Sword of Rome: Standard Bearer (3 page)

“I knew his father Joseph,” Caesar remarked to
his manservant, a wizened Jew who had been part of the
Julii
household since before his birth. Although Joseph spent most of his time in
Rome, Caesar would occasionally have the cynical and dry-witted servant attend
him on campaign. “
Gneaus
Oppius
.
I remember Marius once saying that he was worth two cohorts.”

Joseph, who was just finishing up from shaving
his master and rubbing oils to his skin, thought to himself how it was unlikely
that Marius paid him the wages of two cohorts.

“Sulla once said about Caesar that he saw many
a Marius in me. I am hoping that similarly there is many a
Gneaus
Oppius
within his son. I could use a man like that
Joseph. But I fear I may be boring you with military matters my old friend.
Tell me, what do you think of Britain?”

“I’m not sure I’m the best person to ask. All
I’ve seen of it so far is a beach full of corpses and a forest at night. I’m
hopeful the sights will improve though. I confess that I prefer Rome. For one
thing it rains less. From what I’m told, everywhere rains less than here. I
also miss my wife - although I’m sure that I’ll be cured of any fondness I’m
feeling for her once I see her again.”

Caesar smiled. He always enjoyed his
conversations with his manservant. From an early age Joseph had used
humour
to temper his master’s seriousness, or he would
become serious whenever Caesar grew too flippant.

“I was confident that you’d somehow find a way
to contain your excitement about the campaign Joseph. But we are close to the
edge of the map here, writing a new chapter in the history of Rome,” Caesar
remarked whilst checking his hair and how his tunic hung in the large silver
mirror his manservant placed before him.

“Just make sure that your obituary’s not a
footnote in that history,” the Jew replied, unable to hide the worry and
affection he carried for his master. He had neither been blind to his flaws nor
greatness since an early age.

“Would you miss me then Joseph, as much as
your wife?” Caesar replied, touched and amused slightly by the sage old man’s
rare show of emotion.

“There are times when I miss my bouts
indigestion more than my wife sir, if that’s anything to go by. No, I’m more
concerned about being too old to break in a new master,” Joseph replied,
allowing himself a flicker of a smile as he packed away his jars of aromatic
oils.

Caesar let out a laugh.

“Some people might say I give you too much
licence
Joseph.”
 

“Ignore such people sir. Clemency is a fine
virtue, especially when displayed towards someone who holds a razor to your
throat each day.”

“You are as wise as your people’s Solomon
Joseph.”

“But not as rich,
unfortunately.”

“You wouldn’t know how to spend such wealth if
you had it.”

“No, but my wife would.”

Again Caesar laughed and again a flicker of a
smile could be seen upon the wrinkled, good-natured face of his old servant.
Partly, he was pleased to have cheered his master up. When he had first entered
his quarters this evening Joseph had witnessed Caesar anxiously reading and
replying to correspondence. Caesar had looked like he was about to fall off the
edge of the map.

7.

Lucius
Oppius
’
nerves increased when he
realised
that he would be
dining with Caesar alone. The soldier was far more comfortable holding a
gladius
than a conversation. He awkwardly stood before his
commander. Rain splattered upon the roof of the tent. Numerous lamps gave the
room – for all intents and
purposes
a
triclinium
, given its furnishings – a homely glow. Some
hours ago Caesar had looked every inch a General. Now, clad in a gleaming white
tunic bordered with purple, Caesar appeared every inch an aristocrat. Fine
wines and exotic foods adorned the table.
Oppius
also
recalled once seeing Caesar in Rome at the Forum, every inch the statesman,
dressed in a white toga, also bordered with purple. Despite his age, Caesar
looked as fit and virile as any young officer.
Oppius
could smell a woman’s perfume lingering in the air and he thought about his
commander’s reputation as a lover. Many a woman would just lie back, close her
eyes and think of Rome when with most statesmen, but not with Caesar. He acted
as if he were still in his prime – and perhaps he was,
Oppius
mused.

Caesar welcomed the centurion and clasped his
forearm in a Roman handshake.

“Firstly – and most importantly perhaps –
let’s get you a drink. I’m going to insist that you try the
falernian
.
You’ll thank me for it,” Caesar remarked, nodding to an attendant to pour a cup
of the vintage.

The wine and Caesar’s gregarious manner soon
helped
Oppius
relax and the centurion was flattered
to be asked his opinion about various matters of soldiering. Caesar again
thanked his newly promoted officer for his actions that day too.

“You captured my respect and loyalty today
Oppius
, as well that beach. You have earned my gratitude –
and a promotion. Your father was a standard bearer too, no? He would be proud
of you.”

Oppius
was shocked and intrigued to hear Caesar mention his father. It
seemed that it was only after his death that
Oppius
had started to get to know him, from stories from other legionaries. His father
had spent little time at home when
Oppius
was young.
He had resented back then how his father had devoted more time to the legion
than to his own wife and son. Yet now he understood just how much the legion
was its own family too, often full of orphans.

“I met and knew your father a little. I was
even there, with my uncle, on the day that he died in the arena. He fought
bravely, like a lion. Unfortunately his combatant was a snake.”

Gneaus
Oppius
had died during a gladiatorial
contest with a soldier from the Ninth Legion. The duel was meant merely to be a
display of arms between two champions, to fight for the
honour
of their legions. Yet
rumour
had it that
Gneaus
’ opponent had baited his sword with poison. What
seemed like a minor flesh wound at the time ultimately proved fatal.

“If you are just half the soldier that your
father was Lucius, then you’ll be twice as great a soldier as most.”

Oppius
was at a loss as to how to respond. Should he feel like he should
live in the shadow of his father, or have
him
serve as
an example of the kind of soldier he should be? Perhaps witnessing his guest’s
awkwardness Caesar changed the subject.

“There has been plenty of conjecture, both
back in Rome and among the men too I warrant, as to why I have come to this
island. It’s certainly not for the women. I did acquaint myself with one of
them however whilst in Gaul. She only spoke her native language but I
considered that a blessing. Most women, like children, should be seen and not
heard.
But back to the matter.
Some have judged that I
have travelled to Britain in order to mine its tin and assess the rest of its
natural wealth. Or – and in Cato’s eyes especially I dare say – I have invaded
this land merely to satisfy my vanity and a lust for glory. Or I am here
because of my love of pearls. Some have said that this is all a propaganda
exercise, to furnish me with some
colourful
anecdotes
for after dinner speaking. There is a grain or two or truth to all of these
theories Lucius, but what I’d like to talk to you about is another reason why I
have landed on this sodden isle.”

Caesar here leaned forward a little whist
couched upon a sofa, as
Oppius
involuntary did so too
- drawn in by his commander’s magnetism.

8.

“Several months ago I received intelligence
that one of our very own countrymen had landed upon these shores, charged with
the task to recruit warriors to aid Gaul in the fight against our forces.
Someone in Rome is conspiring against me. I do not lack enemies, nor am I
averse to making more of them if needs be. The report went on to say that the
agent possessed
a knowledge
of the language and a
chest filled with gold. As you may have
realised
the
number of Britons fighting in Gaul has increased over the past six months
Lucius. This man is proving to be a thorn in our side.”

The charm and warmth went out of Caesar’s
aspect as he spoke about the agent. His eyes were narrowed in scorn, his voice
cold.
Oppius
could not help but despise the
treacherous agent too, in sympathy.

“The latest intelligence from my own agents
suggests that he is recruiting among the tribes and villages in Kent, a region
not far from here. You are familiar with the British archer in our ranks?”

“Yes,”
Oppius
replied, with a part of him now wishing that he didn’t know the man. For the
centurion could sense what lay on the horizon.

“And he is familiar with this area and that of
Kent I believe. Do you trust him?”

“Yes,”
Oppius
again
replied, cursing his own honesty and
Teucer’s
trustworthiness. Every “yes” was like a nail in his own coffin, he fleetingly
thought.

The rain thrummed upon the roof of the tent
even louder and thunder rumbled in the distance. Bowls of squid, mushrooms,
quail eggs and honey-glazed slices of pork lay before him, but
Oppius
no longer felt hungry.

“Britain is far too hostile at present for me
to send a cohort out to track down this recruiting officer. No, less will prove
more. Two men will prove far more efficient than two hundred for the job ahead.
I mentioned earlier Lucius how I couldn’t quite figure out if you were mad or
lucky. Well I am now asking you to be mad and lucky. Mad enough to accept this
mission, not that you have much choice in the matter unfortunately. And I also
want you to be lucky enough to complete it,” Caesar remarked, popping an olive
into his mouth and smiling, as if amused by the shock that he had just inspired
in his centurion.

“And should I locate the agent,”
Oppius
remarked.

“Ideally I would like you to capture the rogue
and bring him back to me, but failing that – kill him,” Caesar replied, whilst
grinning in an altogether different manner. “You have my blessing to torture
him too, in order to extract the names of his employers out of him.”
 

Oppius
finished the remainder of his blood-red wine. The
falernian
was a world away from the watered-down acetum he
was used to drinking. Perhaps Caesar had opened the vintage as he suspected
that it would be the soldier’s last good meal.
Oppius
thought how his father was considered a legend within the legion. He would now
be making history too, Lucius grimly joked to himself, as the shortest ever
serving officer with the legion. Promoted one day, killed the next.
 

9.

After listening to Caesar run through some
finer points of the mission the centurion was finally dismissed, with the
General insisting that he take the remaining food and wine from the table and
give it on to his unit. The rain abated not as
Oppius
made his way from Caesar’s tent back to his own. Yet getting wet was the least
of the soldier’s problems. Never mind the rain, life was shitting upon him, he
judged. He recalled one of Caesar’s last comments. Either he should return
having completed his mission – or not bother returning at all. Caesar could
display both warmth and a steely coldness within the space of a sentence.

Rather than try to soften the blow for
Teucer
by giving him a measure or two of
falernian
first
Oppius
recounted
his meeting – and disclosed their imminent mission – as soon as he returned.

“With friends like you, who needs enemies?”
the archer exclaimed, filling the air with curses – in Latin and his native
tongue. “It’s a suicide mission, at best. Can we not somehow get out of it?”

“Caesar’s not one to take to take no for an
answer,”
Oppius
replied, shaking his head. The
centurion recalled how his co-consul,
Bibulus
, once
tried to defy Caesar during their term in office. Caesar bullied and humiliated
his colleague to such an extent - at one point even stooping to dump excrement
over his fellow consul -
that
Bibulus
remained in his house for the rest of the year. The people had called it “the
consulship of Julius and Caesar”
,
such was his
dominance and will at getting his own way.

“And he wants just the two of you to head into
enemy territory and find this agent?”
Roscius
asked.
Part of him felt relief at being excluded, but part of him felt uneasy at not
being able to be there for
Oppius
.