by H. B. Ashman
“What is it?” Marius asked lowering the reins.
Tiberius sought his gaze with sorrow in his eyes. “You are happy. For the first time since you lost your wife and child. I could see it in you the moment I stepped off the boat.”
Marius smiled. “I am, my dear friend. Jupiter has blessed me, for once, and it is more than I could ask for.”
Tiberius stepped forward, and Marius grabbed him his arm to help him onto the chariot.
“If there is one person in all of greedy Rome who deserves it, then it is you.”
Marius smiled again. “Let us go to my house. I have plenty of wine and food, and a son who has been yipping about your visit for days.”
Tiberius laughed but grew serious again. “There is a matter I need to discuss with you first.”
“Can it not wait?” Marius asked.
Tiberius shook his head. “You invite me into the home that you share with your wife and son. Out of respect for our friendship and your family, I need to say what I have to say now.”
Marius frowned as Tiberius pulled out a piece of papyrus.
“Augustus has allowed me to come here only if I give you this.” Tiberius handed him the papyrus. It had Augustus’s insignia on it, the seal unbroken. A flash of panic rushed through Marius. He knew exactly what this meant.
“Please forgive me, Marius,” Tiberius said, his voice low. “Believe me when I tell you that I truly know the pains Rome requires from its citizens.”
It was true. Tiberius had lost everything under the pressure of his imperial family. Would Marius suffer the same fate?
Marius briefly narrowed his eyes at the message in his hands, then shook his head. “There is nothing to forgive, Tiberius. I shall open it later.” He put it into the little purse on the leather belt he was wearing over his white tunic. “Now let us go and meet my family.”
“Arminius!” Little Marcus hollered in the high-pitched voice of an ecstatic child. Amalia followed his gaze and found Arminius in one of the small side streets they were passing by on their way back home from the market. He was standing in the doorway of one of the nicer apartment complexes, a stunning woman hanging around his neck. She had full lips with long black hair that hung loosely over her bare shoulders and her white silken dress.
Another woman, Amalia thought. Her friendship with Arminius had suffered since she and Marius had become a couple. Arminius’s visits had faded into short, awkward encounters—like this one—and, more often than not, he had some woman attached to his hip.
Arminius turned his gaze toward Amalia, his smile vanishing the moment he saw her. He leaned over and said something to the woman at his side, a plastic smile on his face. The woman’s beautiful mouth puckered into a pout, but then she winked at him and stepped away into the crowd.
Marcus tore free from Amalia’s hand and stormed into the small alley. A few cabbages fell out of the basket he was holding, rolling over the cobbled road before tumbling to a stop.
“Arminius,” Marcus hollered again, as he threw his arms around the larger man. Amalia followed him.
“Come home with us and teach me how to fight,” Marcus begged, as he yanked on Arminius’s arm. Arminius’s armor flashed with his movements, his scarlet cloak swinging with each of Marcus’s pulls.
“I wish,” Arminius said, “but I am afraid you are too skilled for me. I would lose and could never show my face here again.”
Marcus frowned. “That is what Father says when he is tired.”
Amalia and Arminius looked at each other and laughed, some of the tension draining from them.
“Stop swinging Arminius’s arm like he’s a rope,” Amalia said. She stepped closer to Marcus to grab his hand again, but Marcus released Arminius. “You dropped your cabbage. Now go pick it up.”
“Oh oh!” Marcus said, looking down at his empty basket. He ran off to collect his lost vegetables.
With a grin, Arminius’s dark brown eyes scanned her. He cleared his throat. “You look well,” he said. “Germanica,” he added softly.
Amalia tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
“You go to the market alone?” Arminius asked, watching Marcus running back and forth along the street. “For cabbage?” he asked.
Amalia smiled as she studied his face. The past years had made Arminius only more handsome. His shoulders had grown broader, and stubble lined his perfect jaw.
“Am I to sit on my ass waving around servants like a fat senator?” Amalia asked.
Arminius threw his head back in laughter. “You truly are one of a kind.” As he said it, Marcus appeared by her side, basket once again full of cabbage. “Until next time,” Arminius said, his smiling eyes soft. “My Germanica.”
Seeking the right words, Amalia opened her mouth, but Arminius ruffled Marcus’s hair as he moved down the little alley, past men and women hopping out of his way and lowering their heads.
“Will we see him again soon?” Marcus asked.
Amalia stared after Arminius. My Germanica. Did he still believe that she was his omen from the gods?
“Mother!” Marcus snapped her out of her thoughts. “Will we see Arminius again soon?”
“We will see him,” Amalia said, feeling a strange, unwelcome tightness in her chest as she watched Arminius disappear into the crowd.
Marius, Amalia, and Marcus laughed as Tiberius jumped into the air and almost lost his balance. He tumbled sideways, then landed back on his feet. Unlike Amalia and Marcus, Marius knew about his friend’s fondness for battle reenactments—especially after several cups of wine.
Tiberius straightened, not letting their laughter distract from his performance.
“Then the giant swung his sword at your father once more.” Tiberius jabbed an imaginary sword at one of the atrium’s dimly lit pillars. “But your father jumped out of the way and hammered his shield right onto the giant’s wrist.”
Little Marcus was on feet, trotting in place like a horse as he watched the performance. Marius and Amalia sat next to each other on a couch, both smiling in amusement.
Tiberius suddenly lowered his arm and faked a yawn, then walked toward his chair. “But who wants to hear the rest of such a boring, old story.”
“No!” Marcus shouted, launching at Tiberius and pulling him by his hand back to the middle of the atrium. “I want to hear it, please!”
“Are you certain?” Tiberius asked.
Pouting, Marcus crossed his arms. “I won’t sleep if you don’t finish.”
Tiberius laughed. “Well, in that case . . .” He jumped back into his performance pose. “The giant fell onto his knees, but not without grabbing your father by his ankle. Luckily for Rome, Marius Vincius is no giant’s toy. He rammed the edge of his sword into the giant’s back. The giant screamed. Ahhh!”
“And then?” Marcus was bouncing up and down.
“And then the giant fell flat, and your father won.” Tiberius smiled before sinking back into his seat.
Marius rolled his eyes. “Tiberius failed to mention that this was merely a training exercise, and not a real battle.”
Marcus threw him an angry look before turning back to Tiberius with big eyes. “One more, one more,” he begged.
Tiberius took several long drinks from his wine cup. “Maybe tomorrow. I am old and tired.”
“No, now,” Marcus demanded, but Marius gave him a serious look.
“Be a good son and thank Tiberius for his extremely dramatized tales. It is time to sleep.”
Marcus nodded, a defeated look on his face. “Yes, Father.”
Amalia rose and swept Marcus into her arms. “Come, I will tell you one more story in bed.”
Marcus smiled as he leaned his head against Amalia’s shoulder.
“Good night,” Marcus said as Amalia carried him out of the atrium.
“Good night?” Tiberius repeated, looking at Marius.
“That is how the Germanics say it. It means may you rest well and peacefully.”
Tib
erius shook his head. “Not in my wildest dream could I have pictured a more perfect family for you.”
Marius drank from his cup. “It scares me how much I have to lose. I have never been afraid of battle, but now I am.”
Tiberius poured himself another cup, then walked over to fill Marius’s as well.
“Are you afraid for yourself or them?”
“Both.”
Tiberius sat down, nodding. Of all his friends, Marius knew that Tiberius understood. He, too, was once a great military commander and celebrated in Rome—before he was forced to leave his family, before he was made a joke by Augustus’s daughter, Julia the adulteress.
“Our Augustus is asking too much of you,” Tiberius said.
“The more he asks, the more I can deliver. If I am victorious, he might grant me the freedom to marry of my choosing.”
Tiberius nearly spat out his wine. “Amalia?”
Marius nodded.
“But,” Tiberius said, “the law does not—”
“I know the law,” Marius said. “I shall ask Augustus to grant Amalia citizenship. By the gods she has earned it. She is the one who built the bridge to Rome’s victory.”
“The bridge over the pass?” Tiberius scratched his chin.
“I swear it. In two days. I rode my horse back there just to see it with my own eyes. And there it was. A marvel. As if the gods had sent it from the skies.”
“Remarkable,” Tiberius muttered.
Marius threw back the last of his wine. “And yet Rome treats her like my whore, and maybe always will.”
“I hope Augustus has learned from his past,” Tiberius said. “Angering Venus by mingling with her will has ill effects, and I’m living proof.”
The atrium fell into silence.
“Tiberius,’ Marius said, finally. “I have never asked you for anything. And I am ashamed that I do now, but in case I fall in battle—”
“I promise I shall do what I can to keep them safe,” Tiberius said.
Marius nodded. It was an honest promise, and yet only the gods knew whether Tiberius would be able to keep it. He was not on good terms with Augustus, a misfortune one could not easily ignore.
“Come, let us walk. I need to clear my head of this wine.” Tiberius rose. Marius sat a moment longer, then stood as well.
“Just like the old days.” Marius smiled as he stepped out into the clear, cool night under a sparkling Illyrian sky.
Amalia was sitting on a chair in front of an ancient Roman version of a makeup table. She was holding a small hand mirror in front of her, but her eyes were frozen on the floor.
Usually, around this time, her mind would wander to her family and to the questions that still haunted her.
The mysterious scroll had revealed nothing about her time traveling. She knew by now that the tree in the middle of the scroll was called Yggdrasil, the holiest of beings in the Germanic belief system. It connected the nine worlds the Germanics believed in. Arminius was able to recognize three of the worlds but no more. And the prophecies of the sybil of Tiburtine hadn’t proved fruitful either. Most of her work revolved around the deaths of kings and senators and soldiers alike.
And though she never stopped thinking about her life back home, she no longer wished for it. Amalia had a family here now. Even if she could return, she wouldn’t.
And yet, she never stopped searching for an answer to what had happened to her. But not tonight. Tonight her thoughts were occupied with a different worry: Marius marching to Armenia.
It was not the first time since the birth of their son that he had left for battle. He was a praetor, and it was his duty to defend Rome and its Pax Romana, which she’d learned was Augustus’s made-up peace promise. But this time something felt different. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but for some reason she couldn’t stop worrying about it either.
“What is the matter?” Marius’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Are you thinking of your home and family again?”
“Yes,” Amalia said. It was not entirely a lie.
With an understanding nod, Marius walked over to her. “I have something for you,” he said. She rose as he revealed a necklace from behind his back and handed it to her.
Amalia held it carefully. Its chain was made of dark leather, and its pendant was a piece of round bronze. It had the initials M. V. engraved on it.
“It is made from a piece of the shield that was handed down to me from my father. It has been in my family for many generations, since the battle of the three hundred Spartans.”
Amalia’s stared at the necklace in awe.
“It was not my sword that kept me alive all these years, but my shield.” He ran his hand over her cheek. “You are my shield.”
Amalia tried to speak but couldn’t. It was the most incredible gift she had ever received, or ever would. With shaking hands, she pulled the leather necklace over her head and looked at the bronze pendant once more.
“I don’t know what to say.” Hot tears formed in her eyes. “I will always carry it with me. Always.”
He looked at her a moment longer, then leaned in to kiss her, gently at first, then more passionately. He pulled away to hold her in his arms, his body tightly pressed against hers, the scent of his skin calming her like nothing else could.
“Promise you will come back to me,” she said, fighting the hot tears that started to blur her vision.
Marius buried his head into her neck, then pressed his cheek against hers. “I promise I will come back to you . . . in this life or the next.”
A loud banging against the villa’s gates woke Amalia with a jolt. Marius jumped out of bed and grabbed his sword, which he always kept close. It was still dark out, but a dim light from the street was thrown against the bedroom’s wall through the window. Half-naked, Amalia rushed out of bed and over to the chair to grab her dress and throw it on.
Marcus came running into the bedroom. “Mama,” he cried, and threw himself into her arms. Anat was right on his heels, following his every step.
“My Praetor, it is urgent!” Quintus hollered from the street and up the outside walls of the villa. Marius and Amalia exchanged relieved glances. Anat sighed. It was Rome who was at their gates, not an enemy.
“Stay here,” Marius said, placing his sword on the table before he strode out the room.
Pressing Marcus tightly against her chest, Amalia walked over to look out her window. The whole street was packed with officers and centurions on their horses. There was a strange beauty to the seas of flickering torches in their hands, glowing like red-and-yellow stars.
Arminius, Germanicus, and Quintus were leading the soldiers, dressed in full war attire, waiting patiently for Marius in front of the villa’s gate.
Arminius looked up to her window, holding her gaze for a moment before looking away.
If there had ever been anything boyish in this man when he found her at the lake all those years ago, it was gone now. His armor looked liquid in the flickering lights of the oil torches. Handsome, fearless, proud, and strong—even Augustus himself was said to have spoken well of Arminius and his deeds in the legions. Could this man really betray Rome? Amalia had removed herself from the burden of the question. The less she mingled with him, the less influence she’d have. She would quietly live her life with her son and Marius and let history take its course.
Still smiling, her gaze wandered over to Germanicus, who didn’t look up once. His transformation into a man had been even more severe than Arminius’s, but he had also been much younger when they first met. Unlike Arminius, they had barely spoken in years. She’d heard he was engaged to one of Augustus’s granddaughters.
Suddenly, the villa’s big wooden gates opened. Marius, Primus, and Tiberius stepped out.
“Ave Praetor!” the men shouted as they all dismounted their horses.
“What is the meaning of this?” Marius asked. His voice was far but loud and clear enough for her to hear.
Arminius stepped forward and han
ded him a message. Marius opened it and read it quickly. Then he just stood there as if its content had paralyzed him.
Tiberius stepped next to him. “What is it? You worry me.”
In silence, Marius handed him the note and exchanged disturbed glances with Arminius and Germanicus.
“By the gods,” Tiberius said. The message slipped his fingers and slowly tumbled to the ground like a falling leaf. “Julius has died in Armenia!” His voice echoed over the men, out into the streets, and then up into the darkness of the sky. After, it was dead silent.
Germanicus and Tiberius stared at each other, the air around them awkward and thick. They were uncle and nephew and, in the eyes of the world, the only two remaining heirs to Rome. Tiberius had garnered Augustus’s displeasure and had often made his disinterest in a succession public. But he was part of the family and one of the only male heirs remaining, nonetheless.
Marius stepped in front of Germanicus. “You may go and mourn with your family.”
Germanicus shook his head. “I am of more use to my family marching with you.”
Marius nodded and placed a hand briefly on Germanicus’s shoulder. Then he took a deep breath before turning to his legion.
“Prepare the men. We will march at first light.”
It was twilight. The crisp night air lingered as the sky above them began to glow a faint purple-red.
With a heavy iron curtain lying on everybody’s shoulders, Amalia, Marcus, Tiberius, and even the servants gathered in front of the villa to say their goodbyes to Marius. Not far from him was a crowd of waiting officers on horses, Arminius among them.
Whispering comforting words into her ear, Marius was holding Amalia one last time. She couldn’t breathe. A painful knot in her throat was strangling her. It got even worse when Marius’s strong embrace released her. A few tears rolled down her cheek before she could get a hold of herself and be strong for her son and Marius.
With a faint smile on his lips, Marius looked straight into her eyes and pulled out his knife to cut off a strand of Amalia’s hair. It was a ritual for him, one they had done before every major unrest he rode out to.
