The Skystone

XXII

Caius had been home for a full two weeks before I came to realize that he was a fraud. In truth, he was a harmless fraud, deluding himself more than anyone else, but an undoubted fraud he was, and I loved him the more for it. I realized long afterwards that I had been aware of his false pretences for years, but they were so much a part of the man that I had accepted them without question and almost without recognition. His falseness lay in that he called himself a Roman and he liked to think of himself as embodying all of the virtues of Rome in the days of its true greatness. To tell the truth; he did embody those virtues, but Caius Britannicus was also a Briton, both by birth and by conviction. He was born in Britain as the culmination of a chain of events that began with the first of his ancestors to be named Britannicus, and he was the first-born of the third generation of his family to be born and bred here. In all his wanderings as a soldier of the Empire, he liked to say, he had seen no place, no country, that could be compared to this land for beauty or pleasantness of climate, or for the stability, strength and simplicity of its people.

It was growing dark outside on the night I made my discovery, and Diomede's people had lit the lamps and piled the braziers high against the winter chill, even though the day had been unseasonably beautiful. Caius was in a restless mood that evening, and he was prowling around, looking for something to distract him. He found it in the shape of a codex that lay on one of my tables. It was a simple enough book, roughly bound, but it was something new. I watched him as he picked it up and examined it closely. The front surface bore an intricate rendering of complex Celtic scrollwork, and I watched him open the book at random and find more of the same. No words at all, just a collection of drawings, all obviously done by the same hand.

"Well, what do you think?" I asked him.

"This is marvellous!" he said, examining the way the individual sheets were fastened together. "Did the priest do this? Andros?"

"Yes, " I told him. "He did. Told me he got tired of carrying awkward bundles of parchment all over the place. He saw you carrying a codex one day, asked me to show him some more, and then he began to make his own. Not bad, eh? He cut all his parchments to the same size, and now he says his life is ten times more simple. "

Andros was a wandering priest who had turned up on Caius's doorstep one day and never left. He was a very simple man, true to his name, "the man, " and he had the most amazing gift I had ever seen for rendering likenesses of things with a stick of charcoal. His drawings were magnificent, and yet he could neither read nor write.

"But this is marvellous! Look!" Caius was shaking his head in admiration. "Who else in this country today would have thought of using a strip of wood, front and back like this, and tying the whole thing together with thongs? This thing is easy to add to, one page at a time, in any order one pleases! And the wood gives it rigidity and makes it easy to carry. This really is astonishing, Varrus. " His admiration was immense and sincere.

"And this parchment is superlative. Where did Andros find it?"

"He made it. "

He blinked at me. "He makes parchment? Andros? Himself?"

"Himself. " I shrugged. "Himself and his two brothers, to be accurate. But I find it more exciting that they know how to make excellent papyrus."

"Where in God's name did they learn to do that?"

"Their father taught them. He learned in Rome — or in Constantinople. Maybe both places. He was a craftsman there for years. Came back here with his master before the sons were born. Taught them his trade as they grew up. He was North African, I think, from Egypt. They lived on one of the big villas out by Aquae Sulis. Andros tells me they used to supply this stuff to clerks all over the country. "

"Why did they stop?"

I shrugged. "Who knows? Anyway, Andros became a priest, but he never did learn to read or write. He only wanted to draw. Have you ever seen such skill?"

"No. These drawings are not exactly classical, but they are superb. "

"Classical?" I was astounded. "Not classical? General, you amaze me!" He looked at me oddly, and I went on. "If you look closely, and I mean really look, you'll see that those drawings are classical in every sense but the Roman. They're perfect — exact transcriptions of pure Celtic design. Ancient. Not the worthless rubbish that the pedlars are hawking all over the Empire. That is the history of your beloved Britain you're looking at. I thought you would be ecstatic about them, once you saw what they are. " He looked more carefully then, and I saw him realize that the codex that he had at first glance categorized as simple and crude was anything but that.

"You are right, of course, Varrus. I should be admiring them. They are magnificent. "

"Caius, you and I have both seen murals and mosaics in some of the finest houses in the Empire, created by celebrated artists who have no grasp of what this man does without thinking. I swear he can draw a perfect circle with one sweep of his hand. "

Caius was musing, obviously thinking about something that this codex had suggested to him. "You are right, my friend. You are absolutely correct. Ask him to visit me, next time you see him, will you?"

"Why?" I asked him, immediately defensive. "You wouldn't be thinking of depriving me of his services, would you? I find his drawings very helpful in my work. "

He smiled at me. "No, Varrus, I would not, so you may relax. I need his parchment and his papyrus, not his pen. I have a feeling that time might lie heavily on my hands now that I am no longer on active duty, and I have often thought of writing down my own theories on military tactics. It has been a dream of mine for years, but no more than a dream, due mainly to the fact that the materials for writing in bulk are not readily at hand, and I have never had either the patience or the time one needs to assemble spindle books. But this talent Andros has could give me access to a source of parchment and to a simple means of binding sheets together to protect them against loss and damage. "

I demurred, I believe, for the first time ever in my personal dealings with him.

"Why, Caius? I mean, why write military memoirs? To emulate Caesar?

To leave Rome the benefit of your experience? Why would you not write of your villa here, and of your life in Britain?"

He threw me a glance of pure surprise, thinking I was belittling him. His answer was slow and measured.

"I would write a history of my military service to the Empire because I am a soldier. It is what I know best. It has been my life. Do you find that surprising or distasteful?"

I shook my head. "No. Not at all. But it seems to me it could be a waste of time, if what you have been hinting at is true and the Empire is about to fall. "

His frown was impatient. "Come, Publius! Time spent constructively cannot be wasted. I would be writing for the benefit of those who follow me. Someone is sure to. no matter how bad things are. "

"Oh, " I said. "Well, that makes a difference. "

"But?"

"What do you mean, 'But?'" I asked innocently.

"You have a reservation. " His tone was cool. "I can hear it in your voice."

I held up a disclaiming hand. "No, Caius, you are mistaken. I think you should write. But you should write for Britain. For your son Picus, and for my sons, too. You will be their uncle. It would be good for them to know their antecedents were more than just names. "

He smiled, mollified. "That is an amusing but worthwhile thought, Publius. Very well then, I shall write for future citizens of Britain. You are a facile persuader. "

I grinned at him. "You needed no persuasion. Would you not like to return home to Rome again, now that you have the time?" His face underwent a transformation from humour to disgust. "No, I would not. The place is a cesspool!"

I was enjoying myself, for I had finally made the realization I have spoken of.

"A cesspool?" I said. "Rome?"

He looked at me warily, sensing that he was being teased. "Publius, you are baiting me. Why? You have never been this way before. " I laughed, "No, Caius, I have not. I've been in awe of you, I suppose. But now that we are to be brothers, I feel less reluctant to discuss things openly with you. "

"What kind of things?"

"Things like this — your self-delusion. "

"My what?" His voice was bristling with affront.

"Your self-delusion. You talk of your Romanism, but you are really no more Roman than Meric. Your loyalty is to this place, this land, these people you call the Pendragon. This is your home, Caius. The very thought of going to Rome is repugnant to you. You've just admitted it. "

"Perhaps I have. " His brow was creased now in perplexity. "Perhaps I have. But that in no way alters my obligations to the Empire. " I threw down the book I had been holding. "What obligations, Caius?

You have fulfilled them all and done it honestly and openly and with good will, in spite of all your reservations. But you pay only lip-service to what you have done. You haven't yet accepted that your debts are all paid in full. "

His face cleared. "That's true, isn't it? I have. That is the truth, Publius. I have fulfilled each and every one of my obligations to the Empire. "

"Yes, Caius, " I said emphatically. "You have. Now take the time to consider your obligations to yourself. Write down your life's story, by all means, but write for your own people, your family, not for the sybarites in Rome. "

He snapped his fingers. "That reminds me! I have a letter I meant to tell you about. It arrived earlier today, by courier. It seems your friend in Rome has fallen foul of Theodosius. "

I frowned. "What friend in Rome? I have none. "

"Quite. I was being facetious. I meant young Seneca. "

"Seneca?" He nodded. "I thought he was in Constantinople. When did he move to Rome, and how has he offended Theodosius? And how did you find out?"

He shook his head, smiling. "I have my sources. You forget, I made some inquiries. This one has been answered already through a fortunate combination of military emissaries to and from Rome. Its source is an old friend whom I have known for years. He has little good to say of Caesarius Claudius Seneca. Apparently the man's excesses are become so bad, even for a Seneca, that they offend the nostrils of Theodosius. Our Emperor is abstemious and really quite a devout Christian, for all that his ambition led him to the throne. "

I dismissed that as irrelevant. "So did Constantine's. What happened between Seneca and Theodosius?"

Caius shook his head. "No one really knows, it seems, but Seneca was close to Valentinian, and that would not endear him to Theodosius in any way. " He was interrupted by the clamour of a flurry of crows that came swooping down over the rooftop, haggling viciously over some morsel of carrion that one of them clutched in its beak. We watched them until they swirled away, neither of us making any effort to compete with their raucous uproar.

"In any event, " he continued eventually, "the Emperor handed down an ultimatum that I find interesting. He made it known that Seneca, and several others like him, were doing little for the common good. How did he phrase it? 'They are depriving the Empire of the benefits of their station, experience and breeding. ' That was it. The upshot of it was that Seneca should undertake a period of public service, under implicit threat of forfeiture of all his worldly goods. I thought it quite ingenious. "

"How? What do you mean, 'ingenious'?"

His eyebrow went up. "Think about it. Seneca could refuse an imperial edict only under penalty of forfeiture of all his wealth. The alternative —

acceptance — also puts his wealth at the Emperor's disposal for all intents and purposes. You may be sure Theodosius will find a post for Seneca that will make optimum use of his financial capabilities, and that Seneca will bestir himself to enlarge his wealth while in the imperial service. But no matter what Seneca does — short of absolute, treasonous theft on a vast scale — Theodosius will benefit by it and from it. Rest assured that the Empire will be keeping a very close and meticulous watch on its richest citizen and servant. "

"And Seneca accepted that?"

"How could he do otherwise? He has not the heart to live as a pauper, and were he to attempt it, my friend in Rome swears he would not survive the first day. "

I whistled in wonder as the implications of what I had been told began to hit home to me. "Then he will be at the Emperor's bidding for a while. I wonder how he will come out of it?"

Caius cleared his throat in disgust. "Probably very well. He is still a Seneca. But he will be under some restraint. Theodosius will watch him closely, as I said, but I have no doubt that Caesarius Claudius Seneca will contrive somehow to continue to enlarge his fortune. " He was to be proven prophetic within the month.

Shortly after our conversation, Caius invited Andros's two brothers to come live at the villa in return for their parchment-making services. They accepted his invitation and began making parchment specially for us, and Caius began to write. He did not find it easy at first. He had the discipline to marshal his time but not, as he soon discovered, his thoughts. There were too many things that he wanted to write about, and he quickly found that the greatest danger lay in writing too much about too little. Eventually, however, he fell into a way of writing about whatever caught his interest at that particular time. And eventually, too, it became a habit to discuss his ideas with me.

He wrote down his thoughts and theories on life in general, and on the life and past times of Britain. We talked of the kings of Rome, and of how Rome had foresworn such men. We talked of the Republic that was born, and had lived in glory until the advent of the Caesars — Julius and his cousin Octavius, who became Caesar Augustus.

From that moment on, for all intents and purposes, the kings had returned. They called themselves emperors, but they were kings, with all the powers of despots. And they had killed Rome.

We talked also, at great length, of Britain and her future, for Caius honestly believed in God's great plans for this green land. On most of these occasions, Luceiia was with us, and her contributions to our discussions were insightful and refreshing. During those long winter nights I learned fully to appreciate the keen intellect that underlay her beauty. She astonished me most particularly one night by proposing the thought that Rome had starved to death, and she went on to support her thesis. The mother country, she pointed out, is largely infertile. It could never produce enough food for its citizens, so they turned to conquer fertile lands. And, of course, the fertile lands they conquered were never rich enough to feed their own people and Rome, too, and so it went on, to embrace the whole world.

Britain, my love believes, will never starve. The soil is rich and fruitful. As the people grow, she says, they will clear the forests and till the soil. I believe she is correct in this, for the people here are strong. The local Celts are a noble people — industrious for the most part, proud, certainly quick to anger but equally quick to forgive — and great lovers of music and the arts. The quality she finds most admirable among them, however, and I agree with her in this, is their mutual respect. The Celtic wife and mother is no chattel. She fights as well as her man, making the Celtic family a unit to be dealt with respectfully. No domestic decisions are made without her advice and concurrence. She has dignity and pride of place, as did the Republican women of Rome, and she is skilled, like the Roman matrons of old, in the arts of weaving, pottery and the rearing of children to respect all that a child should respect. When Luceiia talked of all of this the first time, I earned myself a savage clout on the head by remarking with a smile that four hundred years of Roman occupation had bred much Romanism into these Celts.

Those were idyllic days, but they were soon to be marred by a development that seemed at first to contain no hint or threat of disruption.

Caius received a missive from Antonius Cicero, welcoming him back to Britain and advising him of three things, the first of which was my own official death. I had been found in a ditch far to the south of Verulamium, my identity established only by a lozenge of silver with my name on it that was found in my scrip. The second piece of news was that my house had reverted to the State and would be occupied by the new Procurator, Claudius Seneca, who had been appointed to fill the post left vacant by the retirement of the incumbent. He was expected to arrive in Colchester at any time, contingent upon weather conditions in the seas between Britain and Gaul!

That was an ironic twist that had its effect on all of us! But it was followed by another even stranger, at least to me. Equus, as my beneficiary, had taken all of my belongings into his own possession, and, apparently disheartened by my disappearance and death, he had closed down the smithy, loaded everything onto a couple of wagons and left Colchester to establish himself in some other town. I was mystified by this. Where would he have gone? He knew I was not dead. Could he be coming here? To return my belongings? If so, why wouldn't Tonius have said so?

Caius put my mind at rest on that one, chiding me for being too literal in my interpretations. Of course, he said, Equus would be headed this way. But the letter from Tonius was quasi-official, carried by a military courier and therefore subject to censorship. How could Tonius make any reference, no matter how oblique, to my continued survival if there was the slightest consideration of the letter being exposed to scrutiny? Tonius, he insisted, was intelligent enough and experienced enough to know that Caius would put his own interpretation on the letter and draw his own conclusions. In the meantime, he had apprised us that I was now considered dead and therefore no longer pursuable. Furthermore, he had informed us, in plainest and yet unimpeachable terms, that my enemy was back in Britain in a position of power, and my friend was on his way to join us with my worldly goods.

Reassured, and suddenly relieved of a great mental weight, I realized just how great my debt was to Antonius Cicero. Caius agreed with me.

"What was the name he gave you after he abducted you to save your worthless skin?" The expression on his face was inscrutable. I had to think for a few seconds before the name came back to me.

"Gratens. Publius Gratens. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, it just occurred to me that Tonius might want to take some time off — a furlough — to attend the nuptials of his old friend Publius Gratens, since he knows the bride, and he and I have been friends for a long time. " Luceiia leaped to her feet and kissed him. "Caius, my beloved brother, I know you are a great soldier but there are times when you show streaks of absolute brilliance. I would love to see Tonius again, wouldn't you, Publius?"

I was as enthusiastic as she was. "Aye, I would. " I grinned. "I still owe him a bad headache. It would be appropriate to cause it with bridal wine.

" I had another idea. "Particularly if he had the abominably poor taste to bring Plautus with him as part of his escort. "

But Caius was quick to throw water on that notion.

"No! If he comes, he has to come alone. No escort. No one here will be calling you Publius Gratens, remember, and Publius Varrus is dead. No one who is not a good friend can even be allowed to suspect otherwise. Too dangerous. And Tonius will know that. I shall write to him tonight and send a man into Aquae Sulis to the garrison commander tomorrow, with a request to have it forwarded immediately. "

Of course he was correct, as usual, but I felt a keen sense of disappointment that Plautus would not be able to celebrate my reconstituted virility and my good taste in choosing a wife. Tonius's response took exactly ten days to arrive, causing Caius to wonder what the reason was for the obviously intensified stream of communications between garrisons. Messages sent through normal military channels would go from Aquae Sulis to Londinium and thence to the outlying garrisons. The speed of this return had to mean that priority messages were being sent directly between military district headquarters. Even before he opened the letter, he had decided to go himself to visit the garrison at Aquae Sulis, to find out personally what was in the wind. The letter from Tonius was longer and less formal than the previous one and anticipated, at least in part, our concerns. He would be delighted to visit us in May, partly to renew his delightful acquaintance with the bride-to-be, partly to see his two old friends, Caius Britannicus and Publius Gratens, but chiefly to share in the joining of two such fine and noble families, the progeny of which union could only be a benefit to the Empire. He was long overdue for an extended furlough, he pointed out, since, being himself without family, he seldom had reason or desire to absent himself from his posting and his charges. This, however, would be a joyous celebration, and he would be happy to request a whole month of leave to be able to participate in it properly.

He had taken the liberty to inform Caius's good friend Bishop Alaric of Verulamium of the wedding, since Alaric had been in Colchester when Caius's letter arrived, and Alaric had immediately decided to attend the wedding on his own invitation. The two hoped to be able to travel west together, but this would be entirely dependent on Tonius's ability to find a suitable replacement for his primus pilus, one Pontius Aulus Plautus, who had been appointed, to the pride and despair of Tonius himself, primus pilus to the Household Troop officers' training school in Londinium. A great honour for Plautus but a great inconvenience for Antonius Cicero. Plautus had already left Colchester to use up his accumulated furlough time of three months before taking up his new posting, and in the meantime, no one had been seconded to Colchester to replace him in what was a crucial and highly responsible position.

In closing, Cicero mentioned that the new Procurator had arrived and was installed in poor Varrus's erstwhile home. Tonius had met him officially, but had had no particular dealings with him prior to the time of writing. Tonius looked forward to seeing all of us again, and hoped that we would be able to find some time to talk together at length amid the press of the many dear friends who were bound to be descending on the Villa Britannicus for the nuptials.

Less than two weeks later, on the Ides of March, while I was working in my smithy and having no success with my design for a smelting furnace, a long and bedraggled procession of wagons arrived at our door. They'd travelled through the foulest spell of weather in what had already been a particularly nasty winter. There were three large draft wagons and three slightly smaller ones, each pulled by a pair of horses, and the sight of their occupants delighted me and touched me.

Equus was driving the lead wagon, and he had brought his whole family with him. Plautus held the reins of the second wagon, and at first I did not recognize him, out of uniform, muffled in a cloak and heavily bearded as he was. The third wagon was driven by the son of my own major-domo from Colchester, and his father and mother were in one of the other wagons. I was amazed and flattered and quite touched at this display of loyalty, even though they were, all of them, very quick to point out that they had come only for the wedding festivities and would be moving on afterwards. To where? None of them could say.

It took only moments, when we finally got around to talking about their future plans, to convince them that all of them had a place and a future here on the Villa Britannicus, since Luceiia and I would be setting up a household of our own after we were married and would have need of servants. Also, I was sadly in need of Equus's professional help in designing a smelting furnace for my skystones. They were not difficult to convince, and I knew that all of them had been hoping that we would be able to invite them to. stay. When they were assured of this, the reunion became a celebration.

That night, after dinner, the others left Equus, Plautus and me alone to reminisce together. Equus was obviously bursting to tell me about his decision to close up shop and bring everything out to the west. For a time after my departure from Colchester, he had hoped that all the furore would die down and that I would return to run the smithy with him, but the report by Cicero of my "death" a month or so later had ended that hope, and then the announcement of Seneca's appointment as Procurator had put finis to everything.

Equus had then begun amassing all of the equipment and material that he suspected I could want or require, including my grandfather's collection of treasures, which he had dismantled and packed. He had disposed of the smithy by trading it to a wagon-maker for the three big wagons, and he then bought the three smaller wagons and all the livestock with some of the gold I had given him. He had used Tonius Cicero and Plautus as intermediaries in this instance, not wishing to advertise the fact that he possessed gold. By the time he had loaded all of our belongings, including the amphora containing my grandfather's gold, onto the wagons, he had also recruited his other companions on the journey. Plautus had left town separately and joined them on the road. I could only embrace Equus and thank him warmly for his foresight and his loyalty. He gripped my arm tightly in silence, tears gleaming in his eyes.

I blinked my own tears away and turned to Plautus.

"And you, my friend. Tonius Cicero informs us you are to be congratulated. "

"On what? My posting?" He grunted. "Cicero pulled some strings. I'm to be the new primus pilus at the military officers' training school there. An honorary position. "

"I know, " I said with a smile. "Tonius told us. A signal honour for a worthy fellow. Felicitations, my friend. "

He glowered. "For what? I'm a soldier, Varrus, not a courtier — not a wet-nurse to puking young officer whelps. Keep your congratulations for yourself, once you're married. "

I was taken aback. "You're unhappy about it?"

His look withered me. "Unhappy? Publius, you were always ugly but never stupid. Of course I'm unhappy. It's an abomination of a posting!"

"But... " I was at a loss for words. "But then why did you accept it?

Tonius Cicero seemed proud that you had obtained the posting. "

"Oh, he is, and I'm grateful to him. " His tone suggested otherwise. "I wouldn't have got it if Tonius hadn't pulled some strings. But I'd rather stay where I've been for the past ten years. "

"Oh. " Belatedly, I realized the cause of his anger. "Seneca. "

"Aye, Seneca, the son of a spavined whore! The new Procurator. Who or what else could make me give up the best billet I ever had?"

"You really think he would still recognize you?" I could hear incredulity in the tone of my own voice. "I was the one who fought with him, remember — the one who marked him. I'm the man he's looking for. You were merely a spectator. You had little to do with the affair. And anyway, he would never dream of seeing a bandit when he looks at a primus pilus."

Plautus grunted. "If you throw your mind back, my friend, you might recall it was me the swine took objection to in the first place. I have the kind of face he hates. As soon as Cicero heard of the appointment, who the Procurator was to be, he sent for me and told me. We decided that I would be better off in Londinium. I have leave due me. Enough to let me stay here to attend your wedding and then head straight to Londinium to my new posting. "

"I see. " There was little I could add to that, but I felt I had to try.

"Plautus, I'm really sorry. I know regrets can't cure a thing, but I feel our friendship has cost you dearly. "

He looked at me as though I had started talking to him in some strange tongue. "What in Hade's is that supposed to mean?"

"The truth. I've cost you your soft billet. If I hadn't overreacted that day none of this would be happening. "

"Horse turds! It was fated. If you hadn't crossed the son of a whore, he'd have found some way to get me to spill his tripes. And I would have done it. I was close to it, as it was. I'd have killed him. Then we'd both have been in shit. They wouldn't have let us get away so easily with a corpse on their hands. You left him alive; and that saved us. His friends were too busy looking after him to chase us, so let's not have any more guilt from you. Understand?"

I nodded. "I suppose so. Well, let's have another cup of wine to your new posting, unwished though it might be. and to Seneca's early recall to the Imperial Court. "

"I'll drink to the animal's early and painful death, and may he fester in Hades until his bones melt into jelly. " He emptied his cup at one draught and belched loudly. "I think that was one cup too many, my friends. I am tired and my head will ring like a brazen gong come morning. Varrus, have your servants avoid my door until noon. After that, I may rise to face the day. " His voice dropped a little and he stared into his cup. "You might not be far wrong, just the same. I had dinner with him, you know. "

"With whom?"

"What?"

He blinked at me, and I realized that he really was quite drunk. I glanced at Equus, who was grinning at me, nodding affirmation. I rephrased my question.

"You said you had dinner with him. Who are you talking about?

Tonius?"

"Damnation, no. Seneca!"

"You had dinner with Seneca?" I was incredulous. "When? How?" He nodded ponderously. "Night before I left Colchester. Official dinner. Legate Cicero commanded me to be there, so I went. I went and watched the animal Seneca as he defecated on the decency of our military table.

'He didn't recognize me... " His voice drifted downward to the point where I was straining to hear him. "Mind you, you wouldn't expect him to, as you said. I was in full regimentals, all burnished bronze and brass and polished leather. He looked at me and saw what I was, not who I was. But I couldn't be in uniform all the time, and he would have known me sooner or later, and then I'd have— been dead. "

I reached out and shook him by the shoulder. He tossed his head and strained his eyes open, trying to shake off the wine.

"Plautus, " I said urgently. "Sober up! I want to hear about this. " He blew a fricative, sounding like a horse, but his eyes cleared and his voice became normal.

"Then, Publius my friend, you must point me towards some cold night air. If I am to talk longer, I'll have to clear my head. The heat from the brazier there is breaking me down. "

I led him into the atrium, which, in the classical style, was open to the sky. It was cold, and I began to shiver immediately. Plautus, however, seemed impervious to the chill and merely stood breathing deeply, drawing the chill night air into his lungs and holding each breath for a long time before exhaling it in a plume of smoky vapour. Finally, just as I was thinking of retiring to the brazier and leaving him alone out there, he barked a short, stifled laugh, half-grunt and half-curse.

"By the Christ, Varrus, I have seldom been so frightened. If he had recognized me I would have been dead meat, primus pilus or not. Let's go back inside, before you die. Luceiia would kill me more painfully than Seneca could if you were to expire of cold before the wedding. " When we were seated again by the glowing brazier, he continued.

"It was the night before I left. I had been out inspecting the guard on the south wall for the last time that afternoon, and when I got back to the fort I found the courtyard filled with strange soldiers. Seneca had arrived!

I've been scared badly several times over the years, Publius, but never as badly as I was when I saw those soldiers of his. I thought — I was convinced — they were going to arrest me and haul me in front of the swine right then and there, and I'd be tried, condemned and executed before the sun set.

"I scuttled for my quarters, keeping my head down, but no sooner had I got there than a soldier came to my door with a note from the Legate, Cicero. It was an invitation — a command — to dine with him in his quarters that night, to meet his other guests. There wasn't a thing I could do but accept.

"I dressed carefully for that dinner, you can be sure. Seneca had seen me only once, dressed in rough, peasant clothing and wearing three days of beard. Tonight I would be in formal, full-dress uniform. Even dandified, every inch the fighting Roman, I still wasn't sure, and before leaving for the Legate's quarters I went by the baths and looked at myself in the big, bronze mirror on the wall there. That made me feel a little better. To have recognized me as the man from the mansio yard, even Seneca would have needed magic powers. I've heard a lot of stories about the whoreson, but none of them said he was a sorcerer. I sucked in my gut and went to dinner.

"Everybody else was already there by the time I arrived, and Tonius made a great ceremony of introducing me as the pride of the garrison, his primus pilus, who had been honoured with a transfer to Londinium, to the training school for officers there. Seneca had his back to me at first, I remember, but just as we reached him he turned and looked me up and down with an expression on his face that made me feel like a pile of dung. I was gritting my teeth, trying to look like nothing and nobody, trying not to think of what would happen if he recognized me. He nodded and held out his hand and I shook with him, and as our skins touched, he smiled. I swear, Publius, for the space of a heartbeat, that smile of his had me wondering if this was the wrong man. But it was only for a second. His teeth had escaped permanent damage in our fight, but his nose was a mess — flat and crunched and scarred. Then he said something pleasant — can't remember what, but it didn't mean anything — and I mumbled something back. And then he was being introduced to someone else. " Equus and I were both fascinated, and Plautus looked from one to the other of us, knowing he had a rapt audience. There was no sign of drunkenness now as he continued his tale.

"I tried to keep my eyes off him all through dinner, but I couldn't. Twice he caught me staring at him, and each time I had to pretend to be looking off over his head. But I wasn't afraid of him any longer, because I knew who he thought I was. When he looked at me, you see, he saw only the uniform, the primus pilus. I began to relax, even though I'd never sat at table with Tonius Cicero and his Staff officers before. I knew he was watching me, Cicero I mean, watching to see how I was doing. He must have noticed I had begun to relax, because after a while, he didn't look at me nearly as much.

"And then he started baiting Seneca. Of course, nobody knew what he was doing except him and me. But he went right for the throat. 'You know, Procurator, ' says he, 'I have been curious about the outcome of your misadventure here in Britain a few months back. We had the pleasure of being hosts to some Household Troops who were here in town about your business, or at least on business connected with you. They were searching for the ruffians who attacked you while you were on embassy for the Emperor. That would be, what? Three months ago? Four?'

"I swear to you, Seneca went rigid in his chair. " Plautus's voice was exultant. "Course, Tonius pretends not to notice, and keeps right on going.

'Anyway, ' he says, 'you will forgive my curiosity, I hope, Procurator, but I never did hear the end of that affair. What happened? Did you find the men? I find it unbelievable' says he, 'that such a thing could happen to an envoy of the Emperor. Especially in my district. Of course, the fact that you used the Household Troops to search for the criminals cut off any possibility of our following the matter up from here, even though it was a local affair. '

"I tell you, Varrus, Seneca was blue in the face! I was watching him so hard that it took me a while to realize that all talk around the table had come to a halt. Nobody was speaking. Everybody was staring at Seneca. While I'd been watching him, his face had gone from blue to white as a death-mask. He was gripping the edge of the table so hard I expected him to break a piece of it off. His knuckles were as white as his face.

"Anyway, Tonius lets it stretch out as far as he can without being too obvious and then he starts up again, being the plain, blunt soldier. His eyebrows go up and he starts looking from face to face as though wondering what on earth he could have said to cause such a reaction. But as he starts in to apologize or something, Seneca cuts him off in mid word.

"'No! He was not apprehended, ' Seneca says, in a voice that sounds as though he's talking through a mouthful of sand. 'But he will be. Believe me, the whoreson will answer to me some day for his sins. '

"Tonius is still playing the innocent. 'He will be? You mean there was only one? And you still expect to find him? After all this time?'

"If a look could kill a man, I swear Tonius would have dropped dead there and then. 'There were two of them, ' Seneca snarls, 'but one of them, at least, will die some day at my pleasure. He will be found, Legate. Trust me in that. '

" 'Ah! There were two of them, ' says Tonius. 'I thought there were. Which of them are you searching for?'

" 'The old one. ' I could hardly hear him. His voice was a whisper, but as though he was being strangled. 'There were two of them, ' he says. 'But one of them marked me! Look!' He screams like a madman and leaps to his feet, ripping his tunic open to show the scar you carved in him. 'He branded me!' He was still screaming, and everybody at the table's squirming by this time, except for me and Tonius. "

Here Plautus paused, and both Equus and I hung on that pause until we could bear it no longer.

"And then? What happened then, Plautus?"

"Oh. He changed. As suddenly as he had lost control of himself, he got it back again. It was almost as though a light had been put out behind his eyes. He stopped moving, holding his tunic open, and looked around the table at each of us. And then he laughed, pulled his torn tunic together again and sat down, picking up his goblet as if nothing had happened.

'Your. wine is excellent, Antonius Cicero, ' he says, in a perfectly ordinary voice. 'And so is your kitchen. Gentlemen, I propose a toast to our host. ' I swear, Varrus, he's crazed. That was it. "

Equus and I sat silent, absorbing this strange tale, and I, for one, did not want it to end like that.

"Is that all?" I asked Plautus. "Was there no more to it?" He shook his head, pursing his lips. "That was it. I got out of there as quickly as I could, though. I was ready for a good night's sleep and I had to be on the road next morning. Oh, there was one other thing. Gave me a smile, anyway. " He turned and grinned at me, the shadows from the dying brazier making black hollows in his face. "One of the fellows there had a bad limp. Nobody noticed it until the poor whoreson had to get up to go and relieve himself. He had almost got to the door when Seneca noticed him. 'You there!' he yells.

" 'Procurator?' The poor fellow didn't even know if he was the one being yelled at.

'"Where did you get that limp?'

"Tonius spoke up. 'Tribune Scala was wounded in action, Procurator. During the great Invasion, years ago. '

"Seneca wasn't impressed. And he wasn't charming. He was drunk and he was hostile and he was scowling. 'I don't like people who limp, ' he snarls. 'They offend me. Where are you going?'

"'To relieve myself, Procurator. ' I could hardly hear Scala's answer. He didn't know how he'd offended the whoreson but he knew that he had.

"Seneca sneered and I wanted to throw my knife at him. 'Relieve your limp, too, you dung pile!' he says. 'Either get rid of it, or don't come back!'

"He definitely doesn't like cripples, Varrus. I'd drink to cripples, but I've had too much already and I'm tired. Where do I sleep?" By this point, Equus was obviously far gone, too, unable to smother his yawns, and I decided to allow them both to get some rest.

"By the way, " I asked Equus as we got to our feet, "did you visit Phoebe in Verulamium on your way out?"

Equus was scratching his head and beard. "No, " he said. "We went looking for her, but she changed lodgings, and the old crone didn't know where she had gone to. I left a letter for her with Bishop Alaric. If she goes back there, she'll know how to find me. "

After they had gone to bed, I sat alone by the brazier for a time, thinking about my life and the changes that had taken place in it, and anticipating the pleasant changes that were to occur in the future — the assembly of all the guests for our wedding, and the life of companionship with Luceiia that stretched ahead. The day was close at hand now; less than three weeks remained until the date of our nuptials. I was pleasantly relaxed and ready for sleep by the time I found my bed.