Ovid

17

My father was waiting for me in the atrium when I came down the next morning. This was crazy. We hadn't spoken in months and now I couldn't get rid of the bastard. He was like one of these winter colds that you just can't shake. I thought about asking him whether while he'd been governor in Illyricum Tiberius had gone back to Rome at any time, but I decided against it. He'd've seen through the question straight away and refused to answer, or just lied. Besides, just the thought of having something that big on the Wart, with the Wart knowing about it, brought me out in a cold sweat.

'Hi, Dad,' I said. 'What brings you back this time? Your pile cream run out?'

I thought that might make him lose his temper but it didn't. He'd obviously decided to play it cool as far as I was concerned.

'I was talking to Cornelius Dolabella yesterday,' he said.

'Yeah?' I was instantly on my guard. Dolabella was a relative of Lentulus and Lentulus, if you remember, was the guy who'd told me about Julia. I wouldn't've thought the old devil would've blabbed but evidently he had; and to the most unlikely person I could imagine. Dolabella was one of my father's most bosom cronies. I'd met him once or twice socially, although once would've been more than enough. You've seen the pigeons at Castor's Temple strutting around pecking for crumbs and shitting on the Wart's nice new marble steps? Yeah. Add a mantle and a squint and that's the guy.

'He had some news that may interest you,' my father was saying. 'His brother Decimus needs a replacement finance officer for Cyprus.'

So Lentulus hadn't given me away after all. I breathed again. 'Oh, whoopee, Dad. And him not half way though the year yet. Lost the one he'd been given, did he? That was clumsy.'

My father didn't smile. Not that I'd expected him to.

'It wasn't Decimus's fault,' he said. 'Young Rufinus was drowned in a boating accident off Paphos.'

'Oh. Oh, shit. I'm sorry.' I'd known Rufinus quite well. He wasn't exactly a friend, but he'd had more going for him than some of the other characters who inhabited Dad's world. 'I really am.'

'So is Decimus.' I can never tell whether my father is being sarcastic, drily humorous or just plain cold-blooded. 'The point is that your name was mentioned as a replacement.'

I stared at him. 'You're not serious?'

He sat down and drew the folds of his mantle around him as if he was expecting a tame artist to wheel in a bust-sized block of marble on a trolley.

'Why not?' he said. 'It's about time you took an active interest in your future.'

Maybe it was telepathy. I wished I hadn't mentioned the subject when I was talking with Perilla. Now it looked as if every bastard in Rome was rooting for Corvinus to make good. The soooner we knocked this on the head the better.

'I haven't done my time with a legion yet.' Young men of good family usually spent a year in the army as junior staff-officers. So far I'd managed to avoid it. The thought of being cooped up somewhere out in the sticks for twelve months with a band of jolly mates whose idea of fun was a morning's pig-sticking didn't exactly thrill me to bits. A month or so of that and I'd probably get myself massacred by the locals just out of boredom.

'I daresay an exception could be made,' my father said. 'You could postpone your military service for a year. There've been plenty of precedents.'

This was serious. I sat down. 'You say my name was mentioned. Who by?'

His face took on a carefully bland expression. 'You know the system, Marcus. These decisions are taken by committees rather than by individuals.'

'Come off it!' Now the shock was over I was beginning to think of the implications, and they stank like a barrel of month-old oysters. 'Yeah, I know the system. Sure I do. You set this up, didn't you? You and your mate Dolabella.'

'Of course we didn't.'

The denial came out pat. Too pat.

'Okay. So tell me who did.'

My father's mouth shut like a trap. I didn't know which was worse: that he was lying or that he was telling the truth.

I got up and walked towards the garden colonnade. I was trying hard not to lose my temper. After all if my father had arranged the posting himself he'd done it out of what he'd see as kindness, and probably used up a valuable favour in the process. And if he hadn't there was just the chance he'd still let slip who had. And that was a name I wanted to know.

'A junior finance post in Cyprus would keep me safely out of circulation for the next couple of years, wouldn't it?' I said quietly.

'I don't know about safely, Marcus, but two years represents a normal tour of duty, yes.'

'And it couldn't come at a more convenient time, either.' My back was to him. 'After all, if someone is so bad-mannered as to go around asking awkward questions…'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' The irritation in his voice sounded unmistakably genuine. 'That nonsense has nothing to do with anything. You're being offered the most splendid start to a political career any young man could ask for and all you can think of is-'

'That's right!' I turned round. 'All I can think of is that I'm being packed off somewhere I can't do any harm in the hopes that the "nonsense" as you call it will die a natural death. Or maybe even I will, like that poor bastard Rufinus.'

'Marcus, don't be melodramatic.'

But I wasn't going to be stopped as easily as that.

'Look, it won't work,' I said. 'Is that clear? No way! I'm staying in Rome and that's all there is to it.'

'Then you're a fool.' That came out flat as a slap. My father stood up and draped the folds of his senatorial mantle correctly over his left arm as if he was walking into court. I should've seen the speech coming. I'd had similar ones all my life. 'I won't ask you to decide straight away. That wouldn't be fair since I've sprung it on you so suddenly. But I want you to think this over very carefully. It has nothing to do with this other stupidity of yours — you know my views on that and I won't repeat them, but it is a stupidity, nothing more and nothing less. The fact is that you're being offered a post that any other young man of your age would give his eye teeth for. If you turn it down for no good reason then people won't forget. And when you do deign to take your responsibilities seriously you'll find they just aren't willing to trouble themselves over you.' He brushed a hair from the mantle's broad purple edging-stripe. 'I'll be seeing Dolabella later this morning and I'll tell him I haven't had a chance to speak to you yet. Tomorrow's the start of the Spring Festival, so everything will be closed down for several days. That should give even you time to give the offer more than a fleeting thought. Perhaps you'll have the courtesy to inform me of your final decision when the holidays are over.'

I knew from the tightness of the muscles around his mouth and the clipped way he delivered the final sentences that he was angry. Genuinely angry. My father was a politician's politician, and if there was one thing he could neither understand nor forgive it was for someone to refuse political advancement.

'Look, Dad,' I said as I followed him to the door, 'I'm sorry. I know you mean well. I know you've probably bust a gut trying to keep me in with the authorities.' This, I was sure, was true. He'd be concerned for the family name if nothing else. 'But I don't like being manipulated, and I don't like…'

He stopped and turned to face me. If he'd been angry before, now he was furious.

'You don't like!' he snapped. 'That's all I ever get from you, isn't it, Marcus? Perhaps if you stopped thinking of yourself for a change, of being so damned fastidious over what you will and won't allow, you'd be a better and pleasanter person and a more useful member of society. Now I have work to do, and I've spent more time on you this morning than your egotism merits. Let me know what you decide about Cyprus by the end of the festival. If you can spare a few moments of your valuable time to reach so minor a decision, naturally.'

And before I could reply he had stormed out, pulling the front door to out of the door slave's hands and slamming it behind him.

After he'd gone I did a great deal of serious thinking. Dad was right about Cyprus, of course; he always was, when it came to practical politics. If I turned this job down there'd be a black mark against my name which would take a long, long time to sponge out. Crete-and-Cyrene wasn't one of the most prestigious senatorial provinces going, let alone one with the social clout of an imperial giant like Egypt; but nonetheless to be offered the post of finance officer there was way beyond what I could reasonably expect at my age, and to spurn the offer would be to kick the senate's teeth down its communal throat. You just didn't do that and expect to live afterwards politically speaking. If I had any hopes of a future career in politics (and what other career was there for someone like me?), I'd have to accept. At least if it was a bribe, as it had to be, I couldn't complain that I was being undervalued.

Then there was what my father had said about me. About my egotism. That was true, too. I was honest enough with myself to admit it. And it had hurt, much more than I'd thought any comment of my father's would. Not that I could do much to change myself. We're all selfish egotistical bastards at heart, we upper-class Roman gentlemen. We always have been and we always will be. It's our weakness and our strength, it's what made Rome great and made her dirty. Even when we play the democrat it's only a questionable means to a selfish end. Selfishness is bred into us from infancy: the need to have the world as we want, to mould it to our requirements.

The trouble is the world has changed and we've had to change with it, whether we like it or not. A hundred years ago there was no problem. We were the state, and so serving the state came naturally because we were serving ourselves. Now the state, or at least what matters of it, has been taken from us. We're like thoroughbred horses forced to work a corn mill, trudging round and round in the same never-ending circle. Yeah, sure. Sure, I know. What good's a thoroughbred except to race against other thoroughbreds and impress the yokels? Corn's a necessity, and it doesn't grind itself. So the modern state puts us to useful work. Only it expects us to behave like mules or plough-oxen, and not chafe at the traces. That's what sticks in my throat.

Sure, I was an egotist. I was selfish. I was self-opinionated. I was everything else my father thought I was. But these qualities were bred into my bones and they had their good sides as well. Determination, for a start. I'd never not seen something through in my life and I didn't mean to begin now. Whether it hurt me or not.

That was the problem. This time it wasn't just me. Perilla was involved too. If I turned down the Cyprus posting it'd be tantamount to a declaration of war. Total commitment. And knowing what I was up against did I have the right to put Perilla at risk as well?

That was something I had to think about.

And I was still thinking, with very little result, when Bathyllus brought me a message from Perilla. It was in two parts, the first asking me if I was free for dinner the following evening (was I! I'd've cancelled a dice lesson from Hermes himself for that!), the second to say that Harpale had arranged a meeting with Davus, Julia's ex-door slave. He'd be waiting for me at Paquius's warehouse in the Velabrum at noon on the last day of the festival.

I'd read the message and was about to dismiss Bathyllus when I remembered something.

'Bathyllus, you were with my father in Illyricum, weren't you?'

'Yes, sir. I was the general's body-servant, sir.' Bathyllus was proud of what he calls his military experience. 'Myself and Nicanor, who is still with him.'

'Do you remember if Tiberius went back to Rome at all at any stage?'

He didn't even stop to think; which with Bathyllus puts any pronouncement he makes into the Delphic Oracle league.

'No, sir. Not until the winter before the last campaign when he left Aemilius Lepidus in charge at Siscia.'

That would be when Ovid had already left for Tomi, or even after he'd got there. Far too late, in any event.

'You're sure? Absolutely one-hundred-percent cast-iron swear-on-your-grandmother's-grave certain?' Best not to leave any room for doubts.

'Yes, sir.'

'Fuck.'

'Quite, sir.' Bathyllus's expression didn't change. 'Will that be all, sir?'

Ah well. As I said, I wasn't too unhappy to see it go. But the theory had been a peach while it lasted.

'Yeah. No — bring me a jug of Setinian. A large one, the best we've got. I may as well go down happy. And after that I want you to take a message round to my father's.'

I'd decided. Ovid was my problem and I couldn't just walk away from him. Perilla would understand: she was thoroughgoing Upper-Class Bastard too, in her own sweet way. And I knew that if I'd chosen Cyprus I'd never have had the guts to see her again.

When Bathyllus brought the wine I poured out the first cup to the war goddess Bellona. I have a soft spot for the bloodthirsty old bitch. She's Roman through and through, she's an outsider with no priest and no festival of her own, and there's no better god to call on when you're declaring a war to the knife.

I might be a selfish egotistical bastard but I'm a determined one. I don't give up. And I don't desert my friends.

Varus to Himself

The scouts I had Vela send to reconnoitre returned this morning, together with a captured Cheruscan dissident able and eager to furnish us with 'proof' of Arminius's intentions. The staff meeting which followed their return, however, was far from straightforward. Although since our interview I had anticipated — feared — resistance from Vela, his opposition verged upon outright mutiny; a fact which must give me pause.

There were four of us round the table: myself, Vela, Eggius and Ceionius; two of whom, of course — myself and Ceionius, if you have forgotten — knew the truth of the matter.

I hoped and prayed that the number had not risen to three.

'Well, gentlemen,' I began. 'We have our confirmation. The Cherusci are arming. What is our response?'

'Hardly confirmation, General,' Vela murmured. 'The word of a single deserter is not confirmation.'

'It's enough for me,' Ceionius growled.

'And me.' That, on cue, from the fiery Eggius.

'What would you have me do, Vela?' I spread my hands in a gesture of helpless reasonableness. 'Ignore Arminius? March past with eyes averted like a shy virgin and leave him a whole winter to gather strength?'

'Foolishness,' Ceionius nodded. So did Eggius, who was thinking already, no doubt, of the feats of valour he would perform.

'Smash him, General,' he said, so far as the clenching of his manly jaw would allow him. 'Smash him now, and when you've smashed him then smash him again. That's all barbarians understand.'

Vela was looking from one to the other. His porridge face was stubborn.

'With respect, sir,' he said to me (but there was no respect in his voice) 'we were warned that this might happen before we left the Weser. Segestes…'

'Segestes be damned.' That was Ceionius. 'Anything that two-faced German bastard chooses to tell us isn't worth a wet fart.'

Oho! The crudity was quite deliberate: Ceionius is clever and knows how to steer an argument onto safer ground. Vela, who for a professional soldier is prudish beyond belief, coloured up immediately.

'Segestes,' he stuttered, 'is a friend to Rome. He has no time for his son-in-law's schemes. If Segestes thought it important enough to warn us that Arminius was plotting treachery then-'

'Screw Segestes.' Ceionius glanced at Eggius. 'Germans are all alike, Vela. You know that. He probably told us just so we'd follow the cowardly piss-your-pants course you seem to favour.'

The warlike Eggius rose like a fish to a mayfly.

'I agree. We've a force five times anything Arminius could field against us and a hundred times better trained and disciplined. Ignore this, General, and we'll be a laughing-stock of the army from here to the eastern frontier. And quite rightly so.'

'Nevertheless,' I said, my eye upon Vela, 'it would mean a march through unfamiliar territory. And the campaigning season is almost over.'

'Are we children, to be afraid of the dark and wet?' Eggius the orator loves a fine phrase. 'Would Drusus Caesar have hesitated? Would General Tiberius?'

'Tiberius would certainly hesitate,' Vela was still punching. 'Tiberius is a soldier. And you do not have to be a child to be afraid of the Teutoburg, especially in winter.'

I temporised, again with Rome in mind. I must assume that Vela knows nothing, and continue constructing my future defence in the hope that my credibility is not already destroyed.

'Vela has a point, gentlemen,' I said. 'We must weigh our responsibilities carefully. Think. The campaigning season is over. We are leading our men back into winter quarters. If we are to investigate this matter it will mean a gruelling march late in the season through difficult and potentially hostile territory. The question is, is such a drastic and dangerous course of action justifiable?'

'Yes!' from Eggius. 'No!' from Vela; both responses immediate and decisively-delivered. I turned to Ceionius, my eyebrows raised; which was the signal my louse and I had agreed on for his set speech.

'What would be the emperor's word, sir,' he said slowly, 'what would be Rome's word, for a general who put the comfort of himself and his men before the safety and integrity of the empire's borders?'

I nodded, as did Eggius. 'A fair summing-up,' I said gravely. 'Gentlemen, we have no choice. The threat is there, and despite the undoubted danger as loyal soldiers of Rome it is our duty' — I stressed the word — 'not to ignore it.'

As a piece of ham acting in the good old austere Roman manner I flatter myself that it was perfect. Eggius's lips were set firm, and I swear I saw a manly tear glisten in the young warrior's eye.

'However.' I paused until I was sure I had their full attention, especially Vela's. This was going to be important. 'I do not intend, gentlemen, to indulge in any death-or-glory heroics.' I let my eyes rest for a moment on Eggius. 'An investigation is one thing, prudence is another. I am quite aware of the difficulties, and of the dangers. We will take the matter as it comes and make our decisions accordingly.'

'Yet we turn east?' That, of course, from Eggius.

I was magisterial. 'We turn east.'

Vela stared at me, his hands clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Then he turned and, without a word, swept out of the tent.