Caput XXVI
***CCXCIX***
"They will accept death rather than surrender." The decurion wore a bandage over skull, its left side stained red. Two young men watched the prefect receive the report. They sat upon a hillside. Two hundred Cantabri footmen marched along the floor of the valley. A thousand cavalry waited on the highlands.
They represented just a fraction of the twenty-five thousand auxiliaries deployed for the war, they all answered to Perseus, now named Procurator Augusti by Augustus. More auxilia existed in Hispania than the two younger men ever knew to exist in a single army. The vast majority came from Gaul and Thrace, though at Perseus' name and carefully laundered coin, several thousand men of Germania were here as well. Half the men of Cohortes I and II Germanorum fought under him in Greece, the other half knew of the spoils of Greece. The men transited by sea, some from Greece, others from their homeland their wooden vessels now patrolling from Gallia Aquitania. The auxiliary units were a mixture of unit types. Some were the traditional alae and cohortes, specifically cavalry or infantry. More than one of the units held the sagittariorum designator, marking them as archers. Others held the modifier Baleares, slingers from the Balearic Islands. Light cavalry, mounted missile troops, they all answered to the man designated as Augustus' second. Which, given the events of the last two weeks, meant the overall commander of nearly sixty thousand men.
Augustus, as well as Marcellus, was gone. Felled by a fever, the leader of Rome now journeyed home. Three legions held the west against the Astures supported by ten thousand auxiliaries. Jason, Son of Jupiter, commanded that force. With five legions and fifteen thousand auxiliaries, Percy sought to crush the final remnants of Cantabri resistance. Publius Quintilius Varus and Nero Claudius Drusus watched him do it.
Now they turned to him. Throughout the campaign thus far, he allowed them to observe decisions and overwatch battles. Here, with a thousand Germans ready to answer his command and no place to retire. They believed this would be their first battle. Perhaps for the first time, their blades would taste blood. In their minds it was more consequential than the first time one bedded a woman. Sex may make them a man; war made them a Roman.
"Well," Perseus now spoke, pulling his dark helmet with its blue plume from his saddle and placing it on his head. "I suppose it is our duty to assist them in meeting their gods." He drew his sword, the long Gallic thing it was. In excitement, Drusus and Varus did the same. His green eyes fell on them. They were continued to speak. "Well, it's like fucking. Use your sword well and hope you last until the end. You will charge with the decurion," the bandaged man inclined his head, "and the rear guard." Both youths opened their mouths to object and Percy snapped at them. "You both want glory. First you have to live long enough to enjoy it. At your age, in this war you will not. At least not until you have experience in this shitty life. You're both senators, you'll do your service and move on. Some of us will never not do this, remember that when you cast your votes in the Senate."
"You could be one," Varus said, a flash in his eyes that Percy recognized as his own. "They say you're one of the wealthiest men in Rome." The boys caught one of his wry smiles before he hid it away.
"They wouldn't have me. Otherwise, who would they criticize in their debates and salons? Senators spend more time talking about the battles they watched from a quarter mile behind the lines than they ever spent fighting them. If I was there, someone might be willing to call their bull shit." He smiled again and his voice abandoned its sarcasm for the gruffer tones of battle. "First lesson of command, lads, when in doubt," he spun his black charger toward the Cantabri below, "Fucking attack!" Perseus shouted the words in Latin, before repeating them in the guttural words of the Germanic auxiliaries. Hundreds of horses surged forward, their riders calling out with the bloodcurdling cry of the tribesmen.
Drusus and Varus felt their hearts begin to race as the horsemen began their charge to violence. Varus watched his father lead them. His black stallion easily outpaced the others as he sat upright and nearly still on the great beast's back. The only motion seemed to be the involuntary one associated with his mount's movements. Despite this, his blade remained parallel to the ground. Time seemed to slow for Publius Varus. Sound vanished except for the thumping of blood in his ears which seemed to have matched his father's mount's tempo of footfall. With each thum-thum of his heart, his father neared the enemy. For many years he knew the name of his real father. But even their time together at his uncle's posting did not prepare him for the immersive experience that was Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus.
The man asked much of everyone but gave it back equally. He despised wasteful death, yet accepted losses other commanders would not. He received the confidence of those below him, while protecting them from those above. No subordinate disobeyed his orders, while he did not countermand theirs. Lessons were taught, by word when able, by colder methods when necessary. Varus could see why the Daughter of Bellona was so stricken with him. In Perseus' actions and words, he could see why he still served in the legion, alone, instead of bringing her to him. Yet, as he watched the man approach the enemy, he felt a fear. In his personal silence, he watched the blade rise and fall, severing a head from shoulders. This did not ease his fear. For this fear was not of losing a father he never truly had, but the fear of not living up to his name.
***CCC***
Percy felt nothing but the slight hesitation of skin and muscle against his blade. Crimson shot into the air as all the arteries of the neck were severed. His arm was coated in the thick liquid. He ignored it and already the Sword of Vercingetorix sought its next host. The next poor soul received a slash of the sword that opened their back from shoulder to hip. His death brought little feeling to Percy's conscious either. Blackjack surged forward and suddenly Percy found himself yards beyond any of the barbarians. He wheeled his horse. At the extent of his vision, he could see the rear guard, some two hundred men, charging. Amongst them were Drusus and his son.
He bellowed orders in the Batavi dialect. "Reverse, charge again!" Around him, the horsemen whose initial charge carried them through the Cantabri unit turned their mounts. They began a second charge. Again, Percy rode at its fore. Opposite him, leading their own wedge of cavalry, rode Drusus and Publius Varus. A tribesman appeared in front of him, spear braced against the ground.
***CCCI***
Varus watched as his father's horse hurled itself into the air. The leap rendered the grounded spear superfluous, and shock still shown on the Cantabri's face as Perseus' sword buried itself in his skull. His father seemed to not notice the death, but passing on Varus' left side, he nodded in acknowledgment. For as he passed his son, the boy's blade bit into the neck of a fighter. Varus turned to see his father wheeling his horse back again preparing for another charge. A third charge would do little however, for all the tribesmen were dead. He rode toward the two youths, all their horses stamping in the limiting of their now ready actions. There was a levity on his father's face that did not match their scenario.
"Glorious fucking smell."
"It smells like shit and blood," Drusus responded.
"No. It smells like a victory. Augustus tasked me to prepare you for war. I will teach you real war, not the shit that senators claim to fight. Bastards like that are good at giving orders, but they never had to carry them out. Only men who've marched and bled in the ranks know that. I will teach you, because it will make you better."
"Victoria determines victory in battle," Varus found himself saying.
"She embodies it, yes, but if deities alone determined victory, who determines the victor when both sides worship the same gods?" Varus felt his father's eyes judge them. Neither spoke. "The bastard who's willing to do what's necessary. That is who wins. Do you not think the Greeks prayed to Nike as Romans prayed to Victoria? They are the same. The only difference in their prayers is that I was more a bastard than their commander. Gods do not determine victory, only the fucking lineage of the battle's fighters."
"Do you think so poorly of the gods?" after the question, Varus could not remember if he or Drusus asked the question.
"The gods are the gods. They will live forever, we will not. They will never understand what it is we experience at every battle. They will never know the fear we feel or the relief of it when you survive. They'll never feel the pain of losing men because they followed your orders. The gods are the gods, boys, and we are not them."
***CCCII***
Augustus lay upon a bed. Sweat coated his body. The journey east only seemed to inflame the fever's wrath more. It did not go unnoticed that his long-time friend, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, entered not the chamber. Beyond the doctors sworn to secrecy and the slaves under threat of punishment, only his wife Livia, his daughter Julia, and, as of the ceremonies three weeks past, his son-in-law, Marcellus. In what appeared to be a sudden course shift after several years of subtle movement, it appeared the old guard was being pushed aside.
Augustus named his nephew a military tribune with aedile powers in Hispania, thus Marcellus knew the taste of power and had grown unsatiable. Where once Augustus turned to Livia or Agrippa, he now turned to Marcellus. Neither Livia nor Agrippa could doubt the boy's intellect, his motives, however, were more suspect. As a long-time acquaintance of Octavian Varus, his choice of friends was suspect as well.
For this reason, Agrippa now moved through the quiet streets of the Caelian Hill. A cloak hid his face and shrouded the distinctive togas of the Senatorial class. He approached the door and rapped upon it. A strikingly beautiful young woman, maybe twenty-five by Agrippa's estimation opened the door. There existed no doubt in Agrippa's eyes that she hailed from Greece, one of the captives kept by Percy. In all, he kept twenty. Half worked here, the others on an estate east of the city where olives and horses provided him with even more income. The bastard is rich, Agrippa thought. The sale of his slaves captured in the Greek campaign alone reached nearly half a million denarii. The spoils of war, gold, weapons, jewels, and the like, Percy's major domo sold one hundred and fifty thousand denarii worth and Agrippa, like many, suspected there were more.
The great statue of Athena, with its gold and chryselephantine exterior, "experts" valued at nearly two million denarii. And Percy merely gave it away, a donation to the people in the Basilica of Neptune. The goddess's eyes now looked down upon the people who crushed her own, her majesty confined to the hallowed halls of her rival's temple.
The attractive young slave held the door open to him and ushered him in, the nearly always vacant residence of Perseus a convenient location for a clandestine meeting. The other conspirators gathered. Augustus' wife, Livia, stood to the major domo's left, while Reyna Messallina Varus took Lucius' right. From the shadows, Lucius Cornelius Balbus, watched. None of those gathered wished any ill upon Agustus or Rome. But they all feared the influence of Marcellus, therefore, they schemed. Balbus spoke from the shadows.
"Lucius," the major domo turned, "Agrippa and I spoke on this a while back. What is the total value of Perseus' estate?"
***CCCIII***
Percy did not understand why there seemed a never-ending stream of couriers requesting his input on military matters far outside his mandate. He was Augustus' appointee, Procurator Augusti. The governor was also appointed, but his military acumen did not command respect, hence Percy's appointment. With that responsibility, Percy could not comprehend why his opinion mattered on residual issues in Greece and issues east of the Aegean. The governorship of Egypt and the appointment of prefects in Judea and the Black Sea mattered little to the tactical commander in Hispania Tarraconensis. The movements of Achaean, Macedonian, and Dacian legions toward Germania or Gallic legions shifting forts did not affect him. His focus remained upon the Alures and the Cantabri. The forests of northern Hispania grew under his command, crosses and their occupants replacing the previous boundaries. Command structure did not support the commander's goal.
Lancia, held by the Astures, found itself surrounded by one of Jason's legions and three cohortes of auxilia. Jason's remaining legions, two of them, joined with two cohortes and four alaes of cavalry, occupied a fifteen-mile stockade and moat surrounding Mons Medullius. The mountaintop redoubt held many thousands of the Astures in a position nearly impossible for the Romans to attack without large numbers of casualties. Therefore, they would starve them out.
The other legions and auxiliaries remained deployed throughout Hispania Tarraconensis. Systematically, they eliminated any of the tribesmen still opposing them. The violence surpassed that previously ordered by Augustus' governor, but in Percy's mind, his violence would not be required if the governor managed his province correctly.
Percy currently found himself on the road northeast, toward Mors Vindus where disturbing rumors of ambushes against his men surpassed the capacity of the tribal bands still resistant to Roman occupation. Varus rode by his side, Drusus currently stood outside Lancia. Percy now knew two versions of Varus. There was Publius, son of Reyna Messalina, who knew his real father. Then, there was Publius Quinctilius Varus, honored son of Octavian the Augur and loyal friend of the Drusii. While their actions did not differ, their reactions and words separated the two aspects. Here, along a muddy road on campaign, Publius, Son of Perseus rode beside the Procurator Augusti. Fifty yards behind them, two hundred cavalry followed. Over six months had passed since the first time Publius killed a man.
"May I call you father?" Percy turned toward his son. For the first time, Varus asked such a thing. Normally his questions involved no part of their familial connections. He, like Drusus, stayed with Perseus and Jason to learn the art of war. He sensed Percy's hesitation, "If I have overstepped I…"
"No. I just did not expect it. If you feel I have earned such a title, I will not stop you." The answer amused Varus and his laughter filled the stillness of the woods through which they passed.
"One does not earn father; it is something acquired at birth."
"On that we may disagree, son." He paused to judge Varus' reaction. It was not poor. "It is very easy to give life to a child, but not be their father." His words carried more sadness than he intended them too.
"You speak of both your father and your five children?"
"Fucking five?" Percy spat out, incredulous.
"Did mother not tell you? The last time she gave birth, it was to triplet girls." More sadness filled Percy's core.
"I have not seen your mother in several years."
"I am aware of that," the boy responded matter of factly. He did not mean it venomously, still yet it sounded thus to Percy's ears. Varus again studied his own father. "She told me you once promised to marry her. Yet, I have served under your command enough to know that is not the case." Now the tone was indeed accusatory.
"Until you and now I suppose your four sisters are removed from Octavion's grasp, I will do nothing to jeopardize your mother and sisters' positions. You will soon be a son-in-law to Agrippa, my good friend. Once that arrangement is complete, one of my children shall be free. Until the bonds of family are severed between Octavian and you all, the risk is too high."
"You think of us as yours?"
"You will always be my children, even if I do not always deserve the title of being your father."
***CCCIV***
"Sir, the ambush location is just below us." The decurion pointed down the mist lined path. He seemed hesitant to move forward.
"For fuck's sake," muttered Perseus and he urged the black stallion forward. Only after his movement did the decurion and then, also hesitantly, Varus follow him. The darkness seemed to grow thicker around them. Each held a torch, but as they moved forward, its light appeared lessened. The mist and gloom caused the estimation of time to become impossible and soon none of the trio knew quite how long their horses trod the path. Percy, however, did not have to ask if they had reached their destination. He dropped to the ground and felt it give way as his sandals sank into the bloody mud. The decurion remained on his horse, though Varus followed Percy to the ground.
"What kind of beast could inflict such wounds?" Publius muttered. Percy asked himself the same question, for he looked down upon a horse whose ribs appeared to be completely caved in and its legs snapped. More disturbing was the large bite mark on the horse's flank. The imprint did not match a bear or wolf, but that of a large man. The decurion spoke behind him.
"This is the fourth ambush. They are all like this. Obscene violence, most of the bodies missing. Bite marks that look like those of a bear, but wounds from blunt weapons of godlike power." Percy's eyes narrowed slightly, You've never seen a god's strike. He walked over to his son and spoke quietly. "What do you see?"
"That no bear took a bite out of that horse."
"No, one did not."
"But why did…"
"Some magic of Trivia. I know not how it works or what it does fully. But it prevents those without godly blood from seeing directly into this world. Most of Rome's high families see through it, which is why it never stood out to you before, I would wager. But the populace? Not so much. It's also concealing a path over there; can you see it?" Publius shook his head. "Yet another mystery." Publius watched his father return to his saddle. He hung the Gallic sword upon it and retrieved just a small pugio, which he placed in the small of his back. Percy left the helmet hanging from the saddle and moved toward the path which not even Publius could see. The son made to follow. "I am afraid not, Publius. Whatever manner of beast hides within these mists, it would not do to risk the grandson of a goddess, now, would it?"
Publius watched as a transformation overtook his father. In the six steps it took him to exit the blood-stained clearing, he ceased to be a commander. He became a predator.
***CCCV***
He moved as quietly as able. A rudimentary path passed between two yew groves thick enough to serve as a wall. Passing close to a tree on the left, Percy's eyes found a thin sheet of bronze tacked to the trunk at the height where a teen girl would place it. He knelt and despite the greening of its color, he made out the emblem of the moon with stars below and bows below there. He knew the emblem as it was a hallmark on the gear used by the damned Hunters of Artemis.
"That's why the magic is so strong here," he muttered. This was once one of their camps, now some evil occupies it. In three more steps he had a better idea. Nailed across the gap of two yew trees, hung a plank. The violence inflicted on the trees seemed to match the preferred medium of the artwork. There was no doubt in Percy's mind that the singular eye was painted in blood.
A litany of bloodied and discarded Roman armor lay strown about, under the sign. He stopped and knelt, closing his eyes, and forcing his ears to search out in the darkness. Guttural voices filtered their way into his ears, and he moved forward. Twenty steps later he knelt again. Now at the inner edge of one of the yew groves he could see a rudimentary camp. A fire burned beneath a spit and the form hanging from it easily identifiable, that of a man. More detritus of the vanquished soldiers filled the clearing, surrounding the twelve figures moving slowly in the night. As he stepped from the edge of the forest, they froze.
"You have been killing my men," Percy's voice was low and his tone level despite the rage held within him. Amongst the shapes were suits of Roman armor and the ineffective weapons carried by his men. The first of the hulking shapes moved and responded in infantile Greek.
"Human sees us, not like others."
"That is because I am not like the others." He continued forward, his eyes seeping across the twelve shapes in the shadows, keeping them all in front of him. They all moved now.
"He will eat same as others," one to his left said. "Must take away hard shirt first." Moonlight began to filter through the canopy, twelve great eyes falling upon Percy as he walked toward them. "He does not carry big knife." Percy drew the dagger from the small of his back, unsure of the last time he used it. Only baby knife." Two figures lumbered forward, one from each side and Percy tossed the knife into the air. As the grip connected with his palm again, the eight inches of knife became six feet solid bronze. The trident, held in his right hand, angled from his side toward the ground. The haft lay against his forearm, while the sauroter rested against his inner bicep.
The cyclops approaching from his left arrived six seconds before his mate. Percy turned, pulling his left shoulder aside and out of the path of the massive hand which reached for him. His right arm shot out, the triple pronged head of the trident first penetrating the exposed throat of the cyclops, before he withdrew the weapon and again plunged it into his enemy, the three barbs creating a line of holes across the beast's chest. Four seconds had passed. As the monster turned to golden dust, Percy released the trident's haft. Spinning his hand, his palm caught the descending weapon with his thumb now toward the sauroter. His left hand finding the haft where it met the trio of prongs, he thrust. The heavy butt-spike pierced the monster's skin below the rib cage. Once encased by the monster's internals, Percy torqued the haft toward the monster, ignoring the shrieks of pain and the unaimed blows of those the throes of death. With a grunt he drove the weapon upward. Even as golden dust began to fall, the butt-spike exited the cyclops' left shoulder. Percy turned to the remaining cyclopes and with a simple twist of his wrist he returned the trident to its original position.
"As I warned you, I am not like the others." The closest target was just ten feet away. Percy lunged. The leap covered four feet, loosening his grip on the haft, the trident glided along its path and covered the rest. The center spike entered a mouth open in shock. Returning his grip to full strength, Percy twisted the weapon. The two outer and slightly shorter blades now sliced across the beast's single eye and exposed throat. Extracting the blade, the slight hooks at the bottom of each barb ripped at the flesh of the cyclops. Percy rammed the sauroter into the exposed knee and as the cyclops fell toward the ground, the trident arrested the fall, leaving the cyclops hanging for a moment before disintegrating. The macabre image, their comrade seemingly kneeling before a man in grotesque fealty, drove the shock of the attack from the nine surviving cyclopes and they began to move.
The movement was still too slow and a fourth joined his comrades in becoming a pile of golden dust as Percy swung the trident as if it was a whip, the three blades severing the cyclops' throat to the spine. Only now did one of the monsters press him. The beast closed quickly, but the slow movement of the arm holding a club allowed Percy to slip under it and thrust the trident into the monster's exposed flank. He extracted it quickly, driving the sauroter into the side of another's knee. Now the butt-spike whipped through the air, colliding with a cyclops' temple. Percy caught the swinging half and thrust the three prongs into the chest cavity of the stunned monster. A club strike appeared in the corner of his, Percy jinked his head to the left and the strike glanced harmlessly off the armor on his shoulder. The force of the blow caused him to stagger, but he used the change of direction to avoid another strike.
Gripping the trident in both hands near the triple barbs, Percy drove the sauroter at an upward angle. It punctured the chest cavity of a cyclops before Percy leapt through the cascade of gold dust and temporarily vanished from the sight of the five remaining monsters. They quickly formed a circle, shoulder to shoulder, each beast facing outboard. The devilishly fast human seemed to have vanished though, with only gold dust covering the ground and their diminished numbers revealing he ever existed.
A sudden flash of color and the trident came hurtling through the air. The three points lodged in the chest of a cyclops and as his single eye fell upon the offending weapon, Percy reappeared, again moving faster than any of the cyclops believed possible for a human. Snatching the trident from the air and leaping through the cloud of gold dust, Percy buried the weapon in a cyclops' back before a heavy backhand hurled him to the ground. Painfully he rose, blood dripping from his nose and a cut near his left eye.
"Human kill friends, we kill."
"You've not been very successful so far," Percy taunted. One of them hurled his club. Percy could not dodge and merely shifted to take the blow at a glance, he felt his ribs break regardless. Personal anger now combined with the ire of a commander. He grunted as his opaline eyes flashed. "At least one of you understands war beyond ambush and fighting like a bitch." They closed from three sides, Percy's eyes dancing across them all. The one directly in front of him limped, his knee damaged from Percy's earlier strike. The left knee is damaged, the cyclops to his left dies first.
Stepping widely to his left, Percy drew the injured cyclops toward that flank. Planting his left foot, he leapt to the side, the weapon coming up and one of the outer prongs hooking into the cyclops' hip. Using the wound as a fulcrum, Percy moved himself further from the remaining healthy cyclops. He ripped the weapon from the wound and struck again, this time burying the three prongs into the cyclops' upper back. As the monster fell to the ground, Percy plunged the sauroter deeply into the rear of his skull. Percy swung the weapon from near its base, the triple prongs opening gashes across the limping cyclops' chest. The beast bellowed and charged toward him. Percy knelt, bracing the weapon against the ground and watched as the one-eyed monster impaled himself. Now just one cyclops remained.
The beast's heavy club swung. Percy used the bronze haft of his weapon to deflect the blow. His next strike was parried by the cyclops. Bastard is better than the rest, probably why he is alive. The two traded blows. All of them were dodged or blocked. The cyclops lunged to attempt a thrust with his heavy club. That was a mistake.
Percy side stepped, the monster's motion carrying him past the Roman commander. As the cyclops passed his left side, Percy gripped the trident in the gap between prongs and one foot down the haft. He spun to his right and felt with satisfaction as the sauroter penetrated the cyclops' torso below the armpit. He continued to drive it in before cranking on the haft and feeling the bronze tear through the monster's tissues. Seconds later he looked upon a final pile of gold dust.
***CCCVI***
Officially, the summons to Rome was to return young Drusus and Varus to their families. Simultaneously, Percy was to take charge of both the Numerus Batavorum and the Praetorian Guard. Not once before had a single man been entrusted with both forces. Beyond that, neither had the Praetorian Guard been unified under a commander, each of its cohorts previously independent under the command of a tribunus cohortis. Now it appeared that Augustus needed a trusted agent in Rome. Since Agrippa seemed banished to the east and had taken Jason with him as legate the year before, whomever remained in Rome seemed to be operating independently.
The sickness again lay Augustus flat, nearly two years since his last bout with it, the rumors circulated that this would be the end. All the while, he had to deal with Marcus Primus causing problems in Greece, Senatorial opposition to his seeming decision to name a successor, and that very successor being laid low with the same sickness. It was the month dedicated to Mars; they would not reach Rome until the one sacred to Juno. Three months travel while Percy's army continued to eliminate the remnants of resistance. Already upon this ride, Varus remarked that it had been exactly two years since their departure from Rome.
"Fuck!" Percy had barked in reply, "If I wanted, I could retire next year. Nineteen years fighting for Rome."
"Nineteen!" exclaimed Drusus.
"I am thirty-seven years old, boy. I have been doing this since I was eighteen."
"I am just fifteen and your son, just fourteen, does that mean we shall have longer careers than you?"
"You will have a different one, boys. Unless you choose, you will become a tribunus militum and then move quickly into politics. Ten years military service and those of the senate class are considered successful and they move on. Politics is a dirty fucking game; one I am glad to have avoided over the last few years." He suddenly remembered a message from Lucius Cornelius Balbus, of all people, from a few days before. "Publius, did you write the report to Rome that was asked for?"
***CCCVII***
The cries and mediations of the Senate echoed within the Curia Julia. Augustus sat in the chamber this day, though few expected him to speak. He seemed to be recovering, but it did not appear his nephew would. It was well known within their ranks that he wished to see his nephew and son-in-law succeed him in power, yet his signet ring found its way to Agrippa. Then, there was the west, where Augustus' Greek attack dog where it seemed others did not. Augustus used his weariness to hide a smile as Octavian Varus stood.
"Senators, a missive from my son in Hispania." Shockingly the room went quiet. "He reports all organized resistance of the barbarians has been defeated. Procurator Augusti Perseus," Augustus noted his voice became quieter at that point, attempting to eliminate his impact to the war, "destroyed them at Lancia and Mons Medullus. These victories ended the large-scale rebellion, and the army has been tasked with eliminating the remainder. I do not exaggerate when I say in places it appears as if the forest has expanded, so many crosses now cross the countryside. As ordered, we return to Rome and expect to arrive in mid-summer." Applause filled the chamber, though much to Octavian's ire, most of it seemed directed toward the commander of the army not the overall triumph of Rome over the barbarians. Lucius Cornelius Balbus stood in the rear of the chamber now.
"Yes, yes, well done, well done. Publius Varus," he motioned to Octavian, "and young Drusus," a motion to Augustus, "have performed admirably, as all true Romans are expected to. My son, Jason, spoke very highly of both youths." More applause. "However, he also spoke highly of Augustus' appointed leader, Procurator Augusti Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus. So highly, in fact, he becomes the subject of another missive, from Marcus Agrippa in the east." Balbus produced a scroll and began to speak again. "First, he inquires about the health of his dear friend, Augustus and that of Marcellus. Second, he speaks of war and asks its course. Third, he turns to Perseus, and here I shall it verbatim. 'Balbus, friend, this next matter is one of tremendous import. It is a proposal that I wish you to put forward on my behalf. Jason is beside me as I write this and wishes you to know he would be the first to vote yes, were he in a position to do so. It is my proposal that due to the value of his wealth as well as that of his services to Rome, Publius Ventidius Bassus Perseanus, be appointed to the senatorial class.'" The outcry began at once, Octavian Varus chief amongst them. Balbus looked to Augustus, who seemed annoyed, but also rather impressed by the motion. Octavian Varus' voice suddenly rang out.
"The gods would not allow for such a man to be so wealthy."
"Quite what I believed. Until I remembered, I have been so blessed as well." A round of laughter filled the room. "Thus, I tasked a quaestor to enumerate his wealth. I am deeply ashamed that it seems the man puts me to shame." More laughter. "One million sestertii is the requirement for wealth, a freeman at birth, and innocent of any crimes. Of the latter two, there is no question, now as for the first. One million sestertii becomes two hundred and fifty thousand denarii." He looked down a scroll. "His estate, a domus in Rome on the Caelian Hill and a farm of olives and horses east of the city, as well as eighty-three persons under enslavement; this tallies to a value of one hundred and eighty-five thousand denarii. Four hundred and fifty-six thousand denarii were made from the sale of captives from his last campaign alone, and let us all remember he has worn the uniform of Rome for nearly twenty years now. Treasures and baubles which occupied the houses of Athens and now decorate ours made him another one hundred and fifty thousand denarii. Once also cannot ignore the donations to the city. Road improvements, aqueducts, the great statue of Athena that now occupies the temple of his adopted father. The quaester valued these at over two million denarii." He paused for a moment. "I do believe this information answers the question as to whether his wealth is appropriate with such a lofty position. Might I suggest we take this to a vote?"
The proceedings passed quickly, despite Octavian Varus' posturing. Many of the senators noted that Augustus did not vote, but neither did he prevent the proceedings from occurring. The motion passed and a crier soon stood outside the Curia Julia proclaiming the ascension of another to the elite ranks of the senatorial class. The people responded overwhelmingly in favor, as the exploits of their newest celebrity commander continued to flood the city with a fresh influx of slaves and spoils of war. Augustus watched it all occur and then slowly exited the chambers. As he did so, Balbus watched as Gaius Cilnius Maecenas leaned into his ear to speak. With resignation, Augustus nodded in agreement.
***CCCVIII***
The city appeared in the distance, its overwhelming size never ceasing to amaze Percy. It was now Junius. For the last three months, he and his two young charges crossed from Hispania to Rome. Along their path they visited provincial governors and outposts. While he felt excitement to again see Reyna, he knew such a longing was surely dwarfed by the young man beside him. Varus was extremely excited to see his mother. Drusus seemed less so, but due to her position at Augustus' side, nurses more than Livia took care of the child. Before them a retinue of horsemen approached. They did not slow their advance and continued toward the city. Only as the two parties met did the advance stop.
"I thought you were in the east," Percy asked looking into the eyes of Marcus Agrippa.
"I was. Circumstances changed, however. Such as your election to the senatorial class, not that they would have found you on the road. Apparently, you are rather damned rich."
"What do you mean?"
"The Senate voted to allow you into their ranks, Augustus agreed." Agrippa guided his horse to Percy's side and extended his arm. "And allow me to be the first to congratulate you on your recent engagement."
"My what?" spat Percy toward his old friend.
"The announcement was made this morning. It has caused quite the stir. in the city."
"Who?" asked Publius Varus sharply.
"I don't know," his father replied honestly. Agrippa said nothing.