Patrick (48 page)

I had heard enough. I stood and turned from the table. “The devil take you, my friends. The devil take you all!”

Striding from the room, I heard Scipio call after me, but I did not turn. I never wanted to see any of them again.

It was dark, and the streets were all but deserted, so I walked awhile, thinking about what had happened. Try as I might, I could not make myself feel sorry for anything I had said. In fact, I kept thinking of things I might have added to make them truly feel the lash of my rage.

After a time I found myself in a street where prostitutes prowled for drunken carousers—a wretched, dark, unsavory place that more than matched my mood. However, as I listened to their moans and sighs and deceitful pledges of love,
I decided I had a better place to go and something better to do. I returned to Domus Columella, where Oriana was waiting.

The anger and frustration, so long suppressed, surfaced in our lovemaking that night. Oriana took it all, absorbed it, transmuted it, and returned it as tenderness, solace, and warmth. Her willingness to spend herself in this way both awed and shamed me. If I did not love her before, that single, selfless act turned my heart. Our true marriage began in that moment.

Afterward she lay in my arms and I stroked her hair. “I hope,” she said, her voice quivering from the violence of our exertion, “whatever demons you brought to bed with you have been banished.”

“They are gone, my love,” I told her, thinking of my false friends. “We will never see them again.”

L
ADY
C
OLUMELLA COULD
not abide the thought of her daughter marrying a soldier. Her refusal sent a tearful Oriana running to her father, who came storming into my room. “My daughter says she wishes to marry you. Is this true?”

“It is.”

“You're a soldier!”

“I am that.”

He turned his back to me and stalked to the other end of the room, turned, and came back. “How dare you!” He thrust an accusing finger into my face. “I take you in, feed you, clothe you, treat you like my own son…” He faltered, lost for words. “And this is how you repay my kindness! You seduce my only daughter!”

Of all the things I might have said just then, none seemed particularly apt, so I kept my mouth shut.

“How dare you!” he shouted again. “I turn my back for a moment and you take advantage of my generosity, my house and home. You take my only daughter.”

“I took nothing that was not offered me, my lord Vicarius,” I replied firmly. “I am sorry if it displeases you. But Oriana and I are determined to be married.”

“Impossible!” he cried. “Her mother will not hear of it.
I
will not hear of it!”

All in all, his rage was not as bad as I feared. He ranted and raved, threatening various ingenious punishments, but I
stood up to his anger, and eventually he began to calm himself somewhat.

“Is Oriana to have nothing to say?” I asked.

“I know only too well what she will say,” he countered. “All her life she has had whatever she wants.”

“And now she wants me,” I suggested. “And I want her.”

“Bah!”

He strode the length of the room, frowning and pulling on his chin. “Lady Columella will never allow her to marry a soldier. She is quite determined, and that is that.”

“So I am given to understand.” I did not see any way beyond this impasse; soldiering was all I had. This I told him, and then, remembering who I addressed, I added, “Of course, I would not have to remain a soldier forever.”

His frown turned into a scowl, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What did you say?”

“I merely point out that I have no great ambition to remain a soldier. I am certain a man of your experience and wisdom could suggest something more suitable for your daughter's future husband.”

“You would marry my daughter for selfish gain?” he cried. “I knew it! I knew it!”

“Oriana told me you married her mother to get the money to advance your career in the senate,” I said.

“That was different,” he snapped. “That was an arrangement between her father and myself.”

“Well,” I offered lightly, “perhaps you and I might come to a similar arrangement.”

His stare grew baleful. “That was different,” he repeated between clenched teeth. “Her mother and I grew to love one another.”

“Perhaps,” I said, “the only difference is that Oriana and I love each other already.”

To his credit, angry as he was, Aulus Columella knew when to be gracious and accept defeat. He gave a final, frustrated bark, then sighed, shaking his head with weary reluctance. “I suppose,” he said, “we shall just have to find
something for you, then.” Clasping his hands behind his back, he strode a few paces away, then looked back at me. “You are of noble blood—a patrician, I believe.”

“That is true.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered becoming a senator?”

“It has long been a family ambition.”

He nodded again, then smiled suddenly. “By the god who made you, Succat, you are a man after my own heart.” He laughed out loud. “A senator! Well, we will see what we can do.”

He strode to me, opening his arms wide in welcome. I moved to meet him, and he drew me into his embrace, then put his arm around my shoulder, saying, “Come, my son, let us go and tell the ladies the good news.”

Lady Columella declared herself pleased and happy with the plan. She welcomed me like a son, kissing me on both cheeks and beaming with satisfaction. Indeed, any reluctance she might have displayed melted away so quickly that I suspected her initial refusal was simply a ruse to get her husband to find a more suitable occupation for me. Oriana was delighted, of course, and instantly began planning the wedding celebration. “We shall have the ceremonies here in the hall.”

“It will never be big enough,” countered her mother. “We will have them in the courtyard.”

“Under a canopy!” said Oriana.

“The Archbishop of Rome will hear the vows….” And with that the wedding was well on its way. Nothing short of a three-day feast would suffice for the aristocracy of Rome. The two women purred and twittered for days over who should be invited and what foods should be served to the guests. The vicarius allowed them to get on with it; his mind returned to a more urgent preoccupation: the senate and the appearance we were to make together. He groomed me for the part I was to play in what he considered the most important speech of his life.

“The future of the empire could well be determined by how we perform,” he confided. “We must secure enough money to raise new armies and replenish the frontier garrisons. Anything less is a failure I cannot countenance.”

“I will do my best.”

“I know you will, Succat. Think! You have it in your power to do with your words far more than you ever could with a sword. They call you Magonus now, soon they will call you Beatus.”

On the day we were to speak, the vicarius took me to the Praetorian garrison, where I was given the ceremonial uniform of a centurion: a silver breastplate embossed with rearing stallions; a burnished silver helmet adorned with white plumes; the bloodred
lacerna,
or short cape; high-topped sandals of white leather; a wide leather sword belt with a broad silver buckle; and a short, gold-hilted sword.

Satisfied with my appearance, the vicarius conducted me to the Curia Julia, where the senators were already gathering. We stood in the forum outside and watched them enter in groups of two and three—and all of them dressed in the distinctive senatorial toga: white with the purple stripe along the edge.

“They can be intimidating,” Columella warned, “but remember, they are men like us. Speak with boldness and do not swallow your words.” He paused, offering me a smile of encouragement. “Do as we agreed and they will not fail to be moved.”

The curia is a curved marble hall ringed with stepped ranks of wooden benches. We found places on the lowest row in the center and sat down to wait as more and still more senators streamed through the wide open doors to take their places along the stepped rows. After a time a bell sounded; in a few moments it sounded again, and two armed soldiers entered, leading an elderly official, who proceeded to a chair in the center of the low platform between the doors.

As soon as the old man was seated, a senator sitting near us stood up. Great of bulk and terrible of mien, he advanced
a few paces into the center of the room and declared, “Senators! Friends! It pleases me to see that so many of you have taken the grave import of this summons to heart. I need not tell you that the decisions we make today will have the greatest consequence for the future of our glorious empire, perhaps for many generations to come.”

To my surprise this assertion was met with catcalls and shouted challenges of disagreement. Clearly the senate was not all of one mind regarding the probable future of the empire. The speaking senator did not appear to mind the disruption. He paused until the worst of the commotion was over, then plowed ahead. “I see that some of you remain unconvinced. Therefore I bring before you the esteemed and honorable Aulus Columella, Vicarius of Gaul and Germania, who has come to offer us a timely word.” Turning to the vicarius, the senator put out his hand and welcomed Columella beside him.

The two shook hands, and the speaker sat down heavily, like a building settling onto its foundations.

“Thank you, Senator Graccus,” said the vicarius. “You are right to remind this noble assembly of the importance of the contemplations before us.” Lifting his head to look around the curia, Columella, his voice taking on the timbre of a skilled orator, began. “As some of you will know, I have lived for the last three years in Gaul, looking after the affairs of the Roman state there and in the province of Germania. Early last summer word came to the frontier garrisons that the barbarians were amassing along the border in numbers sufficient to raise the alarm of the generals.

“When notified of this, I rode to meet General Septimus, commander of Legio XX Valeria Victrix at Augusta Treverorum. Together with the commanders of the nearest garrisons, we held close council to decide our course of action. Following on three years of savage predation by the northern barbarian tribes, it was decided to mass the legions to meet the impending attack and vanquish the perpetrators—not merely to defeat them but to destroy both the will to fight
and the ability to make war against the citizens of Rome for many years to come.

“The battle plan was drawn up accordingly: We would meet the enemy with sufficient force to crush them utterly. This campaign would be conducted on the far side of the river, to take them in the forest before they had a chance to wreak havoc on imperial soil. Scouts were sent to spy out the barbarian position and ascertain enemy numbers. Upon their return I gave the order to march. The next day the soldiers of Valeria Victrix crossed the Rhenus and proceeded into the forest, where the enemy forces were already gathering.

“The first skirmish was fought that day. The barbarians were unready and were easily routed.”

Here the senators, who had sat in silence while the vicarius spoke, gave out a shout of acclaim. “A victory is always gladly received,” Columella continued. “Moreover, the ease with which we vanquished the enemy exposed the weakness of their position and leadership. In order to put down the invasion before the enemy had time to regroup, we pursued them deeper into the forest. This was but the first of several calamitous blunders.”

The enormous chamber grew silent. Here the vicarius turned and summoned me. I took my place beside him. “Fellow senators, I present to you the sole surviving legionary of that brutal conflict.” He placed his arm around my shoulders, saying, “If it had not been for this man, I would not be alive to bring you this woeful report today.”

To me he said, “Centurion, tell them what happened. Tell them what you bore witness to in the days that followed our first victory.”

As Vicarius Columella stepped away, I looked out on the crowd of faces, all of them interested, observant. My mouth went dry. I swallowed, and then, drawing myself up, I straightened my shoulders and began to tell what I had seen during those last dreadful days.

“General Septimus gave the order to pursue the barbarians…,” I began.

Instantly this was met by a voice shouting, “We already know that! Get on with it!”

I had not expected to be shouted down, and it threw me off my stride. The words of my prepared speech left me, and I stared out at the impatient crowd. “Get on!” shouted another.

Any hope of recovering my speech vanished. I swallowed and began once more, speaking simply as the words came to me. “I was an auxiliary. The garrison commander cannot afford to pay full wages to an entire legion of regular soldiers, so he makes up the numbers by hiring mercenaries who will fight for the plunder they can get on the battlefield. I joined a numerus under the command of a veteran named Quintus.

“During the first skirmish we formed a protecting wing to guard the legion's flank. General Septimus' troops were to pose as the main attacking force, to offer a feint to the enemy and thereby draw them from their encampment and allow Legio Gemina and Legio Pia Fidelis to close in behind and seal off any retreat or escape.

“This feint was offered, and it was successful. We fell back to the river, which was the signal for the waiting legions to attack the enemy encampment from the rear. When the counterattack failed to commence, we endured the brunt of the barbarian assault as long as we could. In the end, however, we were forced to regroup and push away from the river. Despite fierce opposition, we opened a way through the enemy ranks. When the barbarians ran, we followed the pursuit into the forest, sealing off any escape and pushing them into the waiting spears of Legio Gemina, which had taken a position well behind the enemy. All that first day we marched, engaging the barbarians as and when we came upon them—until we reached the enemy camp, which we destroyed.”

This brought a rousing cheer from the assembled senators, which eased my trepidation somewhat. “Unfortunately, the enemy which had fled before us quickly circled around and was now behind us. General Septimus decided to push
on and unite with the Gemina. All through the day we fought a running battle with the barbarians and finally succeeded in reaching the Gemina, which was surrounded by a host of barbarians greater in number than we had yet encountered.

“General Septimus, showing outstanding courage and determination, forced a way through the massed enemy to rescue Legio Gemina. Through dint of strength and discipline, we cut a path through Goth and Hun and Saecsen flesh—”

The senators liked this; they hooted in jubilation.

“—and achieved our purpose. The two legions were united. But then so was the enemy—and their numbers were far the greater. Our commanders formed the shield wall, and we stood as wave after wave of barbarians broke themselves upon our blades.

“Day's end found us deep in the forest. With darkness upon us we moved out, heading west in the direction of the Fidelis. We marched through the night. We met no resistance; neither did we meet the missing legion.”

My voice fell as the images of that dire morning came once more before my mind's eye.

“As the sun rose, I saw that the ground where I stood was covered with the corpses of slaughtered legionaries. Everywhere I gazed…dead and still more dead. As I looked, I saw that the heads of the soldiers had been cut off and nailed to the trees. Each and every tree bore the bloody skull of a soldier.