Knight of Rome Part I

by Malcolm Davies

  “Now listen; you will walk quietly into the house and tell your master that someone is at the gate demanding to see him. You will do this with no show of fear or panic. Go!”

  Vitius stamped down the gravel path behind Janus, irritated that he had been dragged out of the comfort of his study into the cold air. Stepping into the street he instantly took-in the soldiers, Otto, the litter but no Lucius. His heart turned over but he reacted as a Roman should. He pulled himself up to his full height, squared his shoulders and tried to make his face expressionless.

  “Greetings Centurion Decimus Massus,” he said without a tremor in his voice although every instinct wanted to make him rush over to the litter he was sure held his only son.

  “Greetings Vitius Longius,” Massus replied. “Tribune Lucius Taurius Longius was badly injured last night in an attempted robbery. He has been treated by my medical orderly and a civilian surgeon. They confirm that his wound is not likely to be fatal. I ask if you wish to inform the ladies of your household before my men carry your son inside.”

  “What happened…” Vitius began but Massus cut him off.

  “Perhaps explanations can wait until he’s out of the cold air, sir?”

  “Of, course, of course; Janus, run for Pinerus and tell him to get a brazier into Master Lucius’ room. If your men will follow me, centurion, we’ll get him comfortable.”

  The women assumed their masks of Roman fortitude as well as Vitius had, although Sabina’s eyes were bright with tears. Poppaea was pale and trembling but she held her chin high. Lucius was lifted into his own bed with surprising gentleness by the tough legionaries. The soldiers left and Pinerus was summoned to arrange for the household slaves to give Lucius a bed bath and clean linen. His slashed and bloody tunic had been burned on the sentries’ brazier.

  The family gathered in the dining room. Massus had ordered his men to return to barracks and tell the optio he would be back shortly. He removed his helmet and held it on one knee. Wine and bread were served by a shaken Pinerus who was allowed to stand by the door and hear the story. Otto sat by Aelia.

  “It appears,” Massus began, “that as Tribune Longius left a tavern in the centre of the city, he was set upon by three armed robbers. He was badly cut across the chest but according to the surgeon, no internal organs were touched. Otto got him to the sentry post and he was taken into the guardroom where his wound was cleaned and stitched up. That is it, ladies, sir, in brief.” He sat back and waited for the inevitable questions.

  “Have these felons been caught?” Sabina asked anger now surmounting her fears for her son.

  “In a manner of speaking, my lady,” Massus told her with a chuckle. “Otto Longius, your son’s oath man as he calls himself, killed them. My lads collected up the bodies.”

  “Otto killed three robbers, all on his own?” Poppaea squeaked.

  “He did, with brute force and his army issue dagger,” the centurion confirmed.

  All eyes turned on Otto who looked uneasy at the attention.

  “And Servius?” Aelia asked.

  “He flung his money down at their feet and ran away,” Otto growled.

  There was a long pause. Massus and Vitius looked at each other appraisingly.

  “So being unarmed, and therefore unable to assist, the noble Servius sacrificed his purse to distract the thieves and ran for assistance. Is that what you are telling me centurion?” Vitius asked.

  “The magistrate’s formal report has not yet been written. It will undoubtedly read along the lines you have stated,” Massus replied.

  “This is not right! This is not the truth…!” Otto exploded.

  Aelia gripped his forearm, feeling the muscles bunch as he clenched his fist.

  “Be silent, Otto, there are things here you do not understand. I shall explain later.”

  He turned a baleful glare on her but softened when he saw the earnest entreaty in her expression. He asked to be excused as he needed to bathe. They all saw his slumped shoulders as he left the room.

  “Has the surgeon who attended my son received his fee?” Vitius enquired.

  Again, Massus chuckled, a brief throaty sound.

  “Yes, indeed he has; in gold! Otto paid him from what I suspect is the purse of Servius. He picked it up off the street and handed it over to the magistrate this morning.”

  “Please excuse me,” Vitius said and left the room.

  “So, centurion, we are to thank Otto for saving my grandson’s life?” Aelia asked.

  “Without doubt, lady; if he had not been there and willing to face death or injury himself, the tribune would have been slaughtered and his body searched for whatever coins he had on him.”

  Sabina shuddered. A tear ran down Poppaea’s cheek. She brushed it aside, annoyed at showing her weakness. Vitius returned from his study and placed five gold coins down on the table in front of Massus.

  “I will not insult you, Centurion Decimus Massus, by offering you anything other than my sincere thanks and a promise of continuing friendship for what you have done to assist my son. Would you please accept this donative on behalf of the litter carriers and others of your legionaries who were involved?”

  “My thanks to you, sir; your generosity will be greatly appreciated by the men but not as gratefully as I accept your offer of friendship. It honours me.”

  Once the centurion had left, the family doctor was summoned. He examined Lucius who was now fully conscious and in no pain unless he tried to move.

  “A neat and clean job,” the doctor said. He sniffed the ointment jar and closed the lid. “Call me if he becomes fevered, otherwise, let nature do her work. Bathing is strictly forbidden until those stitches are removed.”

  “When will I be able to take up my duties?” Lucius asked.

  “A month, six weeks; who knows?” was the unwelcome answer.

  Lucius demanded to see Otto, alone. He took his right hand in both of his and looked up unblinking into those pale, impassive eyes.

  “When the fates sent you to me, my friend, it was for my sake not yours. I owe you my life.”

  Otto smiled and shrugged.

  “The future will tell us if you are right, Boxer.”

  Later, Aelia came into the summerhouse and sat next to Otto who was brooding about the injustice of Servius not being made to answer for his cowardice.

  “Achilles sulking in his tent,” she began with a smile. “Now listen carefully to me young man, because what I have to say is important. Luca is a small city. Only around twenty noble families live here. The father of Servius is the head of an important house, he is wealthy and influential. If his son is publicly shamed, he will be resentful. He will cast doubt on your account of the event. Some will take his side; others will oppose him. The city will be split into factions and all civic harmony will be lost. That is why my son and Centurion Massus have agreed to a version which saves the face of the unworthy Servius. You heard Vitius offer friendship to Decimus Massus who accepted it; a new social link has been established. This is how things are accomplished; by people forming webs of mutual support. You put great store by honour and I admire you for it but Otto it is a sad truth that we all, and I mean all, have to compromise. Do you understand that word?”

  Otto shook his head.

  “It means that we have to let things go or leave things unsaid for the common well-being. It is part of being “civilized”; by which I mean fit to live in a city alongside many other people. Learn this lesson and take it to heart. Now if you believe that Servius will not have to account for what he did, think again. He knows,” she paused to let her words sink in “and so will everyone else, even though it is never said aloud. Consider his daily shame. Is that not a punishment?”

  Otto smiled at last. “You are very wise, lady.”

  Aelia laughed briefly.

  “Thank you Otto but I am not. I am, however, well-educated for a Roman woman. I was my father’s only child and so he had me tutored as if I had been a son, unusually for a girl
of my class. But why would parents go to the trouble and expense with daughters? Roman women of even the highest rank take no part in public life. It is not our way. Poor Sabina and my granddaughter have never read a serious book, think of that! They can write a brief letter or read an invitation but that is their limit, as it is with nearly all the ladies of this city and no doubt of Rome as well. I am determined you shall do better, but enough of that for now. Consider this, you are a warrior as is my grandson but Servius is not. Also, he had no weapon. What practical use could he have been? It is probably for the good that he ran away; one man injured is better than two, don’t you think? I must go now as there are preparations to be made for later. This evening, you are invited to feast with us. Pinerus will escort you when it is time.”

  The major-domo came to the summerhouse door carrying a garland of dried flowers.

  “Put this on your head, Master Otto, it is the custom,” he said handing it over. Otto placed it awkwardly and Pinerus adjusted it so it sat squarely and walked beside him to the house. “This is a formal occasion to thank you for what you did. If I may, I advise you to enjoy it and speak from your heart,” he said quietly.

  Vitius was waiting at the door. He embraced Otto and kissed him on both cheeks.

  “Welcome Otto Longius,” he said, using that adopted full name for the first time and led him to the head of the table where he was duly seated in the master’s place.

  Sabina kissed his hand and poured his wine. Poppaea kissed his hand and put down a brimming bowl of hot sausages in front of him.

  “All for you,” she told him with a giggle.

  Aelia beamed at him and bowed her head in greeting.

  “Thank you all,” Otto said. “Would anyone like to share these sausages?”

  He was rewarded by a burst of happy laughter. When dinner was over, some hours later, it was Sabina’s turn to take his hand and lead him through the house to a guest room. His clothes were hung in a closet and his few belongings arranged on a nightstand.

  “Sleep well, defender of my son,” she said.

  “My lady…” the startled Otto began but she silenced him by putting her index finger on his lips.

  “Sleep well,” she repeated.

  Ursus the mastiff sniffed at the door of the summerhouse and whined for the loss of his night-time friend.

  After three days, Lucius was bored and his wound itched. He became fretful.

  “I need to know what’s going on,” he kept repeating. “There’s so much to do before the end of the month.”

  He sent Otto down to the barracks with a message for Massus. This was the first of innumerable trips to and from the city which were annoying for Massus who had better things to do than read a wax tablet handed to him by the big German and then send him back with another written message in reply. By the twentieth of February, Lucius was on his feet.

  “I’d better go down to the barracks today and see what’s going on.” he said at breakfast.

  “Don’t be foolish,” his mother told him.

  “Foolish, mother?” he said in a loud voice. “You do know that I have to lead my troops to Lugdunum on the first of March?”

  “Out of the question,” she responded with the maddening calm of a mother who knows best.

  “I have my orders and I shall obey them. I will take my men out of Luca on that day whatever you say or try to do to prevent me.”

  The family doctor was called in to persuade Lucius that what he wanted was impossible.

  “You could not wear your cuirass,” he said.

  “What about my subarmalis? Lucius countered.

  “Is it made of leather?”

  “Yes, of course it is.”

  The doctor shook his head. “Ill-advised; it could hold your sweat against your wound so the humours of your body would be unable to dissipate and turn inwards causing putrefaction.”

  “Very well then, a tunic and leggings under my cloak will have to do. As long as I can put my helmet on so the soldiers can see me; you will allow that?”

  The doctor threw his hands up in dismay.

  “But how will you get into the saddle?”

  “Otto can boost me up.”

  “If you are determined no-one can stop you but I tell you now, you are not fit to ride to Lugdunum for five hours a day. The prolonged motion of the horse will tear your stitches open.”

  “I appreciate your advice doctor but I have my orders.”

  “I know you do, Lucius,” Sabina said. “But the legate can’t possibly order you to do something which could lead to your death.”

  “I rather think he can, my dear,” Aelia told her, dryly.

  “What about a cart...?” Otto put in. Sabina saw her son’s eyes light up at the idea. She gave Otto a look which would have instantly withered a full-grown oak. “…There are mules in the stables. If you had a cart, you could rest in it when riding was giving you too much pain. That way you wouldn’t be holding up the column. We can only travel as fast as the slowest wagon in any case.”

  “And how are you going to manage two horses as well as driving a cart? It’s impractical,” Sabina told him going back on the attack but the surety had gone out of her voice.

  “We’ll take Passer with us.”

  “And who is this Passer?”

  “Passer is the stable boy, mother,” Poppaea advised.

  “Oh, is that his name? Well, it doesn’t matter since he’s a mere child.”

  “He is nearly thirteen and a well-grown, handy lad,” Lucius told her, beginning to warm to the idea.

  Sabina played her ace of trumps. “Your father will never allow it.”

  At first it appeared that she was correct. When Vitius was consulted, he was not happy.

  “I gave you Atrexes, Lucius and look what happened to him. I do not want to send another of my household slaves to die in Germany.”

  “Ask Passer,” Otto suggested.

  “Ask a slave!” Sabina was outraged at the thought. It was practically admitting that their property had the right to make independent decisions.

  “Free him and then ask him,” Otto suggested.

  Sabina turned to her husband with a mute appeal to end this nonsense now but Vitius was thinking about it. Passer was the son of the cook. She had been pregnant when he had bought her, with a few other items, at the auction of an insolvent estate. She had been a bargain and Passer had cost him nothing. If he freed the boy and gave him the choice, then his conscience would be clear. Either he stayed on as a servant costing next to nothing in wages, or he went off with Lucius. If he ended up cut to pieces somewhere hundreds of miles away, it would be as a result of a decision he took as a free person.

  “Fetch cook and Passer,” he ordered Pinerus.

  They stood trembling in the porch. If the master called for a pair of slaves to be brought in front of him, it was not likely to end well for them.

  “This concerns Passer, you are here solely as a witness,” he told the cook with a reassuring half-smile.

  “What has he done master?” she pleaded

  “Be silent, woman. Now Passer I intend to give you your freedom today. Once this interview is over, you will walk to the court with me where I will formally record your manumission. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, master, thank you master,” the stunned boy finally managed to say.

  “Good, now, I am asking you as a free man to decide what you want to do. You may stay in my house as my groom. You will live and work as you do now but at the end of every month you will be given a small amount of money to pay for your labour in addition to bed and board. Or you can go to the army in Germany with Master Lucius and Otto Longius as their servant. You will no longer be under my charge. I warn you that their lives are hard and dangerous. What do you choose?”

  “The army, Master Lucius and Otto,” he said in a rush, the words tumbling over each other.

  “Very well, from this moment I have no more responsibility in the matter. You must look to my so
n for all your needs, serve him well.”

  Sabina silently went to her own room and did not come out for the rest of the day. Vitius walked into the court and within a few minutes Passer had a stamped certificate of manumission. That afternoon he went with Otto to search out a suitable cart. They turned heads as they made their way through the town. The tall, broad German dressed as a Roman with a slim boy, his head a mass of dark curls, who barely reached his companion’s shoulder.

  They found what they wanted; a two-wheeled cart with an oiled canvas cover supported on iron hoops. It would make a relatively comfortable and dry vehicle in which Lucius could rest if necessary and sleep overnight. It was high enough above the ground to allow enough space for Otto and Passer put their bedrolls underneath. The cartwright guaranteed to overhaul it and grease the axles. He fitted a new trail so that a pair of mules could be harnessed to it. All the work was done by the next day as promised. The purchase of transport and the certainty that he would be able to take his men out of the city on the appointed day revitalized Lucius. Each of the following days, he dressed in his warmest tunic and marched around the garden for an hour and then up and down the street.

  On the twenty-sixth of February, a day of fine rain, he felt strong enough to go down to the barracks. Massus and his optio sat in the guardroom behind a folding table. The optio had the rosters stretched out flat and weighted down. A single file of soldiers was moving up to him. When a man reached the front of the queue, he fished his identity disc out of the leather pouch around his neck and handed it to Massus. The centurion read the name aloud, and the optio pricked it on his list. The disc was returned and the next man shuffled up.

  “Good to see you up and about, sir,” Massus said, standing up and saluting.

  Lucius waved him back to his seat.

  “How is it going?”

  “Very well; we’ve accounted for nearly all of ‘em. One confirmed dead; trampled by an ox. Not much of a loss in my opinion. A soldier who isn’t quick enough to dodge a big cow is next to useless. On the other hand, four volunteers. They look likely enough lads.”