Wandal said no more, as Augustus lifted his hand and walked for his seat. Men were shuffling to take seats around the temple’s vast central area. Livia followed him. Germani bodyguards kept a close eye on every suspicious movement by the people around him, like a pack of hounds. Sneeze, a glance that displeased a Germani, and the culprit would suffer the unavoidable attention of one or two of our burly, brutal beasts. No man would slay Augustus like they had Julius Caesar.
Gaius stood there, lost until Lollius appeared out to the crowd. With him were others, most clients of Augustus, like Varus, and many of them moved to speak to the young man, and then, also his brother, Lucius.
Marcus stopped to look at me. “Found anything more last night?”
“No,” I said.
“Seems someone tried to kill Germanicus late in the night as well,” he said, looking for the boy who was not there. “He survived.”
“Heightened security for all, then,” I told him. “Maximus is worried.”
He nodded and slapped my chest. “Augustus will want a word with you at some point. He is very busy, but sometime soon, he shall speak to you.”
I bowed in gratitude we followed the man to stand near them in the crowd of senators, who gave us some room. We stood there with toga wearing men and the few women in rich stolae, waiting.
“Do you think we know the Marcomanni?” Wandal whispered.
I nodded and smiled. “Yes. I think we might know them.”
He grunted. “I wish you told me what you spoke with Adalwulf. I appreciate you are trying to spare our lives, but—”
“I wish to protect you,” I answered.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked.
I changed the subject. “We’ll see soon enough who it is.”
“Not many of the Marcomanni we used to know are alive,” he said stiffly, nervous.
“Very few,” I agreed.
“Balderich, do you ever think of him?” he asked, thinking about the grandfather I had saved from Maroboodus.
“Yes—” I began, and then silence conquered the Temple as Augustus spoke.
The speech of Augustus echoed in the chamber, the senators laughed at his dry and witty remarks. It was a welcome speech to the great men of Rome, and I didn’t hear all of it, but then a scribe appeared by the doorway, waved his hand, and Augustus stopped midsentence, the people became serious.
“Please, let us accept our guests to our company, and save speeches for later,” Augustus said. “Show them in.”
Augustus sat down heavily. Everyone followed suit, where a seat had been provided or was available. All heads turned to the doorway.
I wasn’t sure what to expect.
A Germani in a cape and tunic of my land, long beard combed, hair wildly long and free as an elk, perhaps. A suebian knot would decorate that hair, and they would be bewildered by the sights around them.
The men who entered, were nothing like that.
One was red-haired, the hair elaborately cut, and a clean-shaven man with a wide chest and shoulders. He wore a clean blue tunic, and his arms and fingers were heavy with gold. A scar ran past his eye, and his hands were filled with crisscrossing lines, he was obviously a warrior, and a good one. The Marcomanni, since Drusus had driven them off the banks of Rheine, had moved like a tide for the east, and while Father had lost many in the war with Drusus, they had travelled through the lands of the Hermanduri, and likely picked up entire tribes, famous families and even high chiefs of their foes on their way to the land of the Boii by Danubius. This man wasn’t familiar to me. He was a true warrior, and a dangerous one, that much I knew instantly.
The other man followed him, and I nearly choked.
“Can’t be,” Wandal whispered. “Not possible, eh?”
“Possible?” I whispered. “Of course, it is possible. It is him.”
Marcus Romanus, the man who had taught me Latin, the exile who had served Father as my tutor, and gods only know how he had served him otherwise before and after, was striding after the red bearded man. He was older, and gray streaked his hair. He was thinner than I remembered, but it was he. A twinge of hate ran through me.
He had known.
He had known what Father was planning, and Hulderic and mother had died.
Dark, olive-skinned, short and Latin, the Roman that had lived with us as an exile was brazenly in Rome with what I took to be a guard, and he was the mouth of the Marcomanni. He wore a toga as if he was born to it, and he likely was. I had little knowledge of his past in Rome, only that he had taught me to speak and write Latin, and seemed to have an education. He didn’t strike me as a commoner.
I had to wonder just what kind of kingdom Father was building.
Roman in army, Roman in ways?
His eyes met mine, and he smiled warmly and benignly, but only for a moment. And then he smiled to others, in fact, to everyone.
“The pen-wielding shit is here,” Wandal said. “I was sure some Germani had eaten him years past.”
“He knows the Germani too well,” I said and watched as the two approached the quiet, noble throng of people. Augustus eyed the red-head who stopped and stayed behind Marcus, who in his turn stepped forward, avoiding looking at Livia, who watched on, regally.
Did she know I knew Marcus? No, surely not.
Marcus bowed before Augustus. “I bring greetings from King Maroboodus, from the ruler of the Marcomanni and of the Boii, and from the Thiuda of the mighty Quadi.”
Augustus smiled coldly. “I know of Maroboodus. He is the man I elevated for mad bravery in Hispaniola, but who ran from his duties later.” Augustus leaned forward. “They say he told everyone in the North he had taken the head of my friend Agrippa, and he incited war across the northern land, one which cost Rome dearly.” He glowered. “And that war cost us my Drusus. In fact, I hear Maroboodus killed him by his own hand. He did, didn’t he? My Drusus.”
Marcus bowed. “He did all this, save that spear struck the horse of Drusus, which killed him as it fell, but that is just a small detail. And yet, he has sent us here to discuss peace, for is not peace better than war? Especially so close to the lands that are already unsteady and twitching under Roman taxes, peace surely would do? Illyricum is a troubled land.”
Augustus snorted and shifted in his seat. “Oh? I heard they are unsteady and twitching because Maroboodus sends men across the river to sow malcontent. The branches in Pannonia have been heavy with both fruit and rebels this past year. Bah! Peace! I have a long history of dealing with men who preach peace, while their armies march for my legions. They are all dead now.”
Marcus bowed again. “Maroboodus does not deny there has been trouble. And yet, it is Maroboodus, who is a host to many of the nobles of the tribes who flee Rome. Such people often go back home, and what follows?” He shrugged. “They see the freedoms of the North. They are not happy.”
Augustus spoke coldly. “Freedoms of the North? Juppiter’s laugh! Who are you, anyway?”
“I am not important,” Marcus began.
“Name!” called a Senator somewhere. “A Roman, or a Greek? A traitor nonetheless!”
“I am no traitor,” Marcus said stiffly. “I am here in service of Maroboodus. And I serve him in peace. And in war. He offers you amber, trains of amber, and the service of his soldiers, in payment for the past ill deeds. And the two Romans who were killed by Hermanduri raiders, he hopes to compensate for that as well.”
Livia’s face didn’t twitch. She knew that Marcus was there to make sure Postumus lived, and was well. That would be the price for making war on Rome.
Soon, I would know if my plan, flowing from the lips of Tiberius to the most deceitful of men, Maroboodus, was working at all. For now, Marcus had to try to keep his head on his shoulders.
Augustus smiled like a cat with a bowl of milk. “Hermanduri raiders, you say? They were deep in the land of Maroboodus. He seeks to find our favor? When he cannot so much as defend his own lands?”
Marcus waved hi
s hands to the north. “Our lands are no different from Roman dominion. As we travelled, we were witnesses to several robberies, and even a small battle between two Roman towns. One town had cows, the other one was starving, and they robbed each other. And while crossing the Alps, the pass was filled with starving people as well. The Rome you have built, with the Senate, is a mighty one, but flawless?” He bowed deep. “No land is flawless. No one ruler is. Together you might seek to repair what is broken. My king is seeking an alliance with Rome, and as an apology for the trouble, he is willing to discuss payment.” Marcus smiled. “But Rome must recognize him as a king.”
“No peace,” the senators screamed, despite being told not to. They were on their feet, shaking fists at Marcus, who, at first, seemed shocked, but then found his composure. Some few senators voiced a conciliatory note, but most didn’t. Augustus watched the high-born mob, and then raised his hand, and they went silent, albeit slowly. To lose face to Maroboodus was not a possibility he could even consider. The payment would have to be a harsh one, and Father would have to endure it.
Augustus waved his hand to the north. “Will he subject his land to Rome?” he asked. He had men who could go to war for him, perhaps excellent men. Varus, Saturninus, who had been Drusus’s best legate, and some other capable men aplenty, but none of them was Agrippa, or Drusus, or … Tiberius.
None of them had dozens of victories under their belt, save for Tiberius.
And none of them could truly be trusted with volatile legions that might very well march on Rome, given the chance. Not too long ago, Sulla and Marius had marched their troops to Rome. So had Caesar. So had he.
Augustus lived by his legions.
He feared the legions.
He needed a man to lead, a man he could trust. Or, rather, no war.
“I doubt it,” Marcus said, and the faces of the Romans filled with wrath. “But perhaps something subtler might be suggested to my king? A man might bend the knee, without bending the knee. Give him a Roman title, and no Roman governor, and I might be allowed to discuss it. The details, they must be discussed in a lengthier, perhaps more private way,” said Marcus with an uncertain voice that was not lost on the senators, who sensed victory for Augustus. “I would think about this, and then speak with you further. I shall consult some people here in Rome as well, with your permission.”
That was a clear message to Livia, and gods willing, things would move in the right direction.
Augustus sighed. “You can talk to Apollo himself, if you like. You can consult the best of oracles, augurs, and lawyers, but I shall not make him a king, or give him a damned Roman title. He must submit to my rule, and I shall give you a week to come with new thoughts, and then I shall see you again. Do you understand?”
Marcus smiled and bowed. “Indeed. I thank you.”
Augustus slapped his knee, people moved, and the rest of the discussions were pleasantries, flattering chatter, and some gentle posturing. I saw a servant approaching Marcus, and he nodded at the man, and turned his eyes to me, and then Livia.
Livia, for she was standing nearby.
She looked at Gaius, who turned to greet her. “Mater,” he said. “How are you?”
“Good, now that I see you are well. We were worried nearly to death, my boy,” she said with dripping worry as she embraced Gaius almost like a sated snake slithering around a hare. “I insist you come and visit me. Tell me all about it.” Her eyes went to me. “Especially with Germanicus getting attacked, it seems almost like Fortuna was asleep. Come, this day, tomorrow at latest, and explain … nay, tell me how it all happened. You, and your guards.”
I looked down, with a nod, and decided I would rot in Helheim rather than let Gaius go to her.
Gaius smiled, nodded, and we left later, after many contemplations. He gave me a look. “When will we visit her?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps?” I answered. “I have to speak to Maximus, since I am one of his Decurions now, but Wandal shall keep an eye on you this evening. Have some wine with him. He is a good man.”
I gave Wandal a quick glance, and he grinned. He would make sure Gaius had a terrible hangover for the following day, perhaps two.
I knew Livia would wait only for so long, until she found someone to verify I had killed her Ubii.
I parted with them, made my way to the Block, and the main keep. I took steps up to the hospital, and found yet another stairway, which I loped up. There, I found Maximus, standing with Ulrich, who was speaking softly with the man.
Maximus turned to watch me. “They told you.”
I nodded. “I know, yes.”
“You’ll need a new helmet. Armor.”
I nodded at Ulrich. “Have you spoken with him, sir?”
He considered Ulrich. “Says he saved Germanicus from bandits. Three of ours died in the fight. Those three just happened to be there, and they are the only ones that stopped breathing. Curiously, we found no bodies of the bandits, eh?” He nodded at Ulrich. “Says he killed two.”
Ulrich shrugged, knowing full well he should have claimed to have escaped with Germanicus, and not make a damned hero of himself. “In that case, I could use someone like him in the fourth. In my command.”
Maximus gave me a long, curious look. “And are you still working on your special projects?”
“That,” I told him, “might change any day now.”
He was a man of Tiberius. Always had been. He had good instincts, knew not to ask too many questions, and nodded. “Take him, then. The third is gutted, but we’ll make do. And whatever it is you are doing, Corvus, make sure the Guard stays clean as a baby.”
I smiled. “Babies are seldom clean.”
“You know what I meant,” he muttered, and clasped my shoulder. “Congratulations, Decurion. Lion’s Bane!” He left.
I watched Ulrich. “Did you know it was Livia who asked him to do this?”
He sighed and rubbed his face. “I know Livia suggested he would never rule so much as a house of his own. I knew he had this affair with … the fellow Guardsman. I knew it, of it, that is. I knew the lad was impressionable. And I didn’t approve. When he ordered me to kill that slave, and I learnt what had happened?” He shook his head. “I could have been executed. I would never be rich, only dead.”
Selfish, troubled, and a man looking for treasures. A cur.
“I am grateful,” he said with a face that suggested a deep wound and withering sadness, “to you for freeing me from the service. It was a torture. I would … if you …”
“You good with a sword?” I asked.
“Excellent with bow, fair with sword, and very good with a dagger,” he said.
I nodded at him. “You’ll join us then. And later, perhaps you’ll be given trust as well. I shall need men like you. For now, you will serve the turma, and later, we have business I could use you in. Yes, I need men like you.”
“Men like what?” he asked with a small frown.
“Ruthless bastards. I shall be short of the better men soon, if things go well,” I told him.
He nodded gratefully, not hurt in the least, and I left to meet my brother.
***
That night, I made my way to Gernot’s tavern. Livia knew of the place, but my brother had also built up his network of spies, and the land in the Suburba was a dangerous place for people seeking to harm men like him. Night was dangerous enough as it was, and the gangs of Rome would let few touch their captains. Gernot’s business of shipbuilding had made him fabulous riches, and yet he lived in the tavern. The tavern was where he could escape his enemies, for there were tunnels below Rome, and he had made sure he would never again be trapped.
He had suffered in Livia’s hands.
Any man of Livia’s would suffer death and worse in those tunnels, if they were caught.
I walked the dark streets and dodged cats, dogs, and fat rats, all chasing each other, and I passed some rich drunks, who were being escorted by their slaves from some feast or another back to their ho
mes. Eventually, I found the white-washed tavern, eyed the round temple across from it, and entered the building. It was a quiet night, and I found Gernot fast enough, sitting by the back wall. He lifted his eyes, and for a moment there was the old, uncomfortable tension between us. We nodded, almost at the same time.
He had risked all. And he had held my family safe.
I could trust him.
It was strange. He had tried to or saved both my children, Lif in the North, and Gervas here in the South, despite the fact I had tried to kill him, and the other way around. He got up, the fake hand to replace the one I had once hacked off in anger was gleaming with oil, the dark wood a perfect imitation of a real hand. His hair was cropped, and clothes rich, and silver and gold gleamed on his fingers. He grabbed a goblet of wine from a sultry maid and navigated past tables and richly painted walls for me, extending the rich drink.
I took the wine and nodded thanks at him as I gazed at the wall paintings and fine furniture made of dark wood and even marble. The tavern looked prosperous. I waved my hand around. “I like it.”
“Ah, you never visited before,” he smiled. “You own part of it, brother. I got the money for all of this from you.”
“And I said I don’t want it, unless I need it to save lives of the family,” I told him.
He scratched his neck. “Yes, and now you do. Now you need a lot of gold.”
I nodded. “I do, indeed. Can you afford what I asked of you?”
He shrugged. “Yes, of course. I have arranged it all. Dangerous this business, but it has been dangerous all the time,” he answered as he pulled me for a darker part of the bottom floor. There was a room with a blue door, and light glowed in the cracks. He spoke softly. “Very dangerous indeed. I have built myself an empire of ships, now grain, and perhaps other services as well, and it all is really just a loan. I could lose all in a moment.” He thumbed towards the backroom. “He knew me.”
“Marcus?”
“Who else? Damned Bacchus?” he snorted. “He is there, waiting, and asked if I ever learnt to write. The bastard, eh? I can count and write better than him now. He is afraid, by the way. Thinks you will kill him.” He hesitated. “And he gambles. Heavily. Desperately. I’ve seen his sort. He gambles too much. He looks wealthy, but I am sure he is not. Not really. In debt to his nose. My men saw him gambling with that guard of his, and he lost every time.”
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