Hoi:
Bubi
Tired after the day’s trials, I found myself a room that was out of the way and far from the activity of the other troops. Most had found themselves either wine, bad music or women, or some combination of those three (mostly involving women). I was just weary and wished for some silence, wondering when I would return to Rome and my family. Knowing Publius, if he had one weakness, it was a roving eye whenever his mind was not on politics or warcraft. So, were I to venture a guess, he had managed to find himself a local girl or two and settled in for the evening. Occasionally, I despaired for his wife, and oft thought of how she overlooked his promiscuity. Aemilia was a pleasantly insightful individual with whom I shared a good few discussions regardless of topic and I came to realise that while her husband slept with any woman he considered beautiful, he would always return to her, because she was the one he loved, and not because of how beautiful she was. As I hunkered down in one of the few quiet places in the citadel (the prison warden’s office, of all places), my mind wandered to the future, pondering what we had to do next. Damn it, that was supposed to be Publius’ job, but I had accepted my place at his side, and it was often the case that I spoke his mind, and he spoke mine, which seemed strange, but such was our friendship. I finally fell into a light slumber deep into the night, thinking of how long the war would last, and if that was a good thing or not for our friendship.
A few hours later, I know not how long, I woke up to the sound of raucous shouts and songs ill sung. Knowing I would have no more peace until the new evening, I dragged myself to my feet, donned my tunic and went to investigate the source of my disrupted sleep. Ascending the steps towards the prison’s guardroom, the sounds grew louderand there was the obvious cry of a young woman. Opening the door, I was greeted by the sight of a number of legionary officers, drinking and laughing, all the while passing the woman from lap to lap, revelling in her discomfort. One of them finally noticed me and nudged his neighbour with an elbow to the ribs. Soon, there was silence except for the occasional hiccoughing, the woman’s whimpering and the dripping of ale onto the floor.
“Am I interrupting something?” I asked, with rather a more gormless expression than I intended.
One of the priores grinned, “Care to join us, sir?”
“Well, given you’re not doing anything of not, no,” I grinned back, “Anyway, why are you down here, and with just the one woman, no less? There must have been a fair few more that you could have had your choice of, given a city of this size.”
“Ah, no, sir, we know what the Lord Dux is like, and the tribunes wished to present this little creature to the commander, pretty as she is... don’t let the rags and dirt fool you. There’s a handsome woman underneath it all.”
Indeed, she was grimy, her hair and clothes were unkempt, and there were small cuts on the soles of her feet, but underneath all that, she was indeed a beautiful woman. She fixed me with a glare, and I narrowed my eyes ever so slightly, kneeling in front of her. Studying her for a moment, looking at one eye, then the other, there was something there that she was hiding very well.
“And who might you be?” I whispered in Greek, so none but she heard.
There was a faint glimmer of recognition in what I said. It was ever so faint, but I noticed it, and she realised it as well, and it confirmed what I thought: she was Iberian nobility. Her hands were tender, for all that they were dirt covered, and her feet were otherwise uncharacteristically clean. That and her whole demeanour that indicated she conducted herself with a certain pride and dignity both not oft found among women (and men in a lot of cases) of any race.
“Where did you find her?” my eyes never left her as I addressed the officers, reverting to Latin.
“Cowering in the armoury.”
“Any Latin?”
“Not a word, when we brought her here, she was jabbering in that weird Celtic tongue that they speak in. Didn’t understand any of it.”
They shared a laugh, but it was clear they were growing discomforted by my presence and the strange attention I paid their ‘companion’.
“I’d have some time with her, if you don’t mind.”
“I thought you weren’t interested, sir.”
“She’s enough to twist any man’s arm... and other things besides. In any event, someone of this surpassing beauty is clearly wasted on you ruffians.”
With a laugh, the officers left, but a part of me was sure they were a little relieved to be gone from the presence of ‘Publius’ brother’. The majority of the soldiers were well aware of my temper as much as Publius’ tendencies. When the door closed shut, I poured a cup of water from a flask and the remainder into a large bowl. Finding a cloth, I draped it over the bowl and placed both vessels on the floor in front of the girl... and now that I looked upon her, that was what she was. Studying her again, she must have been no older than seventeen or eighteen. Bringing a stool over, I sat down a few paces away from her.
“Clean your face and hands,” I said when she eyed the bowl of water and then me with some scepticism, “It wouldn’t do to present you to my ‘master’, shall we say, in your current state.”
I had spoken again in Greek, and after a few moments of silence, she washed her hands, feet and face, drying herself with the cloth. They were clearly right, and so was I: it was no wonder that she was a prisoner here, since whoever her father was would surely do anything to ensure her welfare.
“Now, who are you?”
She continued to glare at me. Or rather, she glared at the platter of fruit that lay on the table behind me. I placed it on the floot in front of her and sat back down. She set into the grapes, apples and berries, eating quickly, but in a manner befitting a noblewoman, despite her current circumstance.
“Or would you prefer to kill me and take your chances with the twenty-thousand soldiers outside of these walls?” I said when she noticed the stiletto hidden beneath the fruit.
She picked up the knife and looked at it for a long moment, before putting it on the floot and sliding it towards me. It stopped well short of my foot, but I left it there.
“Do you think you’re better than them?” she asked softly, with a hard accent.
“Me of those officers in whose hands you dignity was held, or Rome of Carthage?”
She was slightly taken aback by this, but quickly recovered her composure.
“Both,” her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Yes, I do, but what difference would any answer I give make? What am I to you?” I saved her the bother of needing to reply, by answering myself for her, “A foreign barbarian, here to take your land, riches and people to pillage, plunder, rape and enslave. If only things were so simple, then it would be easy to decide what to do with you.”
“And what would that be?”
“Do you want me to answer?”
“No,” she said after a long pause.
“Good, because I am not such a man to do so. However, the question remains: what am I to do with you?”
“Do I have any say?”
“Why else would I ask?”
“Then set me free.”
“Where? And who to? There is still a war to be fought in your land, and would you risk yourself beyond the city walls depending only on your wits?”
She thought about it for a moment and then shook her head. Evidently, she knew more about local politics than many would give her credit for, since she obviously realised that even as a noble, even her compatriots could not be entrusted with her safety.
“I have no desire to see any unnecessary death, for all that I am party to a great deal of it. If the gods will give me some small measure of pardon for any mercy I grant, I will take it.”
“Quite selfish, aren’t you?”
“Ha!” I barked with a harsh laugh, “What is a man that is not selfish?” I man who is selfless does not exist. All men act in selfishness. Even if they wish to serve others, in the end, they desire only that which gives themselves happiness and contentment. No-one gives freely to his fellows to increase his own despair. They only do so to validate their own existence, what more selfish intent is there than that?”
Fixing her with an intent gaze, my eyes asked the question of her just as much as my words. A long silence passed before she looked away.
“You’re different, from the others.”
“Me? Or Romans?”
“You, whatever your name is. You’re different.”
“How so?”
“You say what you think of men, and you mean it. Not the men that you know or men that you hate, but all men. You know more than you think you do.”
I blinked in mild surprise, “Do I now? You’re the first to say so, but I would be careful about spreading such an opinion. I have enemies enough without needing more to attack my intellect.”
“To whom can I spread such thoughts to except my own kin? And who would they be to ‘attack your intellect’? We are just barbarian farmers and woodsmen to you. Where is the intellect and eloquence in that?”
“Stupid is the man who believes any to be stupid, except himself. Fool is the man who believes his enemy to be the fool.”
“Are we your enemy?”
“No, but one day long from now you will be, I’m sure, if I know my city, ravenous beast that she is,” I smiled grimly, mirthlessly.
“But that wasn’t the point, was it?”
“No, you have as much right to call us barbarian as we have of you. You know these lands and your people takes care of it. The cities of Latium are all well and good, and are a grand display of civilization and advancement, but will it be of true benefit to this world, I wonder. We live in buildings and streets of stone, and have done for so long that we do not know the feeling of earth on our feet and the sea breeze on our faces.”
“So why do you share this with me?”
“Why not? Does it matter? In fifty years time, we will more likely be dead as not. For every step that man takes on his journey to godliness, he takes one back on his journey to heaven.”
“How many people reckon you to be a wise man?”
“Do you?”
“I cannot say except that you seem it and sound it, even if you don’t look it.”
“Don’t I?”
“You look only just older than me, even if your chin is covered, and it is not even covered over-much.”
I snorted, amused at her insight.
“If only I was a wise man, perhaps one day I could earn myself a name. ‘Sapiens’, perhaps?”
“‘Sapiens’?” she was genuinely curious.
“It is the word ‘wise’ in Latin.”
“‘Sapiens’,” she repeated the word, “Will all men earn that name one day?”
“No, of course not,” I smiled again, this time sadly, “Even if they name themselves such, such a name will never be earned by all.”
“Why not?”
“What do you think?”
She regarded me for several moments before answering, “Man is a race whose existence can be summarised in one word.”
“Entropy?”
“I was thinking of ‘spiral’, but I know what you say,”
“‘Spiral’?”
“Going around and around in a circle of destruction and creation, but nearing a point from which we cannot return.”
“A grim picture you paint of our future, though looking at the history even of Rome, our desire to conquer and destroy will be the end of humanity, or at least Rome.”
“Do you not think it a folly to share such an opinion of your own land with me?” she grinned ever so slightly.
“Yes, of course I do,” I grinned back, “But I am both stupid and a fool.”
“That is what you say. What are you really?”
“I am a son of Rome, and thus her servant, bound by her laws, gods and necessities. Nothing more.”
“What of ‘nothing less’?”
“Should Rome decide I am less, then I am less.”
“And what is Rome?”
“The Senate.”
The two of us were silent for several minutes, and I was suddenly shocked about just how much I had shared.
“A perfect realist: I’ve never met one,” there was a small glint of something more as she said that, “before.”
“I’m no realist, just a man who doesn’t know how to hold his tongue around a pretty face.”
She looked a little crestfallen that something had just come to an end.
“Anyway, what of you? If we were to return you to your home, would that suit you?”
“On what condition?”
“Any that you wish, so long as I can fulfil it, or petition to try.”
“What guarantee can you give?” she tried to bring it back.
“Me? None, of course.”
“Then why offer it?”
“At least I’m being honest...”
“Yes, you are, which is more than many other ‘liberators’ have been, which is why you are so different. Though the Carthaginians said nothing but to forewarn us of their coming.”
“That they would conquer and subdue,” it was not a question, “before taking you against your will and the will of your family,” I stood, and tried to remember that I was a soldier of Rome, “I will not honey my words with you, I know that you are a noble of these people, and no doubt you will serve well towards a diplomatic end.”
“You are sorry, aren’t you?” she nodded slightly, “Already, I am a means towards a diplomatic end.”
“Where do you call home?”
“Turiaso.”
I was not sure whether I wanted to smile or scream, though the politician within me knew that Allucius was going to be quite a catch for our efforts to take Spain.
“Very well, then, my Lady Keynea.”
She gave me a look of surprise, just as the doors opened, and as though the gods fated it, a few tribunes walked in.
“Ah, Gaius!” Torquatus laughed, “Leaving Publius with seconds are we?”
I stood up and laughed with him, before seizing his wrist and gripping it tightly.
“Keep up the pretence, tribune, this girl could very well decide the future of this war.”
“Oh come, sir, she’s free game, isn’t she?” another tribune, whose name I ‘forgot’, smirked, obviously still drunk.
He took a step towards Keynea, and I moved in front of him, grinning broadly, falsely.
“Stay back or lose a limb,” I laughed, before, “Choose!” I barked suddenly.
Sneering down the remaining officers, they left, some of them lurching out of the room, asking what this was all about. I spied Drusus as he passed in the hallway.
“Drusus!” I shouted, “Get in here!”
“Hmmm, I see you’re decidedly more lucid than the remainder of our brothers-in-arms,” he smiled thinly, sitting down, regarding the girl, “Not yours, surely.”
“No, she wasn’t, and isn’t!” I snapped, “Excuse me.”
“Yes, interesting,” he muttered, “Anyway, what did you want me for?”
“I need a number of letters sent,” I said in a low voice, so that Keynea could not overhear.
“You? Or Publius?”
“Does it matter?”
“No… so? Who to?”
“The Lusones at their capital and Allucius at the Arevaci court.”
“That’s his fiancée?” his voice was measured, and he did not even glance at her.
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“All the other Lusoni nobles that we know of that were taken were either men or wives. Keynea alone was under twenty when the Carthaginians started their punitive actions to keep them under heel. The others are matriarchs of one capacity or another, you’re the one who found that out for Jove’s sake.”
“Careful, brother.”
“I’m keeping my voice down, aren’t I?”
“Does Staff know?”
“What has he been up to the last half-day?”
“Cooped up in the throne room with a small harem.”
“Exactly.”
He paused to think for a while, “Alright, but we’ve got to move quickly.”
“There’s a reason I’m not elucidating here, you know.”
Drusus smirked, before hurrying out.
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