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True to his word, Caecina went directly to the open meadow where Sevola was teaching his men the fine art of dueling. Wooden swords were the weapons of choice- handmade and crude, but twice the weight of a real gladius. The shields were ramshackle constructions of planks and straps, but they functioned well enough under the battering. Nearby, however, were the real things.

“Praetor!” cried Sevola upon identifying his visitor. “Back so soon?”

“Your men were seen,” Caecina warned his centurion. “Rumors reached the ears of the nobles, who assumed you were bandits preparing to strike here. I told them it was the militia training to keep just those kinds of bandits away.”

“Militia,” laughed Sevola. “I like that.”

“I like it too,” Caecina said with a smile. “And they endorsed it. You are now the official commander of the Caerean Militia. Coordinate your training schedules with Plautius- you will find that he will support your initiative and keep his mouth shut. He may even try to get you some armor and swords for those lacking, like his benefactor did with the Urban Cohorts.”

“The fire brigade and head-knockers?”

Caecina nodded. “The very same. It seems Domitianus has taken them under his wing, giving them new equipment, better armor, and decent training- by a combination of gladiators and centurions.”

Sevola turned deathly still. “The Urbans training for war, while the Praetorians are spread throughout the peninsula. This is not good.”

Caecina saw where that could lead and agreed. “We might have to move you closer to Rome. Domitian can move quick when he wants to, and I think things are shaping up to give him an opportunity. You’ll have to leave a century or so here, to keep up appearances and give the yokels Plautius sends you some work.”

“Three cohorts of souped-up headknockers, against our boys? It will be close, lord.”

“Our boys will not be alone,” Caecina reminded him. “As long as there are Praetorians loyal to Vespasian in Rome, we will support them. I have been working hard to earn favor with Vespasian, and it is finally paying off. My future under Titus, when it comes his time to reign, will likewise be bright. Domitianus as Imperator scares the shit out of me.”

Sevola remembered the attempts of Domitian to gain military support from Mucianus. He failed, but kept trying. That made a lot of men wonder, including Sevola. Why would a young man of his intelligence want to take command of the only army in Italia away from the man who just made the lad’s father Imperator? Nothing good could come of the takeover, but a lot of bad could. Purges, massacres, slaughtering of opponents and their families... He could pick up where Primus left off. Or try to make himself Imperator. Sevola shivered. “That scares me too, lord. We’ll be ready, and loyal. To Vespasian and yourself- but none other.”

“We both serve Rome,” Caecina added, borrowing a quote he heard Eprius mention once. “as does Vespasian.” Then he added with a snarl, “But his youngest whelp serves only himself.”

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Titus Piscius had no intention of putting in at Colonia. He had had a pleasant cruise down past Vetera to Noviomagus, then back to Vetera for resupply. After finishing replenishing his water and food, he faced a long, hard trip upriver to Mogontiacum. Colonia was a good resting place, but that insufferably arrogant ass ruling the place got on his maritime nerves.

The sight on the docks, however, as he passed made him change his mind. Rutilius himself was waving him over. That decided the fleet captain, who smiled broadly. He signaled the other ships in his squadron to make to port. The square sails dropped and the rowers took up a new rhythm. The ships pulled smartly into line upon the quay.

“Nice seeing you again, Marcus,” the fleet captain said as he hopped onto the quay.

“We need a ride,” the quaestor said bluntly. “You provide the best service for the money.”

The fleet captain laughed. He turned to Roscius, “Last time I ferried his boys about, he paid us five hundred denarii. The boys are still talking about the party we had afterward.” Then to Rutilius, “Where to this time?”

Rutilius explained the situation concerning Calvus and the legions quickly, which entailed explaining a bit about Clemens as well. The old sea dog turned vicious.

“That old bastard... A legion against a defenseless city?” Piscius cursed. “And all the praetorians gone? I don’t see how I can help so much, though whatever I can do, I will.”

“I have sixty men with me, and Roscius,” Rutilius said. “We need to get around Calvus and his two legions. Can you do that?”

“Sure,” Piscius said easily. “Father Rhenus is not at his best south of Mogo, especially with the spring floods coming down out of the mountains. But he can take our boats all the way to Argentorate if needs be.”

“Think of Clemens as Imperator, and what he would do to remain as Imperator.”

Piscius remembered tales of previous hostile takeovers. Galba slaughtered the Neronian supporters, Otho those of Galba, and Vespasian those of Vitellius. Each new Imperator climbed into the throne over piles of corpses belonging to the other side, except Vitellius, who only slew the slayers of Galba. He doubted Clemens would show the mercy of Vitellius. He was a Cornelius- he would follow Sulla’s way. He shivered.

“Needs do be,” he said. “But that bastard has a legion- you but sixty men. How do you intend to stop him?”

“We have our ways,” Roscius said confidently. “You get us to Argentorate. We’ll do the rest.”

“I have sixty Batavians,” Rutilius answered, in a less aggressive tone than the arcanus. “and a horse farm near Argentorate. Eight hundred head of horse there, most of them in training for sale to the auxilia who always seem to need fresh, young horses. They are mountain bred as well.”

“The Via Mala was hit bad during the winter,” Piscius reminded him. “The passes may not be open. You’d do better to hoof it over to Augusta Vindelicorum and take the Pass of Brennus down to Ravenna. Better road, you’ll make better speed.”

“Clemens has been awarded a triumph,” Rutilius reminded him. “He will not be alone with his legion- he will have many wagons displaying the glory of his conquest. He will take the Brennus Pass. I want to get ahead of his legion, not run into its rearguard.”

“Good point,” the fleet captain admitted. “The Via Mala will cut at least a week, more likely two, from your voyage. If it is not snowed under.”

“We had a hard winter, meaning we are going to have a lovely summer,” Roscius said. He pointed to the open sky above. ”This weather here, if it is echoed in the mountains, means the passes are open.”

Piscius nodded. “The floods are higher than normal for this time of year,” he admitted. “You have yourself a ride.”

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Short update this time, because the next one will be much longer.

[This message has been edited by Terikel Grayhair (edited 07-02-2012 @ 03:32 AM).]

At the time of the last comment, just this tale. However I havent got work for a few days so i will get cracking on the original tale of the saga

If only I can advance time to next Monday.

Another excellent update, Terikel, can't wait till next Sunday/Monday

Cannot WAIT for the next installment because your extended chapters have been some of your greatest work.

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The Via Mala was indeed open. It was wet, lined with slush, and had some mud splattered on its surface, but it was indeed open. And it was patrolled.

Roscius and Rutilius found this out the hard way. The party of sixty-two had disembarked near Argentorate, bought two wagons for the transport of their saddles and gear, then raced on foot the twenty miles to where Rutilius owned a horse farm. It was no trouble to cut sixty two horses from the herd and break them to the saddle- not with Batavians at hand. They lost a day, but gained mountain horses worthy of battle. A quick trip back to the town the next day saw rations and bedding arranged, and then they were off.

Shortly after their departure, they ran into a patrol of cavalry. Rutilius was in his merchant’s mail, while Roscius was in his Suevi garb. At that distance, the party looked like a warband of Germanics- and numerous enough to warrant the attention of a quarter-ala of good Greek cavalry. The Greeks came up behind the small detachment with a few turmae that had slipped around, then charged with the main force when the Germans turned at the ruckus. It would have been the end of the small band right there had it not been for the light blue pennants on the Greek lances.

“Ianias!” cried Roscius. “Halt your charge, you buggering Greek fool!”

The horsemen slowed, and at a signal from their commanding decurion, halted and lifted their lances.

“Ah, It is you, Roscoe,” said Ianias as if still in disbelief. “What brings you here along this road with such a warband of hostiles at your back?”

“Not hostiles, my friend. My escort,” the arcanus replied. “This is Marek, a merchant, and his men. I hired them to ensure I get to Mediolanium in one piece. I heard there was a bandit problem south of the Hills.”

“That is why we are here, too,” the cavalry decurion answered with a nod. “Bandits and brigands- the bane of the civilized world. And to prevent travelers from getting themselves killed on the road. The road, Roscoe, she is broken, we are told. Travelers to the south are advised to go east to the Pass of Brennus, or west through Augusta Praetoria Salassorum.”

“How does one break a road?” Dieter asked. He joined Roscius and Rutilius in discussion with the Greek officer.

Ianias shrugged. “I am no engineer. I was ordered to keep the travelers away for their own safety. This I do.”

“Who ordered this?”

“Legatus Calvus, of course,” Ianias replied with a smile. “He’s a good man. Do you know what he did once he assumed command from Clemens? He let the old man go a week away with four cohorts of the XIV Gemina, then he used the remaining six cohorts and all of us auxiliaries to sweep through the quay district of Mogo. You should have seen it, Roscoe. Those hard-asses there, the criminals? They flee like rats from a burning ship. He cleaned the place up right good- nobody gonna do to him what happened last time Clemens left the city and Catullus got himself burned up. He made the city proper!”

“So why are you here, in the middle of nowhere watching a broken road?”

“Mogo got quiet. Then the rumors start. The boys in the north- the ones who got humiliated last summer- were making noises. They are not pleased that our general got a triumph for his conquest while they did all the hard work by luring the tribes north. They made our success possible with their sacrifice, but got shit upon for it while our general goes to Rome with much booty. So they are angry men, those northern lads, and may come south to put their own buffoon upon the throne. Calvus, a loyal and good man, puts the legions in the field to stop them, if they try anything.”

“That still doesn’t tell me why you are here, and not up north keeping an eye out for movement. You are light cavalry, Ianias. Scouts. Scouts should be scouting, not playing tourist duty.”

“Public service,” Ianias said with a broad smile. “The road is broken. We try to tell people going south. There is another patrol to the south of the Hills, telling people headed north the same thing- go to the Pass of Brennus, or go over Salassorum. Besides, if the boys in the north did want to come south, I would not want to be among those who stop them. I hear their generalis- not that ape Cordinus, the other one- is very good. He dreamt up a legion out of thin air and attacked two hundred thousand Germani and won. I don’t want to face that kind of man. Neither do my boys.”

“I shall consider myself warned,” Roscius said with a solemn nod. “But no broken road is going to stop me. My guard and I are riding mountain-bred horses who need no road. No wagons, no hassle.”

Ianias shrugged. “You are an arcanus, Roscoe. You go where you want.”

Roscius thanked his Greek friend again, then led off the way. Rutilius fell in beside him, while Dieter remained to watch the Greek half-ala resume its stations along the hillside and forests. Then he rode to catch up to Rutilius.

“Two hundred thousand?” Roscius said with a laugh. “Next they will be thinking you Marius reborn.”

“Sixty five thousand,” Dieter retorted, “and we had four legions come to help. But yes, they are right to be fearful- the Batavian horses would grab those little ponies of theirs and rape them heartily while our riders strike theirs from their little square saddles.”

He faced Rutilius. “They are resuming their station,” he reported. “It looks like at least their commander thinks he was telling the truth.”

“It has begun,” Roscius said with a bitter tone of resentment. “The army is being turned against those who could stop Clemens. Just like we thought, only now we have proof. How much do you want to bet this road is not ‘broken’, nor are there any patrols in the south warning those headed north?”

“If Clemens was smart, he would burn a bridge or two,” Rutilius replied. “That would indeed ‘break’ the road. No traffic up or down, and only long roundabout ways.”

“He’d have to do a lot more than that,” Roscius corrected. “Stone does not burn. He’d have to hammer them out.”

“Interesting...” was all Rutilius has to say to that.

They climbed further into the mountains before stopping at a mansio near the top of the climb. The imperial postal station was deserted, giving testimony to the words of the Greek. While the people were gone, the supplies for the postal riders were still present. Dieter oversaw the restocking of the party’s supplies while Roscius scoured the place for clues. Rutilius watched him with a slightly scornful look.

“You know, Roscoe,” he said after watching the arcanus search through a pair of cupboards and cabinets. “This place has been deserted for no more than two weeks.”

Roscius turned and put his hands on his hips. “And when were you going to tell me this?”

Rutilius shrugged in his chair. “Not officially closed, mind you. Otherwise we would have been informed. But look about.”

“That is what I was doing,” the arcanus reminded him.

“No, you were looking in, and searching through. That is not the same. Look about you.” Then he sighed. “Listen, my wife has an exceptional memory. And she is very adept at noticing things.”

Roscius, who had been on the needle end of her noticing and remembering, agreed.

“She has been teaching me a few tricks. It is tiring, these things she does naturally, but they do work. For example, this station. No news from Rome that this is closed, right? There is an even layer of dust across the tabletops and counters, with uneven layers by the windows. The thickness is consistent with a fortnight’s accumulation. Thus this place has not been in use for two weeks.”

Roscius agreed with the assessment, now that he noticed the dust. “Okay, genius. I’ll buy that. But can you notice why the stationmaster is absent, and why no others have come through this way?”

“One cannot notice something that is not there,” Rutilius said. “But I see no blood or signs of struggle. Best guess- the stationmaster noticed traffic drying up and went down to the next station to see what was up or to order supplies. Or, having been told that ‘the road was broken’ went to Vindonissa to pass on his list of supplies. Maybe he was slain there, or died enroute, or is having a good time. Either way, he is not here.”

“And traffic from the other direction? From over the mountains?”

Rutilius shrugged. “This is not called the ‘Bad Road’ for nothing. Maybe with the fall of the Agri Decumates, the imperial post decided to go through the Pass of Brennus- it is now faster and safer than this road. With this road’s dangerous gorges and chasms, it might seem better to go another route- and safer, now that there is a road between the Pass and Argentorate.”

That made sense.

“Plus I noticed on the way in that the barn door was locked from the outside, but that a shutter over one of the windows was broken. The barn was empty.”

Roscius sagged and sank down into a chair. “This place was emptied then abandoned.”

Rutilius agreed. “Duly shut down until needed again.”


A few days later they came to a stone bridge spanning one of the deepest chasms the flatland Batavians had ever seen. Rutilius dismounted in the middle of the bridge, and motioned Roscius to do the same. Dieter and Amalric dismounted as well. Rutilius moved to the edge of the bridge and looked over the waist-high parapet keeping traffic on the road.

“See those bones down there to the right?” he asked the arcanus.

Roscius leaned over and saw some white specks below.

“Those are the bones of two mules,” Rutilius continued. “That green-grey mass beside them are the lichen-covered remains of the wagon the mules were pulling. Two men died when that wagon rolled off the bridge six years ago. Their graves are further to the right.”

Roscius leaned further over to see the gravestones. Then he got a much closer look when rough Batavian hands lifted his legs and dangled him over the edge.

“I told you before, I notice things,” Rutilius said conversationally. “And I remember, just as does my wife. I noticed in a report last winter that traffic along this route would be delayed for a week or so. That was last winter. You claim to be an arcanus who was working on the Suevii side of the river, spying. Yet you knew this bridge was stone, whereas I knew it to be wood up to at least two winters past. So tell me, Roscius. How does an arcanus working the far side of the Rhenus know about a new stone bridge in the Alps?”

Roscius was in a panic. Always leery of heights, he was now suspended above one of the deepest chasms he ever saw, and it was growing deeper by the second. His only lifeline was the hands of the barbarians holding his feet. He prayed his boots were tied tight this day. “Reporting! I came back to report to the prefect! Found him in Mediolanium. I swear by Jupiter and Wotan and whoever!”

“And then you went back to Germania to lead Titus Sabinus about?” Rutilius asked. His voice was laden with disdain. “You were in Chatti lands- that was where you saw the Chatti and Suevi moving north. So said now-Centurion Scato of the First Brittorum Auxilia Cohort when we were locked up in Vetera together. He said the legions would be on their way, because an arcanus came across and headed south. And you are familiar with Segestes, a Suevi prince who lived near the Chatti lands- far from the Agri Decumates where you were leading Sabinus. It does not make sense. So talk. And the truth please.”

“Orders,” Roscius said, gagging. His face was flushed bright red, and his eyes so wide they seemed to bulge. “From Titus himself. Find the traitor.”

Rutilius jerked his head to Dieter and Amalric. The two Batavians heaved the spy back onto the bridge, but held him fast as Rutilius disarmed him.

“You did not mention you were on imperial business,” Rutilius said reproachfully. “And with Clemens being the big hero, it must have been too easy for you to follow his direction to investigate me. He neatly side-tracked you and got you out of his hair, which in turn allowed him to complete his plans for his triumph. You were rather stupid to play into his hands-”

“You do not have to rub it in, lord,” the arcanus said, regaining his feet and his dignity. “I was played, and played well. But it took more than the words of a governor to get me onto your case. I am not that naive. And I did find that traitor- at least one of them.”

“Oh?” asked Rutilius. “Do tell. It must have been sometime between when you rode north over this stone bridge and when you joined Titus Sabinus. I can account for your whereabouts thereafter.”

“No, you cannot,” Roscius said grimly. “There are still things you do not know.”

Rutilius looked at the guard rail then again at Roscius. The meaning was clear. Roscius understood.

“I tracked the traitor to Catullus,” Roscius said, resigning himself to tell the full truth. “His name was eerily similar to that of a trading partner of mine, one who died in Mogontiacum five or six years ago. German arrow through the throat. His name was Caius Laurentius Catullus, and he was an honest merchant, as far as that goes. The postmaster in Mogontiacum is an obdurate fool who has since become corrupt as well. When he saw the letters for Laurentius Catullus, he forwarded them to Lutatius Catullus. Whether he did this intentionally or mistakenly I do not know.”

“Intentionally,” Amalric said. “Laurentius was dead, as you said. One does not forward the post to a dead man- one returns it to the sender.” To the look of surprise on the face of the arcanus, he added, “I served some time as a postal rider, back in the day when this was a wooden bridge with no railings.”

While Amalric spoke, things gelled in the mind of Rutilius. The apparent compassion shown when Burgis died, the timing of the attack, the admission that he had found the traitor- or so he had thought. The abuse of his dead friend’s name- and probably the loss of more than a few friends due to the traitor’s actions.

“You killed Catullus, didn’t you?”

Roscius nodded. “His crap killed a lot of good friends of mine. I was not about to let him escape justice by hiding behind legal walls and friends in high places. But he did not die by my knife alone- I first poisoned him with snake venom in his wine.”

“Viper venom needs to be injected, not ingested,” Dieter responded. “Drinking it does not kill.”

“Mix it with some other stuff and it can cause a hell of a stomach ache,” Roscius replied. He winked at Rutilius, “One really can learn a lot of useful stuff from the women of Germania, eh? Anyway, my intention was not to kill him. It was to interrogate him. So I slipped away from Sabinus on the pretext of checking on the road surveyors and made my way to Mogontiacum where I poisoned his wine then waited for the cramps to start.”

“And his slaves?”

“Same trick, different poison,” Roscius replied. “I dosed their food with a powder used to make their sleep very deep. Elephants could have crashed through the house and they would have slept through it, much less be awoken by the screams of their lord.”

“So his cramps started,” Rutilius said. “And then?”

“And then I offered some water, which I knew would dilute the venom for a time until the stomach absorbed the water. I used his pain as a prod, offering him water to lessen the pain if he spoke. And he did talk after a while. He named you and Helvidius as conspirators, then added two senators- Caecina and Mallius. Caecina served here- I doubt he would want his boys killed, plus he is a political exile- he gains nothing. Catullus said the plan started with a comment from him, whether it was meant as treason or not was unclear. Mallius was a nobody, a back row senator who never said a word in the senate.”

“Leaving Helvidius and me,” Rutilius concluded.

“Leaving you,” Roscius corrected. “I knew Helvidius, roundabouts. He was the patron of Burrius, who hooked me up with Laurentius Catullus, another client of Helvidius. Helvidius had contact with Laurentius, but it was always pure business. The man was a republican who wanted to restore the republic, but he was not a miserly man, nor a thug. He wanted to do it honorably- through the senate. Laurentius and I had a good thing going here until the Batavian Revolt. Then it all came crashing down- our entire set-up was gone, our company killed off one by one. Accidents, battle, siege. In the end, only Sollus and I were left- and we became arcani when post riding became tedious and boring. So when Catullus thought he was dying and named you, I figured he was not lying. That made it easy to believe the words of the big hero Clemens- you were dirty. So I investigated.”

“But first you killed Catullus.”

“But first I killed Catullus,” Roscius repeated. “He admitted to treason; I merely saved Rome the expense and embarrassment of a trial.”

“And you would have done the same to me,” Rutilius added.

“Had I found anything, yes,” Roscius admitted. “But you were clean. Catullus broke a cardinal principle of questioning under my poison- that dying men do not lie.”

“Horseshit,” laughed Rutilius and Dieter together. “Dying men will say what you want to hear, or whatever they think will end the pain.”

Roscius grimaced. “I didn’t think of that before. I asked for names, he gave me names. I assumed he was telling the truth, based on that saying.”

“He incriminated me because I had thwarted his plans, twice now,” Rutilius replied. “How better to rid his friends of my presence than to denounce me in such a situation to an imperial agent? You bought it. So would others.”

“Makes sense,” Roscius said. “And when Clemens confirmed the allegation, I believed it. Two sources saying the same. Is that not what you do, Rutilius? Hear, confirm, then act?”

Rutilius smiled and handed Roscius back his weapons. “Mostly,” he said. “Sometimes one simply has to act.”

Roscius belted on his sword. “Like just now?” He gestured to the bones below.

“No,” Rutilius replied evenly. “That was hear, confirm, act. I heard your tale and found the holes, confirmed that you were dirty, and acted to find out how. You came out clean.”

“I murdered a serving magistrate,” Roscius said. “You know that now. Keeping it a secret makes you as much a felon as me now.”

“You stepped on a cockroach,” Rutilius said with a wolfish grin. “And did Rome a service. I am going to kill Gnaeus Cornelius Pinarius Clemens with the very dagger that took the life of my beloved wife, a personal vendetta. So we are both felons. Now we do Rome another service, while she is yet the city we both love. Let us ride.”

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Good to see Rosicus and Rutillus make up.

I wonder if they can save Rome from Clemens in time!

I was really pleased when Rutilius almost had Roscius murdered... I love sudden twists... Another amazing chapter, Terikel. Keep it up

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It was a busy day in the Forum Romanum. Today was the third market of the month for the Forum, and both slaves and free citizens were thronging to it with the last of the rain disappearing up into the hills beyond. Among those coming to select the choicest of foods and items was a small Attic woman with chiseled features and unusually pale hair. Her complexion beneath was so white that one could mistake her for an albino, but the brown of her eyes dispelled that notion quickly, leaving men thinking her more a witch than and slave. After the initial assessment, most men left her alone and avoided looking at her lest she curse them with some awful ailment, which was why she was often chosen to do the shoppings.

Calliope stopped at her usual place after acquiring the items her master’s cook ordered, and surveyed the crowd. She loved market days, where she could spend the pittance her master allowed her own what she wanted. Not many slaves were chosen to leave the house, but she was always one of them. She reached up to stretch her aching muscles before picking up her load and moving back up towards the Aventine. None noticed that the small wooden booklet that had been in her palm was no longer there. Or at least so she thought.

Tuvio noticed. He had begun crossing the market to where the witch was standing the second she raised her weary arms to stretch. He had his attention riveted on the spot, thus did not see the feet before him which suddenly lunged from the mass of the crowd surrounding him. He tripped and fell, then bounced up with fire in his eyes as he sought out the fool who would so deliberately rouse his rage.

He saw nothing but a crowd parting and a fleet-footed thief running hurriedly toward the Quirinal. Obviously the culprit. Tuvio set out at a run to teach the fool a lesson he shall not soon forget.

Behind him, Potius watched Calliope turn and start heading toward the Aventine. He watched as she disappeared from view, then turned his gaze to the rostrum where one of his fellows stood. The man began to scratch his knee as if bitten by a mosquito, which was the signal that Potius may move unhindered. He did.

The eaves had a little shelf built into them to hold the tiles in their place. Upon this little shelf his fingers found a small tablet. He scooped it up and disappeared into the alleys behind the store. There he noticed the outside was plain and the seal on the clasp. He laughed, and with his knife cut the seal from its place.

Inside was a short summary of several men. He recognized the names as prominent ones, as well as what they were doing and when they would be closing deals. Typical merchant drivel- hardly worth killing over, yet Mephis had done exactly that. He studied the names quickly, and what details he could before pressing the backside of the seal to the roof-tile above. The stone had been baking all morning; it was more than hot enough to melt some of the wax seal. Potius pressed it quickly to the tablet, completing the resealing and hurried to put the thing back before Tuvio had caught the lad he was chasing. He hoped Irianus was as fast on his feet and he was with them.

The lookout on the rostrum was now lounging against one of the ship’s beaks. All clear was the signal. Potius returned the tablet to its hiding place and eased through the crowd.


“Sextus Nomillus will be closing a deal with Publius Cottius of Napoli the day after tomorrow,” Potius recounted, remembering verbatim the first paragraph of the tablet. “They will be meeting in Tarracina, just down the road form here, where Nomillus will hand over the price of his purchase.”

“Was there anything else?” Caecina asked his slave.

“Another entry spoke of Stilius Nobilis, and another of Aurelius Fulvus. Something about an update. Oh,” the ex-gladiator remembered, “and it was sealed. A feeding dolphin.”

Caecina sat back, pleased. Gotcha! “It was a shame you did not simply steal the thing,” he said. “I would have liked to have that as evidence.”

“Begging my lord’s pardon, but no you would not want it,” Potius said. He had figured it out, just as his lord had, but took it a step further. “If you had it, then the information would only be useful to another merchant prince. If they have it, and you know, you can see what senator Mallius does with the information. It is like eavesdropping, or reading his post- you will know what he knows, but without him knowing.”

Caecina smiled. A plan began to form, using the gleaned information. “You have done extremely well, Potius. We will indeed read this nefarious post, preferably without the knowledge of those involved. Make it happen.”

Potius bowed, waiting patiently despite the implied dismissal. He was not disappointed.

“I am to have a visitor tonight,” Caecina announced, “but I will be too busy with these revelations to entertain her properly. If you would like, you may entertain her in my stead. Consider a treat for a job thoroughly well done.”

Potius beamed. Tonight it would be Fannia, his favorite. His good luck just kept on coming…


A few hours later, Caecina barely heard his slave driving Fannia into new heights of pleasure as he sorted through his desk yet one more time. Buckets lay strewn about, their contents splayed across the oaken surface of his table and across the mosaic of his floor. It has to be here! As Fannia reached her climax, so did Caecina. He pulled the elusive scroll from under the cabinet where it had rolled and opened it. There, at the bottom, were two seals. One was a feeding dolphin, the other an official Bull signet, but both belonged to the same man. Caecina himself had seen the second added to the first while the man himself confirmed both were his.

I have your rotten ass now, he thought triumphantly. Finally, you made a mistake!

It was well worth the price of missing out on Fannia’s fantastic figure, for the pleasure the scroll will give will last far longer any anything Fannia could deliver.

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After the chasm, the road started tipping downhill. A day later, they came to another mansio, likewise abandoned. But the next day, they came to a third- and this one was occupied.

Rutilius gestured to Roscius to lead the way, then followed him with a squad of Batavians. He let Roscius do the talking, in case he needed to be ‘Marek the Merchant’ instead of Rutilius the quaestor. As it was, his identity did not matter. The five men in the small common room were being served by a sixth when the travelers entered.

“Head back south,” said the man serving the food to his colleagues. “The road is closed.”

“No it ain’t,” Roscius replied. “I and my party here just came over it.”

“You came here from the north?” asked one of the seated men. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the gloom, Roscius could make out the clothing of the men. These were the station-keepers of the abandoned mansios.

“He’s smart,” Roscius said to Rutilius. He faced the men again. “Imperial agent Gaius Roscius. My escort and I are headed to Rome. A detachment of cavalry told us the road was closed. Broken, their officer put it. But it was just fine.”

“I was ordered to close up shop and spread the word south,” said one of the seated men, now rising. “An imperial agent told me the roadbed had been wiped away in an avalanche of mud with the spring thaw. He would send word when the legionaries had repaired it.”

Roscius fished out a metal plaque. “Did he show you one of these?”

The station keeper shook his head. “He had a signed warrant from the governor, just as good.”

“You have been lied to. The road is fine- just patrolled by cavalry. With your abandoning the way-stations, the road was effectively closed- except to those who had their own supplies and shelter. Congratulations, you helped isolate Germania Superior from Rome. Worse- vice versa!”

“The legionaries who would repair the road are on their way to Rome now,” Rutilius added. “I take it they did not pass through here?”

The men shook their heads.

“They went over the Pass of Brennus,” Rutilius said with a sigh of relief. “We might catch them yet.”

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Here ends Part IX.

I will be away aviking for the next market interval, and thus will be offline Sunday and Monday. So I leafve you all with an early present.

The Eagle and the Wolf will resume in approximately one month, with Part X.

Thank you for the present. I await Part X with relish!

A very nice finale for this part, Terikel. Looking forward to the next one. BTW, good luck raiding the local market...