, Silus, you’re not stupid.’
‘He wanted us out of the way?’
‘Not us. You. I’m just babysitting you.’
‘What’s going to happen?’
Atius put his palm over his lower face, covering his mouth.
‘Co
me on,’ said Silus impatiently. ‘You’ve got this far.’
Atius took a deep breath, and told him. Silus stared as he spoke, disbelieving. When he had finished, Silus sat in stunned silence. When he could speak, his words were little more than a whisper.
‘How long have you known?’
‘Since before I was captured.’
Silus shook his head in disbelief.
‘I can’t let this happen.’
‘It’s too late. By the time you get there it will be all over.’
‘I’ve got to try.’
‘I can’t let you.’
‘You think you could stop me?’ Silus’ voice was a growl.
‘Before… everything. Yes, I could have stopped you. Now?’ He looked down at himself, a shadow of the powerful, muscular man he had once been. ‘Probably not.’
‘Then don’t bother trying.’ Silus stood abruptly, his stool tipping over backwards with a clatter. ‘I’m going to see how fast these cursus publicus horses really are. As for you,’ he pointed his finger, so the tip was only an inch from Atius’ eye. His mouth worked as he tried out cutting phrases, and discarded them unspoken. ‘Just stay away from me,’ he said eventually.
Atius looked down into his beer, and did not look up again until Silus had strode out, slamming the door behind him.
* * *
He knew he would be too late, even as he rode at breakneck speed down the cobbled road. He stopped at every station of the cursus publicus along the way, leaping from the saddle of his sweating, breathless mount and shouting for a slave to bring him a fresh one, before galloping off into the night once more. There were few travellers on the road at night, the occasional farmer taking his vegetables to market, some richer merchants with tough, scarred veterans as bodyguards. Once, two bandits tried to stop him, standing in the middle of the road with swords drawn, signalling for him to halt. He rode them down, their screams as they writhed, clutching at broken limbs, fading into the distance.
But it wasn’t enough. The sun rose, casting a beautiful fire across the underside of the low cloud in the east, and it continued higher as the mile markers to Colonia counted down with painful slowness. He had covered more miles faster than ever in his life. But the gathering was at noon. He wouldn’t make it.
The sun must have been at its zenith when he reached the city gate. He raced through, yelling at the startled guards that he was on urgent business for the Emperor. The streets were emptier than usual, with conspicuously fewer soldiers marching and parading. Fewer citizens too. Many of them were former soldiers themselves, and had a nose for trouble, and had holed up with their families in their homes until whatever was about to happen had happened. He rode straight for the governor’s villa, Caracalla’s headquarters. The guards on duty were more diligent than those at the city gates and when he dismounted and tried to enter, they barred his way.
‘Stand aside,’ he said, breathless and weak-kneed.
‘State your business,’ said one of the guards, a Praetorian in immaculate uniform.
‘I’m an Arcanus. Here to see the Emperor.’
He had no idea what he was going to say to Caracalla. He hoped inspiration would come. Maybe he would just get on his knees and beg. But the opportunity did not arise anyway.
‘He’s not here.’
The voice came from within the palace. He looked beyond the guards and saw Oclatinius walking towards him.
‘You,’ growled Silus. ‘You knew about this. You sent me away because you knew I would try to stop it. In fact, I bet this was all your idea.’
Oclatinius shook his head sadly. ‘No, this was all down to him. I can’t take the credit. Or the blame.’
‘Just tell me where.’
‘You can’t do anything.’
‘I have to try.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? Because…’ He wasn’t sure he could put it into words. Maybe it was just because someone had to. And of course, there was Odo. ‘Because it’s wrong.’
‘You think you know better than the Emperor what is right and wrong?’
‘I know that for sure. Now tell me where it’s happening, Oclatinius, or I swear to all the gods on Olympus I will never work for you for the rest of my life.’
Oclatinius shrugged. ‘You will only be in time to be a witness.’
‘If that’s all I can be, I will be that.’
Oclatinius passed his hand over his eyes, and it suddenly struck Silus how old the spymaster was. He sighed.
‘To the north-east of the city, about two miles out, there is a valley, with a small tributary of the Rhenus flowing through it. In the floodplain at the bottom, the warriors of the tribes of the Alamanni will be celebrating their new alliance with Rome.’
Silus opened his mouth, but he could not bring himself to thank him. Maybe Oclatinius wasn’t responsible. But he had certainly done nothing to stop this. He turned on his heel, grabbed his horse’s reins, remounted and kicked his heels into its flanks. The horse leapt into motion again, heading back for the city gates.
* * *
The gathered warriors of the Alamanni confederacy should have been an impressive sight. Tall, broad, fearsome looking. Not the sort of men you would want to be looking at from the pointed end of a sword. And present in vast numbers too. Seeing them all together in one place like this truly impressed on Silus how vast the Alamanni people were. And of course, many of the tribes remained at home, protecting their families from other tribes and predators, working the fields or making weapons and tools. On top of that, the Alamanni were just one of the many conglomerations of barbarians that inhabited Germania beyond the Empire’s borders. United against Rome, they could be unstoppable.
But now they had come in peace. Unarmoured, unarmed, feasting, in friendship with their new allies. And noticeably drunk.
The smell of roasting meat hung over the gathering. The number of oxen and sheep slaughtered to feed this mass must have been vast. The Roman hosts seemed remarkably few in number, but they mingled with their guests, the slaves providing food and wine, and serving too as the object of various clumsy, unpleasant and unwanted attempts at seduction. A few Roman soldiers circulated as well, mainly centurions and officers, dressed in their uniforms, and armed. No doubt the Alamanni had been told their swords were purely for ceremonial purposes.
At the far end of the meeting place, opposite from where Silus had arrived, sat Caracalla, mounted on a pristine white gelding, flanked by mounted Praetorians. He was too far away for Silus to make out his features, but he could picture the creased forehead, frowning out at the revellers.
Silus tied his horse to a tree, and thrust his way into the throng of bodies. Despite what Oclatinius and Atius had said, despite his own misgivings, it looked like he really was in time. He would throw himself on Caracalla’s mercy. Use reason, begging, threats, blackmail. Anything.
He pushed forward, thrusting bulky bodies aside, earning curses and shoves. Progress towards the Emperor was painfully slow.
‘Clear the way,’ he yelled. ‘Stand aside.’
The Germans gave him curious stares. And suddenly he realised the Romans had gone. Not the slaves, of course, they still served, and were molested, oblivious. No one cared about them. But the Roman soldiers had slipped away, none to be seen. Silus, right in the centre of the mass of bodies, stood on his tiptoes, peering over the tall heads.
And then he saw them.
To the north, quietly, with perfect discipline, row upon row of legionaries had formed up on the slope of the hill, perpendicular to the river. He looked west and south and saw the same. The only place where no Roman soldiers stood was the riverbank, the fast-flowing water forming a natural barrier. He felt ice in his chest.
There was no stopping it now. All he could do was find Odo.
He grabbed the nearest German. ‘Odo. Have you seen Odo? Boda, Ewald?’ The barbarian looked at him with incomprehension, and replied in German. Frantic, Silus pushed through the crowd, craning his head t
his way and that.
‘Odo,’ he yelled. ‘Odo!’
His shouting drew some attention, even over the singing and laughter of the feasting Alamanni. One tapped his shoulder and pointed. ‘Odo.’
Silus saw his young friend, talking politely to a Roman slave girl, who was looking downwards demurely, maybe enjoying his company, maybe just relieved she hadn’t been dragged away for the amusement of some barbarian brute.
Silus grabbed his arm.
‘Silus!’ Odo embraced him, squeezed hard. The boy was not drunk. That was a small mercy. Silus prised Odo’s arms off him, and gripped his shoulders.
‘Odo, where is your father? Where is your brother?’
Odo frowned in puzzlement. ‘I don’t know. Father took Ewald and went to talk to his cousin. I stayed here because…’ He looked at the slave girl and reddened.
Silus looked across to Caracalla, then around at the soldiers. They were in position now, ready, waiting patiently. There was no time.
‘Listen to me. I have a very important mission. It’s vital to the safety of Rome and the Alamanni. But you must come with me right now. Understand?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘No time to explain. Follow me.’
Silus gripped Odo’s wrist, and dragged him through the warriors, east towards the river.
Some of the Germans noticed the legionaries now, and looked around in puzzlement, pointing them out to their colleagues. An uneasy murmur rippled through the air.
‘Silus, what’s going on?’
‘Shut up. Keep moving.’
They reached the periphery of the throng, near the river. The bank sloped gently until reaching a steep edge, a ravine cut into the soil and rock. Only a few Alamanni had come this far from the party, most of them to urinate, defaecate, vomit, or fornicate. All of them now were looking towards the arrayed legionaries, their armour glinting as the sun broke through the scattered cloud. They pointed and muttered, their stances uneasy.
