Steven Saylor - Rubicon

He noted the iron ring on my finger. "Who are you, citizen? What business do you have on this road?"

"My name is Gordianus. I'm traveling from Rome. Are you one of Caesar's men?"

"I'll ask the questions, citizen. Who are these others?"

"The driver comes with the wagon. I hired both from his master, at an inn on the other side of the mountains. We weathered a nasty storm, let me tell you. May the gods grant you fairer skies than we had."

"And these others?"

"Slaves. That one's a bodyguard, as you can tell by the look of him. A good thing I brought him along. We weren't a mile out of Rome when some bandits attacked us; would have killed us if they had the chance, I'm sure. But we haven't had a bit of trouble since."

"And the dark one?"

"Another slave. A philosopher. His name is Soscarides."

The scout looked at us disdainfully. He was the sort who had little use for civilians. "You still haven't stated your purpose for being on this road."

I looked at the copper band around his helmet and cleared my throat. He and his fellows had once been loyal to Domitius. Now he had sworn allegiance to Caesar- or so we presumed. What if we were wrong? What if Domitius's troops had turned on their new master? Caesar might be dead, for all we knew, and these troops might be marching back to Rome with his head on a stake. But I had to give the man an answer. I thought of the gamblers in the Salacious Tavern back in Rome, casting dice and crying "Caesar!" for luck, and I took a deep breath.

"I have a son in Caesar's service, on his personal staff. Soscarides here was the boy's tutor when he was young. Call me soft, but I can't stand the worry any longer- can't stand waiting idly in Rome for news. So here I am."

"You're looking for Caesar, then?"

"Yes."

The man looked at me sternly for a long moment, then came to a decision. He smiled." Just keep following the road then, citizen. You'll find him." His tone changed as completely as his face, like an actor putting aside a mask.

"At Brundisium? That's the rumor along the road."

He smiled but didn't answer. He was ready to be friendly, but not that friendly.

A second scout rode up. The two of them withdrew to the far side of the road and conferred, casting glances at us. The second scout rode on. The first returned. "You might as well get comfortable, if you can. You'll be here for a bit. Some troops will be marching past."

"Are there many?"

He laughed. "You'll see. I'll stay here with you until the head of the column arrives. No need for you to answer the same questions for my commander. He'll decide whether or not to cut your heads off." He grinned to let me know it was a joke.

I glanced at Fortex, who snorted to show that he wasn't impressed. Tiro looked calm- philosophical, even. The driver looked nervous.

The column came up through the pass. We saw horsehair-crested helmets first, then the officers who wore them, mounted atop magnificent chargers. They were followed by drummers. The steady tattoo of the marching beat reverberated between the steep hillsides. The officer wearing the helmet with the most elaborate crest signaled to the others to proceed while he broke from the column and cantered over to the wagon. A lion's head roared from the copper disk on his breastplate.

"Report!" he said to the scout, who saluted him crisply.

"A traveler from Rome and three slaves, cohort commander. The man's name is Gordianus."

The officer looked at me keenly. "Gordianus? Why does that sound familiar?"

"He says he has a son on Caesar's personal staff."

"Of course! Gordianus Meto, the freedman. I met him in Corfinium. So you're Meto's father, are you? You don't look a thing like him. But of course you wouldn't, would you? I'm Marcus Otacilius, cohort commander. What in Hades are you doing here?"

"I'm eager to see my son. Is he well?"

"Well enough when I last saw him."

"He's not with you, then? Is this not Caesar's army?"

"This is Caesar's army, yes. Every man you see has sworn allegiance to Gaius Julius Caesar. While Caesar tends to business down on the coast, he's dispatched these cohorts to Sicily, to secure his interests there."

It was exactly the sort of strategic decision that Caesar would make: not to immediately test the loyalty of troops acquired from a hostile general by throwing them into the chase after Pompey, but to post them elsewhere.

"My son is with Caesar, then? Where are they?"

Otacilius hesitated, then nodded to the scout. "Ride on. I'll handle this."

The scout saluted and galloped toward the head of the column. Soldiers poured through the pass in endless rows and proceeded up the mountain, winter cloaks thrown behind them like capes, scale armor glinting across their chests.

The officer smiled. "I don't suppose there's any harm telling you what Caesar's up to. He's already-"

The driver suddenly jumped from the wagon, spun about, and pointed at us. "They're lying!"

Otacilius's horse cantered skittishly, startled by the sudden movement. Even before he gave a signal with his hand, two rows of men broke from the passing column. In the space of a heartbeat, the wagon was circled by a ring of spears.

Otacilius regained control of his mount. He looked from me to the toothless driver. "What is this about?"

"They're lying!" The driver pointed at Tiro. "That one's up to something. My master back in Beneventum told me to keep an eye on him. He carries some sort of document with the seal of Pompey the Great."

The officer looked at me coolly. "Is this true?"

I felt hackles rise on the back of my neck. I opened my mouth, wondering how to answer.

Tiro spoke up. "Master, may I speak for myself?"

"Please do, Soscarides."

He addressed the officer. "That worthless driver is the liar! He and I have been quarreling ever since my master hired him from the stabler in Beneventum. He's got a grudge against me- thinks I have it too easy because I stayed dry while he was wet and miserable driving through the mountains. I think the cold must have settled in his brain. Give him a few lashes and see if he sticks to his tale!"

The driver's mouth formed a toothless circle of outrage. "No, no! They're all Pompey's men, I tell you. My master said so. He didn't like giving them the wagon, but he had to, on account of that document the lying one carries. Search him if you don't believe me!"

The officer looked genuinely distressed. He and I shared a bond of friendship, through Meto- but only if I was telling the truth about being Meto's father. "What do you have to say about this document… Gordianus?"

I looked at Tiro. "By Hercules, Soscarides, what is the slave talking about?"

Tiro looked back at me calmly. "I have no idea, Master. Let the officer search me, if it pleases him."

"I shall have to search you all, I'm afraid."

Otacilius confiscated our weapons first. Tiro and I each carried a dagger, and Fortex carried two. We were forbidden to leave the wagon while the soldiers sorted through our saddlebags. They found nothing of interest. Then we were made to stand in the wagon and strip off our garments, layer by layer.

"Our loincloths as well?" I asked, trying to play the outraged citizen.

"I'm afraid so," said Otacilius, wincing. He turned his head and caught some of the troops sniggering as they passed by. "Eyes straight ahead!" he barked.

I stood naked and held up my empty palms. "As you can see, cohort commander, I have nothing to hide. Nor do the two slaves."

Otacilius looked appropriately chagrined. "Return their clothing. What do you say to this?" he barked at the driver, who quailed in speechless confusion.

I felt better with my loincloth covering me. I pulled my tunic over my head. "I only hope, cohort commander, as compensation for this embarrassment, that you'll lend me adequate men… and appropriate utensils… to see that the lying driver is appropriately punished."