Nemhyn writes:
When I am gone, and
my bones are but dust and ash upon the cremation pyre, my children will tell a
story that will be passed on the lips of men--a thing woven into song and
ingrained in memory. I am certain it
will be story of an Empire. Even more
so, that it will be of an island. An island and her people--those who have lived
there beyond time immemorable, and those who came to call Her home, despite
being torn from the great Sea of Grass across which they once rode their proud
steeds.
I have never had my
mother's gift for prophecy, but I know, in my heart, with that certainty some
call mortal intuition, that there will be a time, perhaps many such times, when
whole empires will have fallen, yet this island, Britannia, will stand as a
last beacon of order, of hope, when the rest of the world has been cast into
chaos. Britannia--an island, her
people, and the struggle to preserve Her sanctuary, set in this place beyond
the Continent, like a pebble cast to a deserted sea shore.
A story of
Britannia, then, of the women and men who served her, for there were--are--many
such brave persons. And of one man in
particular, who came to this island a lost and broken soul, who once served the
Empire with pride and honor, only to be betrayed by that same essence of
imperial power. A man who learned to
find a place amongst the displaced, to build a home where he once believed none
existed, and discovered that in serving Empire, one can rise above the small
minded limitations of those who seek to rule Her, honoring, instead, the higher
ideal--the dream of Roma Mater. The
Dream, the Ideal, whose grandeur in conception is so broad, so vast in
magnitude, that its full meaning will continue to elude the boundaries of
mortal comprehension for generations yet to come. A dream, like that of Roma
Mater, and her Idea...what she meant to Britannia and her peoples.
A dream, slow to be
recognized, that will take many more empires before She ever comes to complete
fruition, but a very real one none-the-less. Very real because Her dream exists, like all dreams, either in the minds
of men, or in their hearts. As my mother once said, though, it is the
latter of these two wherein the Dream is realized--where it is not only borne,
but lived.
Thus,
lying at the heart of this tale, this Dream, was a man, once a general, then a
slave, and later, became a true leader of men in the defense of an isle. It matters not what name he was called, for
it is the name Artos, Artorius, that will live on, to be spoken when even the
ashes of my children's children will have long ago, been scattered to the four
winds, and our lives will be but narratives upon the pages of some history.
Chapter One: Prelude to a Darker Hour
Mid-summer 182 CE
They caught a barge at
a river outlet not far beyond the defensive stone battlement shielding the port of Ruputiae: the trio of them, Nemyhn,
Maeve, and Maximus--Lucius. While the
barge floated with mellow monotony upon the dusky water of the river Tamesis,
Maximus observed, in passing, a landscape of rich green, flat fields, gentle
rolling slopes, pregnant with wheat and corn, ripening in the summer's
fertility. The air was cool and moist,
leaving an essence of damp on uncovered skin. In spite of the drizzle misting the banks of the river, obscuring, at
times, the ex-gladiator's view, he saw enough to glean this was soft land, and
productive. Acreage that still required
tilling, the seeds to be sown and planted, the crops monitored for pests, yet
was intended, one might have thought, by Nature herself, to yield up willingly,
the products of seasonal labors. Herds
of cattle, an occasional cottage, the hardy, newly sheered sheep providing a
valuable wool, added variety to a countryside both pastoral and rural.
This land, Maximus
realized, was distinctly British, but the mark of Roman presence was
increasingly visible throughout the
settlements appearing more frequently the nearer to Londinium they came. Rectangular houses with their stone and
granite frames, whitewashed facades and tiled roofs, neighbored the neatly
furrowed fields formed by workers driving oxen pulling iron-shod plows. Some of the homesteads still bore the
rounded circumferences of the older, timber structures of the native
inhabitants, but many of these dwellings, he noticed, were either deserted or
being transformed into the more durable, permanent domiciles of the Roman
occupants.
The women were quiet,
subdued he might have thought, except Nemhyn occasionally grasped her mother's
hand in a gesture of contained anticipation, to which her mother would smile,
the lines around the now familiar ice-pale eyes crinkling like fine cheese
cloth.
Just short of dusk,
they arrived to Londinium. The sun,
peaking tentatively from behind the overcast, drab-gray clouds briefly lit the
waters sludging by the docks to a sallowed, murky brown. Londinium: the provincial capital, a city barely over a century old. Her youth was apparent in her buildings, the
blocks of limestone layered one regular row upon the next, sparkling like the
day they had been first placed into the resplendent patterns of smooth,
geometrical designs typical of Roman architecture. The pavement stones of her roads lay flat, the forum square a
neat, bustling center of activity and commerce. Amongst a population as diverse as any other major city of the
Empire, the trio and their donkey, wagon entow, headed for the governmental
palace, housing the administrative offices, standing off on a slight rise from
the street they now traversed, buzzing with the daily activity of urban
dwellers. Numerous steps led up to the
colonnaded entrance, over which a frieze of Jupiter, watching the actions of
the city's populace day by day, stared down like a heierophant safeguarding the
lives of the citizenry. The forum
basilica was alive with merchants, magistrates, groups of armed soldiers moving
through the crowd. A man shouting over
the din of human cacophony was trying to get a cart of tanned leather through a
line of women hauling baskets of fruit and linens ready for laundering..
Hercules was put into
the care of a servant boy who, for a gold coin, agreed to take the donkey to
the stables after initially refusing Maeve's request. A reaction most likely stimulated by their appearance as common
folk, judging by the dubious light the boy still had in his eyes, even after he
had the gold coin in hand. Before they
left the donkey and wagon to the care of the servant and stable attendants,
Nemhyn and Maeve collected their personal items--two polished wooden boxes he
recognized as their physician's kits, and a small crate he'd volunteered to
carry. A decision he was becoming
regretful of by the time they'd climbed the last flight of stairs to the
entrance, wondering what in all of names of the war god, two women traveling
under the bare bones disguise of peasant folk, could possibly have transported
that was so heavy.
Coming to the
entrance, Maeve turned to him, with an expression bordering on laughter. "Next time, you might want to ask before
offering a helping hand, Spaniard. Books are difficult things to transport safely over the distances we
traveled, and very valuable besides. You should be able to leave them here for now, though," she indicated,
before the immense bronzed double doors of the governmental palace's
entrance. "We'll get a servant to store
them away safely, soon enough."
About to ask if that
was not the function he was meant to be fulfilling Maeve, followed by her
daughter, made to enter the palace just as a guard on duty approached them,
exclaiming, "Ai there, woman!" The
group turned, all three almost simultaneously, at the call, to face a
humorless looking man with the stout
features of the Cisalpine Italians. "I'm not sure what the likes of you would want with anyone in the
palace, but I assure you, unless you have a summons here, you are most likely
in the wrong place to find a buyer for you fares."
"What?" was the first,
confused word that came out of Maeve's mouth, her eyes flashing irritated
perplexity before deciding to ignore the guard and make to step through the
entrance once more. He caught her arm
roughly, declaring, "I mean, that you ought to be in the forum market and not
in the provincial compound, woman."
The older woman only
seemed nonplused, studying the man with a gaze the guard obviously found
somewhat unnerving, and much too intent for a common woman. Her daughter had no such compunction of
momentary speechlessness, expulsing a, "For the love of --," even as her mother
moved to pull back her cowl, beginning to chuckle. "Silucus," she began, imperious if not for her smirk, "I realize
in the time of my absence, the number of gray hairs I've acquired is only
matched by the number of wrinkles. Surely, though, I'm not that unrecognizable."
Maximus, who for a few
disturbing moments, had begun to seriously wonder if he'd played the fool after
all, believing these women's story, following them all the way to this distant
isle, saw the authoritative arrogance the guard had been evincing transform to stunnation, then astonishment
as recognition set in across his features, his hand dropping away from Maeve's
arm. "M-my Lady…I …I had no idea…none of us did…that your…you--," he sputtered
awkwardly.
"Peace, Silucus," his
lady replied in good grace. "Although I
certainly hope when petitioners do seek the governmental offices, you are a bit
more civil with them than you just demonstrated."
Kneeling now, before
Maeve, trying to regain his composure behind a mask of professional dignity,
without groveling for his error in hasty judgment, the guard, still somewhat
tongue tied by his confusion, said, "And…and
your daughter, Lady…"
To which Nemhyn pulled
back the covering over her own head, her eyes glinting with amusement. "Well and whole, Silucus."
Maeve motioned for the
man to rise as he went on, assuming, now the duty of the welcoming ambassador. "Your return is a gods sent gift, Ladies. Your loveliness and generosity have been
missed upon these shores. Forgive me
for my less than kind welcome, initially, but we had no word of either of you
since Ephesus, and had no idea when you were to return…and," he paused, stumbling
over his words once more, "you do not look like…uh, that is--
"We do not look
like--," Maeve prodded with an aire of expectancy.
"…like ladies worthy
of your rank," Silucus finished in lame hesitation, making Maximus snort
dubiously bringing the guard's singular attention to him for the first time
since their encounter.
Nemhyn rolled her eyes
as her mother laughed in easy regard of his comment, the older woman stating,
"You haven't changed at all Silucus. It's reassuring to know you can still be depended upon to point out when
my daughter and I have breached the strictures of dress appropriate to our
rank."
"Aye Lady," he
responded absently. "The gods be
thanked for your return, both of you, but who is your companion," he nodded
towards Maximus.
Maeve's answer was
only, "No questions right now, Silicus. We have had a long time on the road, and would like a bath and fresh
clothing…appropriate to our rank, " she quipped. "The same for our guest," she motioned to Maximus, who followed
as the group of them took Silucus' lead through the bronze doors into the
entering corridor.
"And what status is he
designated, Lady," asked Silucus, echoing Maximus's private thought.
Nemhyn's mother,
walking just behind the guard, answered decisively, "Freeborn, Silucus. Freeborn and a mercenary."
The
last words made Silucus glance back at Maximus with a wary caution: Soldier for hire—dangerous, his gaze
seemed to proclaim.
The halls they
traversed were marble-floored, lined with pillars of concrete and limestone,
branching off into dim interiors lit by window slits from the roof, the flames
of mounted oil lamps illuminating what natural light couldn't. They passed an insular courtyard, a small
garden of flowers with roses and gentians, and a central fountain of Eros, atop
a blossoming lily, surrounded by a convivial group of cherubs and nymphs,
bubbling merrily in the silence. The
group was no longer in the administrative portion of the building, but entered
what Maximus recognized to be the rather sumptuously adorned house of the
provincial governor.
Maeve rather than
Silucus, now led the way to the bathhouse. The guard was careful to remain at her side, not questioning her
prerogative, and began to recount the latest news of the Imperial capital. News that was old to ones who had been in
Rome barely a scant two months ago.
"A company of
Belgians, Lady, not from the official post, mind you, but from men who had been
stationed in the City themselves while their commander was summoned to the
court of Commodus during this last winter, said the Guard was responsible for
the death of Marcus Aurelius' son. Is
it true, Lady," rambled Silucus, unaware of the irony behind who he was
addressing
"Yes, quite," the older woman replied
succinctly.
"And Pertinax now sits
where the great ones have ruled?"
"Much to the mixed
adulation of Britannia," Maeve again answered with more forbearance in her
voice than she normally allowed.
Maximus saw Nemhyn,
from where she followed, stare hard at her mother's back, pressing her lips
together at Maeve's words. He could
guess at how much adulation the older woman's daughter obviously exuded by that
simple expression. He recalled the
conversation he shared with her in glen outside of Ravenna, when thoughts of
coming to the isle had been a rankling impossibility to his mind.
The baths they arrived
at were attached to the northeast corner of the house, set into an annex shaded
with large oak trees. Juniper bushes
hemmed the entrance, offering a pleasant arboreal atmosphere.
Silucus looked as
though he were about to plague Maeve with another inquiry, but she cut him off,
saying, "Enough of Rome, Silucus. I
wish to know, rather, why my husband is here in the capital and not in Eboracum
with the rest of the Victrix."
The sharp look Nemhyn
threw her mother was echoed by the guard's astonishment as he stuttered once
more, "How…how, Lady, did you …I mean, he only arrived this morning—." He broke off as he saw a wry consideration
pass over Maeve's cleanly lined features.
"In nearly three years
you haven't forgotten that as well, have you Silucus?"
The guard's response
was lost to the ex-gladiator who, in containing his own sudden stunnation, was
left with the words, nearly three years, ringing in his ears like the
reverberations of the arena's mob.
Noble women,
indeed. Noblewomen did not remain in
absence from their homeland, traveling as peasants, for nearly three
years. There was an explanation here,
he intended to seek, but now was hardly the time to ask for it, banking on the
notion that details of their journey and the reasons behind it might be
elucidated later, without his having to inquire.
Silucus mentioned
something, apologizing, perhaps, for not knowing enough of what had brought her
husband to the capital.
"That is fine,
Silucus. As usual, you are attentive to
your duty, and are to be commended. Please escort our esteemed Lucius to the men's baths and my daughter and
I will seek our own way," Maeve ordered.
The guard, looking at
Maximus, made no comment as the women went off to an entrance opposite what
must have been the men's bathing area. It was plain, though, that Silucus was reluctant to have a strange man
heralded a mercenary following him, no matter if the distance was but a stride
or two away, and a turn of a corner.
"Rest easy,
Silucus. I have no weapons upon me, and
the likes of Maeve and her daughter trusted me over the distances from
Rome. Surely that short stretch to the
changing room can't be so hard for you
to escort me to, " Maximus said, pointing to an ornately carved door frame of
water nereids and satyrs just beyond the guard, trying to keep the derisive
impatience out of his voice.
"Mercenaries have a
reputation for not always adhering to the laws of hospitality," the cautious guard
returned, obviously uneasy, though not bullying or trying to intimidate through
false bravado.
"I can assure you,"
Maximus replied, "this mercenary has no wish to subvert the laws of
hospitality by slaying those who serve the Lady or her daughter."
The guards half-grin
showed he could appreciate the rueful aspect of the ex-gladiator's comment,
despite his wary pretense. "My job is
to see you stand by that promise, friend."
"Then I'm hardly the
one to hinder you in your duties…friend," Maximus rejoined, baring his teeth in
a brief, sneering smile.
Silence ensued for a
moment where the two men seemed to measure each other with cautious
respect. Silucus, breaking the
confrontation, finally motioned, turning around, "Follow me…the baths lie this
way."
Which
Maximus did, giving the still edgy guard his breadth, as he was led to the
changing rooms, noticing with an inward, half-contemptuous sigh, Silucus still
kept a hand on the hilt of his short-sword through the interlude of their
contact.
He'd always bathed as
any red-blooded Roman did, with olive oil and strigel. Until the years he'd been stationed on the
Germanic front, discovering the wondrous invention of soap. In spite of the Roman propaganda painting
the Germanic tribes as filthy, uncleanly barbarians, the fact was they were as addicted to bodily hygiene as any
native Latin. They inhabited areas too
cold to raise and harvest the gift of the warmer Mediterranean slopes, however,
devising in place of olive oil, a method of boiling animal fat and mixing it
with plants possessing a curious property of suddzing. Maximus found the preparation of animal fat,
saponine herbs, and sometimes lye, left the skin and hair feeling more
thoroughly cleansed than simply washing with water and olive oil. Here in the
provincial governor's bath house in this far corner of the Empire, where both
means of washing up were offered, Maximus utilized the method he'd grown fond
of since serving along the northern fronts of the Continent all those years
ago.
He was clothed, now,
in a new tunic that came to just below his knees, generously donated from where
he hadn't the slightest. It had simply
been folded by a dutiful bath attendant, and waiting for him after he'd toweled
off. The smooth linen, dyed a rich
green, felt foreign to skin accustomed to the rougher, untreated wool of
commoners and slaves.
Even his tethered
sandals had been replaced by boots made with tough leather and laced to
mid-calf with sinew. He might have been
any well-to-do citizen moving about his business within the borders of the
Empire. It was the way he had once
dressed as the son of a provincial magistrate, or as a ranked officer
off-duty. Beard trimmed, clean shaven
where facial hair wasn't desired, not richly, but neatly attired, donning a
light calf-length cloak as well (a necessity given the coolness of the
Britannia's summer evening) he strolled in the reception room, catching a
glimpse of himself in a mounted mirror of flattened silver.
It had been years
since he'd cared to look at his reflection, and what he saw, somewhat to his
surprise, was a man not overly changed in outward appearance in the two, nearly
three seasons since the tragic upheaval of his past. His features were perhaps, more grim, hardened, but that had
happened a long time ago, as he grew accustomed to the responsibilities
deciding the fates of men under his command. The gravity behind his eyes, though, was more recent, the solemness of
expression belied an aloof detachment, a tension that had not been there before
his term of slavery, guarding a perpetual need to hide genuine feeling. An impression at odds with the faint lines
barely perceptible around his eyes, formed during a time when laughter had not
been so rare in occurrence.
With a slight grimace,
he turned away from the mirror to study what the dancing light afforded from
oil lanterns hanging on either side of the intricately carved
looking-glass. Colorful frescoes of an
infant Herakles killing twin-serpents with one hand, the mosaics of the other
walls portraying Europa borne upon the waves by a decidedly lustful looking
bull, that was of course, Jupiter. Artistic embellishments common to any dwelling of an imperial official.
The reception hall was
but one room, set towards the front of the house, sheltered, as were the other
ante-rooms looking out onto the large, central courtyard, by an over-hanging
peristyle. Columns of polished
limestone supported the clay-tiled roof on all sides of the rectangular
open-air gallery, through which the calm breezes of imminent evening carried
the scent of baking bread and roasting meat. The kitchen staff must have been in the process of preparing the night's
meal.
He hadn't eaten
anything since before departing the ship at Ruputiae that morning, and the
thought of food made him aware of how famished he suddenly felt. Lost in his meandering thoughts, wondering
what had become of the women, a subtle essence of movement from behind, caught by the clarity of the mirror, but
veiled in the encompassing room's dimness, made him swing around with the neat
efficiency of practiced reflex. The
source of the movement stepped forward, closer to the light of the lamps,
illuminating the face and form of a man, somewhat in his later middle-age,
robust in appearance, and tall of stature.
While not fully
armored, nor even armed, he still wore the steel breast-plate with the insignia
of the Eagle, spanning the width of the pectoral etchings--symbolic homage to
Rome. The gold inlay of two stags,
rearing towards one another in battle, their horns carved with bronze tipped
tines spoke, however, of a different, and older heritage. Words rang through his head of Nemhyn, on
that night outside of Genova, telling how her father's family traced their lines
from the Celto-Gallic nobility. Maximus'
father had been of the landed gentry, harkening back to some of the purest
Latin blood, but his mother had been of the Iberian stock, Romanized for
generations, but at night, when he was barely old enough to ride his first
pony, she would sing him to sleep, with tales of her people, and a time, lost
to the mythical past. Of a people
seeking a new land beyond the edge of the sea, risking their lives to boats
built of Phoenician craft, and sailing to a land now known as Hibernia. The ex-gladiator well understood the
symbolism of the stags. In those tales,
a stag was often hunted--Cerunnos, beast of the forest, emblem of Celtic kings,
defenders of sovereignty when they joined with the Lady of the Land--mother of Her
children. Beyond the baldric bearing
numerous leather strips containing the polished bronze medallions speaking to
war-time accomplishments, hanging to just above the other man's knees, the
heavy maroon, floor-length cape of finely woven fabric, and the arresting
authority in the man's eyes, Maximus needed no other tell-tale marks of
military prestige to guess at the identity of the newcomer.
Even as he made to
kneel, uttering a respectful, and belated, "My Lord, the evening finds you
well, I hope. I did not mean to--,"
Antius Cresecens, shaking his head with humorous indulgence, waved his hand
emphatically for the younger man to rise.
Deep and rumbling, the
general's voice was tempered with an openness and enthusiasm rare to one of
esteemed privilege. "Up, up. I tried to tell Clodius, now that he's been
appointed governor by our new Emperor, the first improvement he could make with
his authority, one that would make life simpler for all those concerned, which
is a good many people, you see--this house, particularly this room, is used to
welcome quite a number of guests—would be to add more lamps. It would greatly enhance visibility in the
evening, and lessen the alarm that always crosses people's faces when their
host approaches them through shadows that probably rival Hades in their gloom."
Maximus, doing only
what he was told, rose to stand during the other man's diatribe, listening to
an accent that was indeed from Gaul. In
no other part of the Empire did people swallow the rolling r's of the Latin language
like inhabitants of Gaul, though Antius's speech was still refined and
fluent.
Something about the
man's broad-featured face, eyes darker than the rich soil of a river bank,
lent a youthful unbiasedness, in spite
of the cropped hair a mottled silver-gray, surrounding the bald peak of his
head like the branches of a laurel-crown. His beard, the same color as the remnants of his hair, was longer than
Maximus's own closely trimmed facial hair, neatly kempt, making Antius seem
seasoned rather than aged.
Maximus remarked with
a quick grin, an unconscious response to the older man's effortless vigor, "You
could always get rid of the mirror since it seems to be what causes your
guests' distraction."
Studying the object in
question, Antius nodded, rubbing his chin, displaying far too much
concentration to be taken seriously. "A
legitimate thought. But then one has to
take into account the exemplary craftsmanship," the older man explained,
pointing out the gold-edging resembling braided hemp painted in molten
sunlight. "I believe this piece was
done here on the island, by a smithy known for his ability to refine silver
with outstanding lucidity. A gifted
man, truly. Not a Briton, however…he's
from somewhere in the east—Asia Minor, perhaps Egypt."
Maximus wasn't quite
understanding why the older man felt obligated to explain the ethnic origins of
a smithy who he would probably never meet in person, but he listened patiently,
letting the general continue.
"He said there were
too many others like him in his native land. Too much competition, not enough buyers of his fare, so he decided to
come here after seeing some Celtic metal-work exhibited by a jewelry peddler
traveling through his homeland years ago. You wouldn't think it, would you," Antius continued musingly, "a
territory in the northern hinterland of Imperial influence, and you find a
smithy from the East who came here simply seeking a fresh start, and better
prospects. Britannia attracts a lot of
those you know," he finished, looking at Maximus, gadging him for a visible reaction.
That's it then, the younger man thought, exhaling once, with loud
emphasis. He realized Antius' comment
had been geared, in part, at himself. He wasn't, however, going to impart details of his reinvented past just
yet
The casual levity of the
general dropped away, replaced by a still somberness as he addressed Maximus.
"Young man, I know you came here with my wife and daughter for reasons that I'm
hoping will be elucidated further this evening. Reasons, whatever they might be, I am almost positive my wife
played a role in influencing, and I know especially that my wife can be
somewhat more…compelling than she intends."
Again, Maximus could
only sniff in a sardonic fashion, as Antius, cocking an eyebrow his way,
observed, "Right. You've heard the
story of how our marriage came about , haven't you."
"One version anyway, "
the younger man answered.
Antius laughed openly
at that, saying, "Ah, Nemhyn. My
daughter always was partial to that tale, and tells it with more drama every
time." His brief exuberance at mention
of his daughter transmuted once more to solemnity. "Know this young man, in all of the years I have commanded
soldiers, I have learned to recognize the look of one who has lost trust and
faith in their life."
The feeling of being
cornered, maneuvered in a way he didn't want to be, was beginning to put
Maximus on edge. The older man must
have seen the gradual apprehension cross his facade, for Antius' next words
were unexpected, leaving him at an utter loss for a response.
"What I'm trying to
tell you, young man, is that no matter the motivation driving you to these
shores, you are not obligated to share anything further than what you feel you
can. But the more you tell me, judged
by your own discretion of course, the better I may be able to assist you in
what you need."
Maximus found himself
beginning to shake his head in negation to the necessity for any such
assistance, mumbling disconcertedly, "I thank you sir, but there is no debt you
ought to feel committed to on my account." Unsure of how much he should reveal of the story he an Maeve had
concocted after leaving Trujillo, he only added, "Your wife offered a temporary
direction for me at a time when I was…at a lack of opportunities. We had the understanding my service to her
was only to last until we arrived safely in Britannia. Beyond that, there was no more to our
arrangement."
The skepticism in
Antius' look told the ex-gladiator the older man wasn't entirely
convinced. "For their safe return, I
ought to be indebted to you for the rest of my years, young man. And whatever you might have done in your
past, whoever you might be, I follow Maeve's judgment in such matters as a
blind man follows those who act as his eyes." He paused before commenting off-handedly, with a conspiring grin,
"Despite the fact she can be something of the odd, eccentric, and
untraditional, no?"
Descriptors to which
Maximus merely gave the older man a skewed look, in complete agreement, but
deciding it bad taste to comment as such. He had no wish to offend when there was no seeming cause.
To Maximus' relief,
further pursuit concerning his reasons for coming to the isle was dropped
temporarily as Antius commented, casual once more, "One has to wonder what
takes women so long to ready their appearance, and always at times when you're
most famished and meant to be entertaining a guest. I don't know about you…," the older man trailed off with an
expectant nod, allowing Maximus a chance to offer his name.
"Ma—my name is
Lucius. Lucius Castus," the younger man
revealed, giving himself an inward kick at his near slip.
"--Lucius, then,"
Antius repeated. "I don't know about
you, Lucius, but I find women, gifts of the gods as they are, can sometimes
be---," and broke off promptly, the general rendered speechless as his
expression changed from one of animated converse to a melting of unreserved
affection.
Maximus turned at the
rustle of cloth, a soft step, and a woman's soft, scolding tutter. Sounds that belied the reason for Antius--a
personage of status, bearing the prestige of a ranked, senior officer of the
Roman legions--all at once assuming the unguarded look of a man restored to
someone he'd once held dear, having long been without their presence.
"Women are what,
Antius. What horrid secrets are you
sharing about me that it delays our dinner for the rest of the evening. Not only are you starving the man who
safe-guarded our passage from Rome, but your daughter, who is left to ward a
repast neither of us have seen the elegance of for over two years, is sorely
tempted to tear into the food whether we're all together or not."
"Not—not delaying,"
Antius murmured brokenly. "We had no
idea you and Nemhyn--," and broke off,
muttering an, "Oh bloody hell," in futility, choosing instead to cross the
distance to the reception hall's entrance, and swing his wife into his arms,
embracing her thoroughly with a sound kissing, causing the staid seeress of Maximus' acquaintance to laugh
with uninhibited delight like a young girl.
"By gods woman," the
general went on, still holding his wife, not making any effort to contain his
pleasure at her return. "You have grown
more lovely in the years of your traveling, while I grow old and haggard upon
this island, under the supposed privilege of leading a legion of the Empire."
She laughed again, her
exuberance, as was her appearance, so at odds with the woman Maximus had
interacted with on the road--the healer, the seeress, dressed as a
peasant. Now she was all Roman matron,
attired in finery which would have made Silucus proud had been asked to
comment, her silken dress the color of spring violets, swathed under breasts
and around her waste as fashion dictated, the chestnut strands of her hair,
shot through with silver, swept up into a golden diadem, neatly pulled back off
her face. In the dimness of the mounted
lantern flames, the evidence of her age was softened, blurred. Still lovely at five and fifty, her smile,
the girlish delight she exuded just now made her seem more the age of her
daughter, the ice-pale eyes piercing, studying her husband with a momentary
heat that Maximus felt he ought not be witness to, before she suddenly seemed
to remember, as did her husband, his presence.
In spite of her
transformation in appearance, Maeve's incisive, "Well, dearest, now that I've
returned, we can have the comfort of watching each other wrinkle and grow fat
together," to her husbands compliment was more typical of the woman the
ex-gladiator had grown to know over the last couple months of their acquaintance. "Besides," she continued, breaking away from
her husband with seeming reluctance, turning to face Maximus, "you're making
our poor Lucius here, unwilling witness to your display, rather self-conscious,
I fear."
Antius may have
allowed his wife to break their embrace, but he refused to drop her hand,
humoring Maximus with a, "Can you forgive a love-starved man a momentary lapse
in his emotional excess. I have been
denied the presence of my wife a long-time, and have yet to re-aquaint myself
with a daughter long in absence."
It was an effort to
hide the sudden, stabbing memory of his own wife, to try and appear as casual
as possible, unbothered by the reunion of Antius and Maeve. Thickly, he could only manage, "It's the
least prerogative a husband or a father ought to enjoy, and be thankful for
everyday of his life." While you
still have them, he finished silently.
The pain wasn't
lingering, as it once had been, but when it came, it came acutely, this sudden
need to take his own wife and son in his arms, and never release them.
Antius' laugh, his
boisterous, "You see my dearest, our young guest seems to understand
perfectly," moved them past the moment. Maximus attempted a half-grin, which was not entirely forced. He wouldn't begrudge another man his own
family, though he was denied his own, especially a man as good-natured as
Antius gave the impression of being. Resentment of other's good fortune had never been a part of his
character and it certainly wouldn't begin to be now.
Maeve, watching the
ex-gladiator intently, smiled once more at her husband, telling him to go on
ahead, and let, "our esteemed Lucius escort your wife to dinner. Your daughter is as hungry for the site of
you as you are of her."
Antius made no
complaint, kissing his wife's hand, exiting the reception room out ahead of
them. Maeve, enacting the part of the
gracious hostess with ease, offered her arm to Maximus—Lucius.
The look in her eyes
was not pity, but understanding—the look once more, of the seeress. Maeve, like her daughter, who doubtless had
inherited the quality from the older woman, was not one to confuse empathy with
false sympathy. As they walked to the
dining hall, arm in arm, following the eager stride of her husband, she spoke
in a quiet undertone to Maximus. "They
will be waiting for you. Do not doubt
that, but you must realize, Maximus, that life is done."
Where once he would
have spoken against her in bitter denial, he now said with a sort of distant
despondency, "I know, but the dead don't ever completely leave you."
"She wouldn't want to hold you back either…Lucius,"
the older woman stated, speaking his newly chosen name with purposeful
emphasis. They passed through a long,
lavishly appointed corridor with of pink whorled marble floors and open colonnades
offering a view of the surrounding peristyle across the insular garden. "After all, roads here don't lead to Rome."
His arm still linked
with hers, strolling with unhurried leisure, he stopped for a moment, taking in
the opulent purples and reds of a fresco illumed by mounted torches depicting a
goddess riding upon the back of a gallant stallion, astride as a man would
do. Certainly not a goddess from any
classical pantheon, with her hair streaming out behind her in wild, windswept
locks, and tatters of cloth barely covering her white limbs. "No, your daughter
said it herself. Here, all roads lead
to Londinium."
"Which is far from
Rome," Maeve remarked, picking up their pace again.
His response was
mingled with half amused cough of skepticism. "Do you think that will be far enough for me?"
Maeve
simply arched a graceful eyebrow his way. The look said enough: That remains for you to decide.
The dining hall, the triclinium
in Latin, was a stylishly appointed room, large and oval in shape. Sculptures of various gods and goddesses in
their established poses, cut of the rare and expensive Egyptian black marble,
glinting in torch light like the sea at night, adorned individual enclaves set
into the granite walls about the room: Minerva with her spear, draped as a Roman Augusta; Jupiter wielding
thunder and lightning; Hera embracing in her arms the white roses of fidelity
and marriage, the tinders of the home fire; Diana dancing before her brother,
the Greek Apollo, in his hall of the eternal sun, and many others worshipped
throughout the vast distances of the Empire, brought to this distant island of
mist. Dining couches, their stiff
velvet pillow cushions reflecting the lack of usage which seemed to define all
the structures of the provincial capital, were placed in the middle of the
room, three about like an open-sided
square so that the servants could remove the food and drink with ease from the table at the couches' center. Maximus looked around in nonchalant
interest, not impressed so much by the luxuries of the governmental
quarters--houses of imperial officials from one end in Syria to Germania Minor
were relatively standard constructions—as by the implications of what this
house's design reflected: mundanities
of Roman domesticity, brought to Britannia's far shore, an island at the
northern-most end of the western Empire.
Maximus, still guiding
Maeve, arm in arm, followed Antius, who barely seemed able to restrain himself
from bounding across the floor, beyond an elaborately laid out feast, to the
figure of a tall, slender woman, her hair the color of firelight shining
through honey, standing at the far end of the room. She was examining a mosaic of Achilles battling Hector in a
detail of bloodied, ancient glory—Jupiter from his heights on Olympus weighting
the Scales of Fortune deciding the fate of warriors, victor and vanquished,
looking upon Hector with sad, reluctant eyes.
Antius, it turned out,
need not have spared his dignity, for at the sound of his booted step on the
marble floors, the woman turned, pure joy suffusing her features as she nearly
bowled him over, flying into his arms, apparently disdaining to act with the
restrained control normally expected of a general's daughter. The diaphanous ivory-white material of her
floor-length dress, finer than anything Maximus had seen Nemhyn wear while on
the road, flared out behind her.
Her father caught her
up in a great bear hug, kissing her on one cheek and the other, laughing warmly
and deep, saying, "It is a relief to find the food is still here. I was expecting to see the meal already
vanished in your ravenous hunger, judging from how your mother made you sound
half starved, warning you would begin dining without the rest of us."
Antius set his
daughter back on her feet, and Nemhyn, trying to hide her openly obvious joy
behind a serious regard, failing at the attempt, said without any real
reproach, "Can you blame me, I was sick for a good part of the sea voyage and
could barely keep down even a little water and bread. Having to look at this marvelous banquet as it grew cold, and
contain my appetite while you and …Lucius took your time arriving ," she
motioned toward the food on the table, "was really quite a trial of my
willpower."
The words, spoken in
mock sulleness, ending in a merry giggle, had her father laughing along. "Ah,
daughter, I've missed your bluntess as I have your mother's penetrating
explications of the world and how it ought to be. And proud, I am, of the fact that like your mother, you have
grown in loveliness within these missing years."
Maeve and Nemhyn
exchanged a look of familiar exasperation, as the older woman commented
discursively to Maximus--a wife with the long standing knowledge of her
husband's effusive flatteries--,"Antius has always believed compliments beget
forgiveness when he knows he's in the wrong with the women of his family."
To which Antius
retorted in feigned defense, "That's because, dearest, it usually works. A wise man knows, not only when to keep
silence concerning certain matters of his women-folk, but also when he must
speak words to soothe their, hmmm," making as if to choose his next word
carefully, "fragile sensitivities. So
in your quest to rouse our honored Lucius' sympathies by telling him what an
ogre of a husband and father I am, remember, he is the only other man in this
fair company tonight, and my only ally by default of his gender."
Words, well chosen,
had Maximus breaking into a chuckle as Nemhyn too, began to laugh, while Maeve
gave her husband a look of challenge and delight. It was obvious there was no serious intent meant behind any of
the remarks--that this family reveled in the word play, drawing affectionate
pleasure from such exchanges. An
affection combined with an open tenderness reaching out and inviting Maximus to
partake in the merry atmosphere enveloping the newly reacquainted family, as
though he were an age old friend, and not a semi-fugitive slave, eluding the
selfish eyes of Rome, and her jealous rulers.
Nemhyn, with an ahem,
and a hint of mirth, said, "Your compliments are always valued, father, and
while I hate to interrupt the rest of what you might say in your effort to
redeem yourself with you wife and daughter, not to mention, maintain your
supposed alliance with our esteemed Lucius, there is an extremely delectable
looking dish of shellfish in wine-sauce that is growing cold even as we
speak. Shall we eat?"
Antius, not having
much choice in the matter, succumbed willingly to his daughter's lead as she
grabbed his arm and practically dragged him over to the couches. Maeve,
offering Maximus her arm once more, which he took with a slight smile and an
inclination of his head honoring her as the hostess, lead with a more staid
dignity.
A dignity he was hard
pressed to hold to as they arranged themselves around the table of food. Maximus hadn't realized how long he had been
in absence of such finery, trying to maintain his composure and not gape at the
spread before him--the assortment of cooked meats, fresh fruits and sweets, at
the fine silver of the table-wear, nor the luster of the wine-goblets with
their intricate carvings of wild flowers and grapes. He suddenly felt like some ruffian-beggar who had mistakenly
wandered in upon a feast of the High Ones.
If either of the
women, or the general, noticed the momentary amazement that had overcome his
features before he could regain his self possession, they were tactful enough
to not comment.
Maeve, seated next to
her husband, leaving one couch for Nemhyn, and the other to Maximus, signaled
for an unobtrusive servant boy with the fey, dark features of Eastern breeding
to bring out a pitcher of wine. In
between serving up the shellfish for each member of the small company, she
asked offhandedly to her husband, "Is Clodius not joining us tonight, dearest?"
The question, phrased
innocently, with no hint of the probing seeress, caused the broad, good-natured
features of her husband to cloud over like a clear sky in the wake of a
thunderstorm, the effusive joy of the small dinner party suddenly evaporating
in the wake of his darkened expression.
Maeve set her
daughter's bowl down, waited for the servant boy to fill Maximus' cup, then
settled back on the couch next to her husband. Her daughter scooted forward from her own place, separate that of her
parents, in order to better hear what they said.
With all of the serene
reserve he'd grown accustomed to in the last months of their contact, the warm
façade of the Roman matron was replaced by that of the prophetess. Ice-pale eyes keen, Maeve uttered a simple,
"What has happened?"
"Clodius is still in
the north, overseeing the re-garrisoning of some forts south of the Antonine
front. The Caledonii broke through and
completely razed the lands of the Selgoviae and Dummondii before Cumerex could
dispatch some Votadini troops to halt their progress. It took two days for the news to reach Eboracum, and another four
to get the adequate number of forces together. By the time we arrived, Habitonacum and Bremenium were little more than
ashes and charred coals, the Votadini crops a waste, and their cattle a
slaughtered mass of rawhide. You don't
want to know what became of their soldiers, nor--gods' curse every one of those
barbarian insurgents," Antius finished bitterly, "--the fate of the surrounding
villages."
Maeve was pale, still,
could only say, "They haven't forgotten Mons Graupius. The Celtic tribes have always had long
memories, but they say those north of Hadrian's Wall have the longest."
Maximus recalled the
deep-felt urgency, the imminent threat of invasion when the defenses of
Germania too had been breached, the Macromanni beatng at the door of the
Empire, a vast horde of barbarians streaming down to Vindabona. Against his better judgment, not knowing
what impulse urged him to speak up, if it was indeed his military instincts
from days long left to a different life, or an innate sense of morbid
curiosity, he said, "You make it sound like a great many men were lost, yet
this invasion seems as though it should have offered no more threat to Roman held lands than any other
tribal foray. Are there not defenses
along the Wall of Hadrian that should have been able to supply the men
required, preventing the need of sending messengers all the way to Eboracum,
while further incursion resulted in damage to the Votadini lands?"
Nemhyn frowned at him, about to speak up, but
her father answered before she could say anything. Which was probably for the better as her responses to his
questions sometimes reflected a stinging impatience which only served to chafe
at his own composure.
"Not so long ago, that
might have true, young man. But the
troops that were once stationed prolifically along our vast Empire's
northern-most border have thinned in recent years, some lost in the regular
lines of duty, but a better number have merely been called away, sent to serve
elsewhere, particularly in the endeavors commanded by claimants of the Imperial
throne. Pertinax recruited an entire
legion's worth from the companies of the Island, and during the years of Commodus'
reign, other cohorts were sent to the Queen of Cities Herself to reinforce the
urban patrols in quelling the infamous mob." With a measuring gaze that made Maximus want to fidget, Antius studied
the younger man for a beat. Then,
nodding to himself, seeming to have confirmed an answer to an unvoiced
question, he concluded darkly, "The Wall is a magnificent piece of defensive
construct, but is totally useless without the military strength to man it. Enough so that we lost three entire cohorts:
the Cohors IV Gallorum equitata, the Cohors I Aelia Dacorum milliaria,
and the Cohors I Lingonum equitata, along with another thousand
from the VI Victrix. Further losses
were circumvented only because my son, gods forever bless his bravery and
timeliness, Cassius, sent reinforcements from the Classis Britannica
that marched non-stop over two days of mountainous terrain and muddied bogs to
reach us."
By the time the older
man finished his explanation, Maximus was beginning to sincerely regret broaching the subject He heard Maeve sigh heavily upon mention of
her son, the numbers lost in battle. Her daughter's response, a stiff look dread falling across finely
chiseled features, though less demonstrative, was equally expressive in its
apprehension.
A curious remorse came
over the general as he looked at Maximus dismally, "You have come to these
shores at a dark time, young man. So long as Rome sent the defenses adequate to
keep vigil along the Wall of Hadrian, a relative peace was maintained, even
with those tribes across the border. You are not alone in thinking this is simply another isolated tribal
foray. Her populace, the civil magistrates, even the officers I have been in
council with today, wish to believe that, so they will, once again, downplay the
seriousness of this incident when debriefing Rome on its occurrence. We are weakened though, and I fear the
Tribes want blood this time, they want land they never truly stopped claiming
as their own, and now they are beginning to test the strength of our
defensives, and seeing them depleted, they are willing to go to war for that
land."
For some odd reason,
Maximus felt as though he'd been chastised, though he knew Antius hadn't meant
his words as any other than a simple explanation, albeit a dire one. A look of discomfort must have fallen over
his visage, for the general, still watching Maximus, suddenly waved his hand in
a dismissive manner, stating promptly, "But these events have long been
unfolding, and brooding further on them tonight will not solve them. Let us not
sour our mood more, but restore our appetites with good food, and the company
of my beautiful wife and equally lovely daughter, young Lucius." Turning to Maeve, deliberately trying to
recover a jovial ambiance, he said, "Come wife, how did you and my daughter
find the East? And Rome? How fares my brother?"
Privately, Maximus
didn't think news of Rome any more appetite inducing than talk of barbarian
raids, but he said nothing as he found the delectable shellfish sufficient in
returning his hunger. Apparently, with
the alacrity the women dug into their own servings, they were in unspoken
accordance. Maeve, once more
transforming into the gracious hostess, said, in an echo of Maximus's thought,
that she would begin with the tale of their travel, as it was far better
entertainment than any news out of Rome.
Thus, through the
course of shellfish, followed by olives in fish-vinegar sauce, topped with a
round of well-watered wine--a commonality in any high-ranking household during
dinner--the women's eager voices detailed a portrayal of a land encountered by
Alexander the Great over four hundred years before. A place of suffocating humidity, air like the steam filled
furnaces of a bath-house, where the afternoon rains left a lingering dampness
like a wet blanket. Tales of a dark skinned people inhabiting a varied
topography of lush rainforests and alpine slopes, who sought enlightenment
following the codes of behavior set down by a man five hundred years dead,
whose name was as inconceivable as the fantastic descriptions of black-tiger
like creatures known as panthers, or behemoth monstrosities called rhinos,
seemed incongruous to this setting on the Isle of Mists beyond the Northern
Sea. An island of barren sea-swept
cliffs, cloud veiled heights, remote flatlands and forest glens.
Had Maximus been less
well-traveled himself, he would have had difficulty believing the stories
Nemhyn was describing of scholars who studied a form of learning known as Vedic
wisdom while the small group consumed a large cut of roast venison, stuffed
with mushrooms, moistened with juices released during its cooking. "The Vedas. One of the Hellenic teachers we
studied with said the word means the Wisdom or Science of Life in
the Greek," and she proceeded to tell of the brilliance of their surgeons, able
to repair the damaged cartilage of severed ears and noses.
"And," Maeve added,
supplementing her daughter's commentary, " they possess an ingenious method of
preventing the pox by taking the scabs from healing pustules of those already
infected and placing them in the nostrils of healthy persons so they are never
afflicted with the illness no matter how often they come in contact with the
sick."
"I do hope
Aristophanes is still in Corpistitium," Nemhyn stated. "We have a book detailing the works of one
of their great physicians--Sushrata, but there was no translation to the Greek
or Latin, and Aristophanes, I seem to remember him saying, studied the writing
of the Vedics when he was in Egypt."
"If nothing else, he
will welcome the new influx of literary materials," her father said.
"I certainly hope so,"
Maeve remarked. "We bought three copies
of Dioscorides De Materia Medica when we were in Alexandria, two
in Latin, and one in Greek, picked up a work by Erastistratus and a scroll on
dissection by Marinus. That should help
to flesh out the collection at Corbridge until I can persuade Eumendos to
invest some funds for more scrolls and books."
Nemhyn, with a rather
derisive glance, said, "Goddess bless you in that endeavor, Mother. You'll have to do some fairly heavy arguing
to make him see it's worth the funds to update his collection every few
years. He'll start by complaining how
strapped the military treasury is for money, and proceed to state all the
repairs that have to go into the granaries, the walls, the baths, and so on."
"Although," Antius
supplied helpfully, "if you ask Eumendos' procurator, I'm almost positive
you'll find his ale-stores are as healthy as ever, and judging by the review of
the budgets this month past, he's spending more on the mead they bring down
from the north country this year than the last two. He ships it overseas, and has been making quite a profit on it."
"Then I'll have to
justify diverting some of his new-found earnings towards a few orders for more
books with the merchant vessels that come though Arbeia before he finds some
freshly creative way to spend what profits he has on--how does he always put
it--keeping up the morale of the men," Maeve considered. "At least by next spring."
Antius was looking on
his wife and daughter with an undisguised admiration, stating teasingly,"You
know, Irias was convinced two women traveling as you were, across the distances
you would cover, and encountering the peoples you would, would either be
tempted into infidelity by the luxuries of the East, or be captured and shipped
to the countries of the jade cities. It's really going to be a horrid disappointment when I tell him he lost
his wager, and the only thing you came back with were books and a few stories
of your travels."
Maximus, looking to
Nemhyn, asked in amusement,"There was a wager made on the success of your
journey?"
With poorly disguised
acerbity, Nemhyn clarified, "Irias is one of father's most trusted advisors. But he interprets the words of Juvenal as
though they were the very sayings of the Sybil, and is utterly convinced that
mother and I break every code of modest behavior appropriate to Roman women."
"And our apparent
immodesty," Maeve continued, "Irias believes, is due to Celtic blood, which of
course begets licentious mannerisms in the Island's women." Her smile was one tempered with a slight
irony as she looked to her husband, "So husband, you won the wager after
all. Next time you see Irias, tell him
your daughter didn't run off with a charioteer from Ephesus, and your wife
didn't bed a whole crew of bricklayers in Antioch. I believe those were his words three years ago before we left,
no?"
Maximus found himself
chuckling when Nemhyn added, "And we all know there's simply nothing more
attractive to a man who would ask to lie with either me or mother than the
brigade of fleas that infested every sleeping mat we ever napped on, nor puts
you in a better mood for desiring a lover's touch than basking in the oven-heat
of the East."
Rather than react with
scandalized horror to his daughter's somewhat ribald comment, Antius only
chuckled, becoming a full-throated laugh when his wife, in an imitation of
momentous thought, stipulated, "Although, there was the tempting offer of ten
camels in return for our daughter while we were in Damascus housing with a
gynecologist. He was already married of
course, but declared it was not an uncommon thing for men to have more than one
wife, all the better if she was versed in the healer's art."
"You do make the most
interesting associations through your practice, Wife," Antius remarked through
his laughter, evincing none of the offended sensitivity Maximus might have
expected of a man who fulfilled, by every other appearance, the mien of an
honorable Roman general--pater familias to his women. "Irias also never misses the opportunity to
warn me of the perverting influence you
have had on our daughter in seeing her educated in the manner of classical medical
texts, nor in the social contacts you each have made through the years of
practice. Has your instruction been so
corrupting to our daughter, do you think? Is she beyond all hope of reform?"
His daughter, rather
than his wife whom he'd been addressing, was the one to reply in a decidedly
brusque fashion. "Not only beyond all
hope of reform, but corrupted long before I ever set eyes on a work by
Hipporcrates. A child can't help but
follow the examples set by those who surround her and raise her, and what I had
were three older brothers, and...Mother," she finished with an affectionately
wry look at Maeve.
Which explains much
in the behavior of the daughter when compared to the mother, Maximus couldn't help but think, wondering just what
this woman's sons were like. During
their months on the road, he'd been witness to more than one occasion when
mother and daughter came to heads in their often antagonistic
relationship. An antagonism, he'd come
to realize, which hid a deep and underlying love.
"And as further evidence of our immodest
mannerisms, ," Maeve intoned sardonically, her eyes resting on Maximus, " your
daughter and I dared bring a stranger—a mercenary--before your table, whom we
came across in the gutters of Rome."
Antius gave Maximus an
indecipherable look, scrutinizing. One
that made the younger man feel that the general was able to read something in
him that attested to the falsity of the story he and Maeve had invented to
describe his fabricated past after departing Trujillo. "We'll come to your tale in good time young
man, I'm quite eager to hear it, but for now, dearest," he turned to Maeve,
"I'd like to hear more of Rome herself. I trust your words more than what comes by way of rumor on the mouths of
soldiers newly come from the capital, or even from the official post. Is it true what they say of my brother, that
he was put under house arrest for plotting against Commodus?"
While the servant boy
brought out a final round of food, dandelion leaves wrapped around sweetened,
honeyed ham saturated in the juices of raisins and stewed apples, Maximus tried
not to choke on the swallow of wine he'd taken from his goblet, hearing the
words of Antius, knowing without a doubt, they could only be referring to one
man. Tried instead, to take two more
swallows, thinking he needed it to overcome his sudden shock at what the
general's words implied regarding the familial connections of the gens
Crescenii.
Senator Gracchus, the
brother of Antius. The uncle of the
woman who he was, even now, trying to pound into the ground with the heavy
threat of his stare as Nemhyn, not flinching from his gaze, simply gave him a
warning raise of brows as covertly as she might, indicating for him to speak
nothing.
Maeve, confirming the
truth of what her husband had heard, glanced only briefly at the two younger
persons, catching the sudden tension emanating from Maximus, before turning
back to Antius. "Your brother was put
under house arrest soon after we arrived in Rome. Because of that, I had no chance to make known our presence to
him. I thought it wiser for myself and
our daughter to maintain the anonymity of peasant herb-dealers. Sometimes you hear more truth from the
gossip of the gladiators when dressed as a commoner, aiding the surgeons in the
sick rooms of the Circus Maximus, to stitch up wounds, or cauterizing served
limbs received in the games," she murmured caustically, "than as women of
nobility."
Antius, too perceptive
a man to not sense there was something suddenly remiss in the atmosphere of the
small gathering, frowned, but remarked neutrally, "A wiser decision regarding
your safety and that of our daughter I couldn't have agreed more with. As for my brother, I would that his faith to
this idealistic notion of Roman Republic, while I have always endorsed it
privately, would be better tempered with caution as to the consequences his
actions have concerning the protection of others associated with his name."
Maeve, sighing in
resignation, a sound Maximus had not often heard and was indicative of how
heavily these thoughts were indeed preying upon her mind, said only, "Aye,
husband. I would that were so as well,
but you cannot force a man to abandon his visionary simplicity when he is so
convinced, as your brother is, that it is a right belief. This is something I fear Pertinax has always
suffered from as well: that their
fellow supporters share a vision they do, of an Empire whose power is centered
in the hands of Her people, and not merely in the vise of a few tyrannical,
self-serving men. They do not
understand when their counselors, their amici, succumb to corruption and
greed, putting personal gain before public benefit."
"In any case," Nemhyn
attempted in comfort, reaching across her couch to grasp her father's hand,
"Uncle was freed, although I'm not sure if he was reinstated." Antius smiled kindly, but fleeting, at his daughter's gentle observation, before
thoughts, as yet unvoiced, troubled his visage once again.
Into the momentary
silence, Maximus uttered in hushed embitterment before he could keep the words
from his lips, "But the rightful heir of Marcus Aurelius, the son of Verus,
lies no less dead at the hands of the Guard, for all of the efforts of Gracchus
or Commodus' sister."
All eyes turned to
him, Antius' weighing most heavily as his words echoed in the stillness of the
dining halls sudden crushing quiet. "You speak, young Lucius, with suprising cynicism toward some of the
most esteemed, and coveted military positions serving directly under his
Imperial majesty. Especially, I might
add, for a man who must once have been in the legions of Rome."
Maximus, who had been
reclining on the couch, actually beginning to relax in the atmosphere of the
family and their welcoming disposition, despite the distressing inferences of
their dinner conversation, suddenly felt the placidity of his demeanor fall
away like a shock of ice cold water upon bared skin, stiffening, but making no
move otherwise. "Legions," he could
only repeat, dumbfounded, trying to conceal a rising dismay, wondering what had
tipped the older man off . Am I so
transparent? "I don't know what--,"
he started, trying to delay a disastrous revelation for them all as he saw
Maeve open her mouth to interject a comment only to be silenced by the
impatient wave of her husband's band. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, her eyes icy and glacial,
but she held her tongue to Antius' remark: "I would hear what our guest has to say for himself, dearest, without
your helpful commentaries being added in for good measure."
Maximus, in the
intervening seconds, bringing himself to sit upright, asked with more
composure, "What makes you believe I
have had any connection to the Legions?"
With dubious
expectancy, Antius also sitting up straighter, said, "My young and recently met
friend. I have commanded soldiers a
long time here in these remote regions of Rome's northern most border, once
having been amongst the ranks of numerous other legionnaires myself. I know well, the marks Her regiments brand
themselves with to distinguish their tour of service to Roma Mater. Is that, if I am not mistaken," the general
inquired with an incline his head towards something on Maximus' shoulder, "a
badly marred emblem of the Legions? What was it you were trying to conceal, I wonder?"
And indeed looking
down at where the overcloak had fallen away from his shoulder, the
S.P.Q.R.--singed across his left upper arm years ago during one of those
initiation rites young legionnaires participated in, symbolizing youthful
solidarity with fellow servicemen after surviving a first battle--stood out
like a horribly distorted birthmark. The silence in the hall following Antius' question became prolonged as
Maximus struggled for some reasonable explanation. Gazing at the letters, he felt, for a sick horrible second that
the entire dining hall was spinning away from him, leaving him stranded, a
single pillar upon a rock, deserted and forgotten to the vastness of a roiling
sea.
Maeve was frowning in
agitation while her husband, still holding Maximus' gaze with a somewhat
perplexed scowl, began to say something else, was abruptly interrupted by his
daughter's emerging chuckle--incongruous to the awkward ambiance of the small
dinner party. "Mother and I had dibbs
on how long it would take you to notice the tattoo on Lucius' arm,
Father." It was a relief when Antius
wrested his gaze away from Maximus, giving his daughter a look of deepening
curiosity which she ignored for the moment, looking across to the younger man
with an explicit gleam in her eyes. "It
seems, Lucius, you're going to have to explain why you became a mercenary after
all. Having defected from the Felix
Legions as you did, and being forced to find another way to make a living."
Her amusement might
have been inappropriate to the moment, but her words gave him an opening by
which to rescue himself, although Maximus could have done without Antius'
querying, "The Felix Legions, young Lucius? This should be a remarkable story, indeed."
"You can only
imagine," Maeve observed with a poised smile to her husband, though her eyes
still held something of their icy glimmer.
As if responding to
some unheard cue, Nemhyn moved to stand, covering her mouth with the back of
one hand as she yawned. "A remarkable
story, and one I've been acquainted to already. If our guest is not overly offended," she said, curtsying
prettily to Maximus, not quite managing to conceal the flippant fashion of her
gesture as she gathered the silken, cream white folds of her dress in her
hands, " and my parents are so kind as to grant their daughter leave, I would
rather spend the remaining hours of the evening strolling in the governor's
garden. It's said to help digestion,
you know," she offered smartly as an aside to all them.
Maximus, trying to
hide his resentment of her being able to escape the presence of her parents
with such ease, mumbled an indistinct sounding, "Good night," as her parents
each stood to grant her good night in their turn.
Maeve, hugging her
daughter, receiving the younger woman's return kiss, stated acrimoniously,
"It's not as though you listened when we didn't grant you permission to leave
anyway." Nemhyn made no reply, only
exhaling loudly in the manner of a daughter abiding her mother's constant critiques,
turning so her father might kiss her in the evening's farewell.
"You might mention to
Mother," Nemhyn said with affectionate goading, " that's why I tell her
nowadays rather than asking her when I might leave the table." Antius' muted laugh followed his daughter as
she turned to exit the room in a whisk of skirts, a brisk stride, her palla
draped loosely over her shoulders.
Before she entered the
outer corridor, Antius called after her, "The gods be thanked for your safe
return, daughter."
She stopped at the
door, looking back at each of her parents, responding with warm solemnity, "And
the gods be thanked for blessing your life one time more in battle, father,"
before disappearing into the blackness of the hallway beyond the triclinium's
entrance.
Antius stared after
his daughter for a moment longer, before seating himself on the couch next to
his wife once more, settling in for comfort. Maeve, signaling the servant boy for more wine to be brought, began
pouring water into their goblets, adding the wine when it arrived.
"Ten camels. Is that
what you said the man in Antioch offered for her," the general asked his wife.
He turned to Maximus,
speaking in a caricature of deep consideration, "Is that good--ten camels?"
The younger man,
playing along with the general's raillery, said straight-faced, "I've
heard it's a moderately decent proposal for a bride price."
Maeve shook her head,
chuckling. "Why Antius, are you planning on marrying your daughter off in
exchange for a bunch of pack animals who wouldn't last the month here on this
island once winter set in?"
Maeve's words had
Maximus grinning, despite the current ambiguity of his position with
Antius. A grin which transformed into
an appreciative guffaw as he heard Antius respond, "Well, no, not exactly. I was just thinking if she had ten camels
offered for her hand in marriage while you were each traveling as peasant
women...just think what we could get for her if she were presented in her
appropriate rank."
Maeve, warming to her
husband's jest, said before succumbing to a laughter that melted the remainder
of her brief irritation with him, "Just think what she would do to you if you
ever tried."
The moment of humor
passed, taking with it the strain that had arisen in those minutes prior to
Nemhyn's exit. When Antius
asked, more amicably this time, "Now Lucius, are you ready to impart the rest
of your story," Maximus--or Lucius, rather--found he was indeed prepared. Looking to Maeve once, who nodded
encouragement with a barely discernible smile, he realized no matter the truth
or untruth behind his next words, the tightness in his chest, nor the
bitterness in his tone were forced. Throughout the story, Antius listened with unwavering intensity, probing
now and then for clarification, but never asking anything which required the ex-gladiator
to over-fabricate in detail.
His trepidation
regarding how the general might respond to the sincerity of his tone, if not
the honesty of his words, gradually dissolved as the tale played out to its
finale, and the look in Antius' eyes was of a calm understanding. "When a good man has been put to death
unjustly, it is difficult to blame the regiments under his command for falling
away. The tragedy is that the strength of Rome's arms, the devotion of Her
troops founders along with the corruption of Her rulers. Mark my words well, Lucius, that as Rome now
suffers for the Empire's faithlessness to Her loyal leaders, so Britannia does
as well. Long ago, I pledged my fealty
to Rome, but it is Britannia I will ever keep faith with. If I help you, young Lucius, could you serve
Britannia, if not Rome?"
Speechless for a
moment, his own eyes never leaving Antius' face, except to glance grimly, once,
at Maeve, he finally said, "That depends on what you plan to offer me." Something kindled in her crystal-frozen
gaze, a look Maximus knew only too well. She had been planning for this moment from the instant they first
stepped foot in Ruputiae.
