The Peacekeeper

by Jess Steven Hughes

  “He wants me to take charge of the entire City Guard.” I dropped the message on the bench beside me.

  Eleyne gasped, snapping both hands to the side of her face. “I still don’t understand. Why you?”

  “He doesn’t trust anyone else. He has supreme authority, but the force has been under supervision of a field commander since the days of Augustus.”

  Eleyne glared long and hard. “Isn’t once enough? Look what Sabinus did to you last time.”

  I raised my hand and gestured toward her. “He allowed me to live—he could have ordered my execution.”

  “If you return this time, he may not have a choice.”

  I lowered my hand and focused on her angry face, the tight muscles around the jaw line, the defiant jutting chin. For several minutes, I remained silent, thinking. I came to a decision, one she wouldn’t like. “I’ve decided to return to Rome, and you’re going with me.”

  Startled, Eleyne’s eyes narrowed, and a sneer came to her lips. She shot a forefinger in my direction. “Let me remind you, if you’ve forgotten, not only am I your wife, but a princess and true Queen of the Regni. You are my man, my consort. I don’t take orders. I give them.”

  Imogen, who stood behind flagging her fan, insolently nodded in support of her mistress. I shook my head thinking how Eleyne was like all women—wife, princess, lover. She wore the helmet of one or all three when it suited her purposes.

  “Nevertheless, this is a summons, and Sabinus needs me,” I said a few seconds later.

  “Needs you? What about our sons and me?” She touched her abdomen. “And the baby? Do you think we need you any less?”

  “A few minutes ago, you said you wouldn’t have complained if we’d stayed in Rome.”

  She ignored my reminder of her earlier comment. “Doesn’t your family come first? Don’t we matter at all?”

  I took a deep breath, stood, and walked a few steps away. I halted, turned, and faced Eleyne. “You matter—gods, how much you and the boys mean to me. I regret receiving this letter, but it’s something I can’t explain. It’s some inner feeling pulling me back.”

  “You’re moonstruck, like a mad Druid, that’s what you’re feeling.”

  I gestured to the parchment lying on the bench. “Perhaps, but I’m going. I know the risks. Sabinus wouldn’t have written me if he didn’t believe my presence wasn’t important. Don’t you see? With Aurelia dead, there isn’t anyone he trusts except me. He knows my loyalty, and honest advice on all matters.”

  “Didn’t you learn anything from your last experience?”

  I returned to my seat and sat down. I smacked a closed right fist into my open left palm. “I detest Rome and its rulers and corruption as much as you do—my loyalty isn’t to them. But I am loyal to my friends, family, and myself. I know why Sabinus did what he did.”

  “As Commander of the City Guard, you’ll be in greater danger than before.”

  After unclenching my fist, I rested both hands on my thighs. “If that’s the situation, I’ll resign immediately and leave Rome.”

  Eleyne shook her head. “I don’t believe it. You’ll stay until they carry you out. You can’t be so naive to think you’ll get away so easily? This time they’ll kill you!”

  Heat rushed to my face, the muscles tightened in my jaw. “I’ll watch my back like a wolf. I’ll recruit my own spies and won’t be surprised by anybody or anything.”

  Eleyne folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I’m not going and neither are the boys. We are staying here!”

  I narrowed my eyes and stared into hers. “You will go—your place is at my side.”

  “And see you killed? Never!”

  I stood again and walked the length of the garden path and back toward Eleyne, struggling to keep my annoyance under control. I returned to my chair, and we argued for the rest of the afternoon. Dusk fell before Eleyne spoke in a voice of resignation, “So I can’t stop you? You’ve made up your mind?”

  “Yes, the moment I read his letter—I’m sorry.” My insides churned, knowing her concerns. I prayed she would still change her mind. But if she didn’t, I would go without her. The thought of leaving her behind tore at my spirit. After eleven years of marriage our love had grown and matured. Not only was she my wife and lover, but a dear friend and companion.

  Our lives had settled into a domestic routine like many other marriages, but I didn’t mind. Had I wanted to, as master of the household, I had the right to take my pleasures with any slave woman. Because I was content with Eleyne, I did not. Only once did Eleyne complain, unjustly. She accused me of showing too much attention to a house girl. I had complimented the young woman on an occasion for her efficiency and beauty. Furious, Eleyne took my remarks as a proposition. After I convinced her that she was mistaken, Eleyne’s anger quickly subsided. However, the temptation to take the wench had crossed my mind.

  Nonetheless, Eleyne’s Christian charity did not lend itself to taking chances, and she sold the poor girl. I had no say in the matter, because Eleyne originally purchased the walnut-eyed girl with money from the dowry given her by Sabinus and Aurelia. By Mars, sometimes I thought Roman law gave women too many rights.

  “Where will you stay?” Eleyne asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

  “Probably at Uncle Budar’s home on Vatican Hill.”

  “Of course. It’s a very pleasant place, isn’t it?”

  “Aye, better than living within the city. He said if I returned to Rome, I could live there. I’m going to take him at his word.”

  “Well, if you must go,” she said in a calmer voice, “then I guess I’ll follow—I won’t stay here without you. I know I’ve been acting like a shrew, darling. Can you forgive me?”

  “Yes, dear lady, always,” I answered, relieved that she had changed her mind.

  She smiled. “I’m glad. Besides, I don’t want any hussy house slaves tempting you—you’re still mine.”

  Her servant nodded and smirked in agreement. If Imogen had not been Eleyne’s favorite slave, and such a good nurse to the boys, I would have sold the wench in a moment. I kept a sober face, delighted Eleyne had changed her mind—gods love her.

  “Besides,” she continued, “I’ve heard rumors that Paul, the apostle of Christ, was brought to Rome under house arrest. If we must return to that wicked city, then I want to meet him,” Eleyne added in a resolute tone. “He’s a great teacher and healer—I can learn from him.” She studied my face as if looking for a sign of disapproval and smiled when she saw none.

  “We’ll tell the boys about the move when they return from the beach,” I said.

  She sighed. “Yes, so we will. I hope they will understand. I’m afraid they won’t like it.”

  “I know,” I said quietly, “but they will have to adjust to it.”

  She nodded.

  I stood and moved to Eleyne’s cushioned bench and sat beside her. She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder. “The flower is lovely,” she whispered.

  Chapter 17: Early July, 58 AD

  Chapter 17

  Early July, 58 AD

  At dawn, our ship, Orion’s Sword, quietly approached the harbor of Ostia two miles north of the Tiber’s mouth. The only ripple striking the passing ship’s hull was the mirrored surface of the Tyrrhenian Sea. Brooding on the horizon, Ficana Hill sat cloaked in a sullen grayness of overhanging clouds, overlooking the river like a Greek acropolis. In the depressing light, the distant Alban Hills vaulted black and purple.

  The ship arrived none too soon for Eleyne. We had encountered two raging storms crossing the normally tranquil summer waters of the Mediterranean. Because she was less than six months pregnant, I had feared she would give birth prematurely—fatal for the child and possibly, Gods forbid, herself. Eleyne was dressing in the cabin below.

  On deck, the household slaves struck their small goatskin tents, which provided temporary shelters during the ten-day voyage, and repacked the last of our baggage. Chulainn stood on the stern near the t
iller with my noisy sons, Marcellus and Sabinus. Teasing him, they kept Chulainn’s hands full, jumping on his shoulders and attempting to wrestle him to the splintery deck.

  “That’s enough, you little monkeys,” Chulainn said in mock anger.

  He sat on the two and rasped their short hair with his knuckles. Surrender quickly followed, and the three laughed together.

  They waved to me where I stood amidships by the railing, dressed in my ceremonial officer’s uniform. I grinned and waved back, regretting I had not joined their fun. Sometimes, I make the mistake of acting too dignified. I chided myself for not being more uninhibited like the children. It would have been a soothing balm for the soul.

  The squatting merchantman glided past the massive stone, three-story lighthouse guarding the harbor’s entrance. Nesting in the building’s minute cracks and crevices were gulls who had splattered its walls with droppings. They seemed oblivious to the blazing light from the tower’s beacon. Built on an island of concrete, only the great lighthouse of Alexandria, Egypt, surpassed the structure in size and grandeur. The small island acted as a breakwater to the entrance of the encircling mole. We slid between the protective arms of the harbor and entered the busy anchorage.

  Over one hundred ships of various sizes lined the stone quay. Most were coated with protective black pitch. The surrounding waters reeked of filth and garbage dumped from countless vessels. Squawking seabirds circled, dived, and fought over prized tidbits before a victor emerged and flew away. Wide-beamed merchantmen, hoisting one square center sail and a smaller sprit raking sharply over the bow, ruled the harbor. Nearby bulging two-storied warehouses stood framed by red brick porticoes. Sweaty dock workers, freedmen, and slaves alike busily unloaded cargo, hurrying up and down gangways from vessel prows. Ship masters shouted orders to crews. Cursing foremen drove stevedores and dock workers. Money changers, sea-captains, and merchants haggled over the price of goods. The deafening noise, carried on the sea breeze like invisible fingers, reached into every dock, slip, and quay of Ostia’s turbulent harbor.

  At one end of the dock, troops from the City Guard’s Ostian garrison marched into view—dressed in chain-mail armor and red-plumed, old-style republican helmets. The entire contingent of four hundred mustered for the occasion, officially welcoming my return to Rome. Displayed prominently in front were the cohort standards, gilded dolphins, and the emperor’s image, dressed with laurel garlands.

  At the head of the formation, Casperius Niger, my centurion from the Seventh Cohort of the Watch, sat astride on a well-groomed black gelding. Promoted to the rank of tribune, he wore a silver cuirass as part of his uniform. Transferred to the City Guard, he was assigned commander of the Ostian Cohort.

  Then I spied an unwelcome menace among the crowded dock—Gallus. He sat in a plush, silk-lined litter, surrounded by an entourage of retainers, freedmen, and slaves. Shoving aside the hatless workers, his people threatened bodily harm to anyone who failed to show respect as the senator passed by. What had brought Gallus to Ostia? Surely, he had not journeyed here to greet us. After all these years, his hatred still lingered, as did mine.

  Affectionately, he stroked the belly of a furry, white cat sprawled in his lap. As the litter moved along, a slave handed him a highly polished, silver mirror. Gallus snatched the mirror and handed the slave his pampered cat, which immediately clawed his face. He admired himself in the mirror, touched his hair foppishly, and pushed an invisible strand back into place.

  As I leaned on the railing, the soft touch of Eleyne’s hand rubbed against my left arm. “Is that who I think it is?” she asked.

  “Yes, it’s him,” I said, glancing to her pale face, meeting her eyes. Eleyne wore a bright-green and orange, full-length tunic. A gold torc encircled her white neck, and two silver bracelets dangled from each wrist.

  She glared at Gallus. “Has he come to throw more coins?”

  “Perhaps he’s part of the welcoming party.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It’s not meant to be. I’m as puzzled as you.”

  “Where is Lord Sabinus?”

  “I didn’t expect him. The Guard was sent to welcome us.”

  She sniffed. “If he wanted you to return so much, he should be here. If not for you, then for my sake. He once considered me part of his family. After all, you had to get his permission to marry me.”

  “A city prefect doesn’t publicly welcome a military tribune,” I said, “especially one he forced to resign. Not even for the sake of one he considered a daughter.” I took both Eleyne’s hands and looked into her eyes. “He’ll welcome me and you, too, in his own way.”

  For the length of a few heart beats Eleyne smiled, but then pulled her hands away. “How silly.”

  Before I could answer, the harbor breeze picked up. I caught a whiff of fetid dead fish and coughed. In the distance, I spotted a group of fishermen gutting a new catch of tuna on the dock. They threw the entrails into the putrid water quietly lapping against the pilings. Screeching seagulls instantly appeared and dived upon this newly discovered feast.

  “On the contrary,” I finally answered, “it would be considered a sign of his weakness and my strength. He must stay in Rome where he can keep an eye on the main bulk of the City Guard. If he came to Ostia, they might swear their allegiance to someone else instead of him—that’s seven thousand men. Remember what happened when the Legions of Dalmatia along the Danubus pledged allegiance to Scribonianus during Claudius’s reign?”

  “But he was forced to commit suicide,” she said. “Honestly, do you believe the Guard would pledge you their fealty? They don’t know you.”

  “Apparently, my reputation with the Watch, tarnished though it might be, has preceded me to the City Guard, something I never envisioned. I know from reports I received from Sabinus, they had heard of the terrible reputation of the Seventh Cohort before I had taken command. They also were informed of my efforts to retrain and ultimately hold them together on the day of the riot and massacre during the naval games. And the Guard certainly knew about the punishment the Watchmen received for disobeying orders. As their new commander, I’ll have the power—if I want it.”

  “And be crushed by Nero?” she said. “You’re not on the frontier.”

  “Very observant, my dear.” I gave her a catty grin. “It’s not worth losing my head for something I never wanted.”

  “Good, I love your head too much.”

  I gave her full cheek a gentle kiss. “So do I.”

  Stevedores snagged lines tossed by the crew from Orion’s Sword and secured them to iron rings set in concrete at the wharf’s edge. Scampering over the sides and down the gangway, they began unloading a consignment of a hundred jars of garum, a foul-smelling Spanish fish sauce.

  “In any event,” I continued, “I’m not so ambitious—probably one reason for my recall. As city prefect, Sabinus is the lawful supreme commander of the Guard. I’m only an extension of his authority.”

  “A powerful one.”

  “Aye, but I’ll use my office for the good of the people. And, unless he’s changed, Casperius Niger can help.”

  “Why him?”

  “He was the only reliable centurion in the Seventh Cohort, and trustworthy—like Crispus.”

  “Don’t you remember Crispus’s words about never trusting a Roman?”

  The sounds of breaking jars, spilling vinegary Gallic wines and olive oil, and the grinding roll of marble blocks over wooden rollers to waiting river barges echoed along the quay. For the length of a few heartbeats, the noise interrupted my thoughts as to how I should answer Eleyne’s question.

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I finally said. The memories of that terrible day of slaughter, and of holding my dying friend in my arms, flooded my memory. The sight of his broken body was as vivid as if it had occurred yesterday. I turned from Eleyne and blinked the tears away. Facing her again, she placed a delicate hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

&n
bsp; “Darling you don’t have to apologize for anything. He was your best friend. Only despicable Rome should be sorry.” Her hiss showed her contempt.

  “No matter, Casperius is considered as much a foreigner as we are, even though he is Italian born.”

  “Why?”

  I glanced in Casperius’s direction and back to my wife. “He’s Etruscan—Rome’s ancient enemy. They were defeated hundreds of years ago and became Roman citizens, but old fears about them still exist.” I shrugged. “Sheer madness.”

  “Can you be certain of his loyalty?”

  “Unless I’m mistaken, he’ll place his allegiance in Sabinus and me.”

  Eleyne studied the cohort as it stood on the dock. “You once said officers considered malcontents were sent to Ostia.” She fixed her cobalt eyes on me. “Is that why Casperius is here?”

  “More than likely. He must have done something to displease Prefect Secundus before his death. Now that I’m the Guard commander, I’ll transfer Casperius to Rome.”

  I took Eleyne’s hands and steadied her on the still rocking ship. Then I released one hand and led her down the gangway.

  When we disembarked, Casperius Niger dismounted. Accompanied by an escort of guardsmen, he greeted Eleyne and me after we stepped off the gangway. Darker and harder than I remembered, his olive face had the affable grin of a lynx. “Welcome back, sir,” he said heartily while saluting. “And you, too, Princess,” he added in deference to Eleyne, who smiled.

  “Thank you, Tribune Casperius Niger,” I replied, noting his rank as I tried to adjust my shaky sea legs. “It’s indeed a pleasure. I hadn’t expected to see you again.”

  “They can’t hide a good man forever, can they?” he answered in a slow, Etruscan drawl.

  “Aye, you were the only decent centurion under my last command.”

  A smirk came to his face. “They were a bad lot. But despite them and the politicians, I worked my way up the ranks. Lord Sabinus sent the garrison to welcome you, and I’ve turned out every manjack of them.”

  “I’ll take a closer look.”

  Eleyne stayed behind with the family and slaves as Casperius and I stepped over to the formation.