John Roberts: Hannibal's children

Marcus took the oilskin-wrapped parcel and stripped off its cover. Within was a document sandwiched between two wooden leaves. On the outside of the leaves were the gilded letters SPQR, the abbreviation for "senatus populusque romanus," the Senate and People of Rome. It was the formula that embodied the Roman state and was placed on official documents, monuments and public property.

He untied the ribbon that bound the case and opened the leaves to reveal a single piece of parchment. Egyptian papyrus was hard to come by, and this bit of parchment had been scraped and reused so many times that it was almost transparent. His eyebrows rose as he read.

"What is it?" asked Publius Rutilius, another tribune but lower ranking. Other tribunes and senior centurions came close to hear. Little formality was observed in the north while campaigning in the field, even though discipline was otherwise the strictest imaginable.

"It seems I am to return to the capital," Marcus said. "I am required to report to the noble Senate for some sort of special assignment."

"What sort of special assignment?" asked Decimus Norbanus, another tribune and a member of the most prominent of the new families. He was blond as a German and taller than the tallest members of the old families.

"It doesn't say." Marcus showed them the parchment with its laconic message. "The Senate doesn't waste much ink on lowly tribunes."

"Who's to take command?" Rutilius asked.

"Norbanus," Marcus said. "He's senior. Until the Senate sends someone out to take command, he's in charge." He saw the satisfaction oozing over Norbanus's face. He didn't like the man, but he was competent to run things for a while, since the fighting was all over. "Decimus, get your things together and move into the praetorium. I'll be out within the hour."

"So soon?" Rutilius protested. "We should throw you a party, at least. Tomorrow will be soon enough."

"The Senate sent a special messenger," Marcus pointed out. "They want me there fast." He didn't point out that, should he tarry, Norbanus would get word back to Roma about his dilatory behavior. The Norbani were the most prominent of the new families in the Senate and controlled a huge plebeian voting bloc. They were implacable rivals to the old, aristocratic families exemplified by the Scipios.

While he packed, he pondered on the message. Special assignment could mean almost anything: an embassy, a commission of inspection, a committee to try out some new weapon or military tactic or camp arrangement, even to work on the ancient, onerous problem of designing an acceptable tent, one that was strong enough to keep out the weather, and light enough to transport easily. So far, only leather seemed to work, but it was hellishly heavy and strained a legion's transport facilities.

He put it from his mind. He'd learn what it was about when he got to the capital.

"I'll just take my traveling kit," he told Rufus. "You and the other slaves come along after in the wagon." Rufus had two boys to help him keep up the praetorium.

"Why not just sell those two good-for-nothings?" Rufus said.

"You can't drive the wagon all that way by yourself. Besides, nobody here would buy them except Norbanus or one of the itinerant slavers, and they'd pay all but nothing."

Rufus shrugged. "All right. But they'll be even less use in the capital than they are here."

It was late afternoon when Marcus tightened the last strap on his packhorse's harness. The animal carried his armor and shield, for the road back was safe enough, the enemy subdued and even the bandits all but exterminated. Roman justice did not tolerate disorder once imperium was established. Roman citizens and even newly absorbed barbarians deserved to pursue their livelihoods in peace, without fear. The cross stood as a constant reminder to any of a mind to take up their old predatory ways.

Even so, when he mounted, Marcus wore his sword and dagger belted to his side. Peacetime or no peacetime, he was not going to be a fool.

His friends and fellow officers gathered to bid him goodbye and they all vowed to get together sometime, perhaps at Saturnalia or the next Cerialis races, if duties should permit. Even Norbanus gave him a hearty handshake and he congratulated Norbanus on his new command. As he rode out, the legionaries lined up along the via praetoria and cheered him, raising their spears and shaking their shields. He was a popular commander. He had led them to victory and had gotten few of them killed.

As he left the camp, he fought down a sentimental lump in his throat. Most legionaries stayed with the same legion for their whole careers, but an officer's life was full of arrivals and departures. They held both civil and military offices, and were shuttled around as the Senate saw fit. Still, this had been his first command of a legion, and he would miss serving beneath the silver wolf standard.

A misty drizzle began before he was a mile from camp, and it continued until after dark. His woolen cloak was nearly waterproof, but it was decidedly heavy by the time he stopped at a relay station for the night. They were established every twenty miles along every Roman road, manned by state-owned slaves. They provided fresh horses for messengers, and quarters for traveling officials and stabling for their animals. It was cheaper than staying at an inn and usually a good deal cleaner. In any case, there were few inns so far north.

A stable hand took his horses, and he followed the man to the stables and made sure that his animals were properly rubbed down and fed and put in stalls with clean hay. He stowed his gear in a dry corner of the hayloft, and only then did he go to the main building to eat and bed down for the night. State slaves could usually be trusted to perform their tasks properly, the whip being a fine incentive, but a man was always well advised to oversee such things personally.

The station building was made like a standard legionary barracks: a long, one-story structure with a veranda running its length along one side. At one end was the kitchen and mess area. In the middle a door gave access to the officials' quarters. At the end nearest the stables were quarters for the messengers. The slave staff slept at the kitchen end. It would house as many as a hundred men, although there were seldom more than ten to twenty there on any given night.

Marcus entered the mess area. Just inside its entrance was a wall-niche holding a tiny shrine to Mercury, the patron deity of this and all other messengers' facilities. He took a pinch of incense from the bowl and dropped it into the smoldering brazier before the statue of the god. A fragrant smoke arose as he passed into the main room. There was no bustle to serve him since this wasn't an inn. It was a government facility and he was just a tribune. A tribune could be anything from a staff errand boy to a legion commander, depending upon how his commander wanted to use him. Marcus had commanded a legion, but just now he was on detached duty and a commander without his soldiers was no commander at all.

He took a seat at one of the long tables that ran the length of the room. About ten others were already present, some in messenger's garb, some in military uniform, a few in civilian clothes. A pitcher was shoved toward him and he poured a cup of rough soldier's wine. Baskets and platters on the table held bread, cheese, dried fruit and olives preserved in brine. Even here, so far from the body of water they had once called "our sea," the Romans had to have olives. They imported few commodities from the south, but they imported great quantities of olives and wine.

Recognizing his tribune's sash and generally weathered and battered appearance, his new companions of the road asked for news from the battle front and were suitably impressed when they learned that he had been recently in command of a legion, and that it was the one that had brought hostilities to a close. In return he asked news of the capital, but none of them had been so far south in months. All they had to report were rumors, which were as much use as the widely traded stories of the latest omens.