Jack Whyte - The Skystone

"I know that, Alaric. But he owes me a life. "

"He owes you nothing. " His voice sounded dispirited. "There is talk that it was he who financed Magnus Maximus in his bid for the imperial throne. "

I slammed the table in frustration. "Damn the man to the blackest pit in Hades. Now he has killed two of my friends! Phoebe and Tonius. "

"Publius!" Alaric's tone was remonstrative. "You cannot say such a thing. I have told you that this is only rumour. "

"Aye, Alaric, you have. But now I am telling you that never was rumour better founded. The deed fits the man perfectly. It stinks of his plotting and his mental sickness. If Magnus Maximus succeeds in making good his claim, he will overthrow Theodosius, and that will be to no one's advantage more than Seneca's. The serpent has found a perfect stone under which to hide. Magnus's revolt will take the Emperor's eyes away from Seneca and from his thieving, scheming villainy. If Magnus wins, Seneca wins. If Magnus loses, Seneca still wins. You can be sure that there will be no living soul left to relate how Seneca helped Magnus raise the funds to win an army. And Theodosius can hardly blame his Procurator for being unable to perform his duties in a province that has been usurped by an upstart emperor. No, you mark my words. When the dust of this revolt dies down, one way or the other, Claudius Seneca will emerge unscathed and richer than ever. "

I suddenly realized that I was ranting. Luceiia sat wide-eyed, watching me. Alaric was expressionless. I looked at Caius. He had sunk his forehead onto the heels of his hands. Alaric saw my look and spoke to Caius.

"I am sorry to be the bearer of so much bad news, Caius. It had not occurred to me that you might be ignorant of all of it. I tend to assume that others all have the sources that I do. "

Caius was subdued. "Think not of it, Alaric. We are in a quiet backwater here, out of the way of news. "

This was too much for me. "Damnation, Caius, " I exploded, "is that all you're going to say? This is Claudius Seneca we're talking about, not some exalted nincompoop none of us has ever heard of. I would have thought you'd have more reason than I do to get excited about this. "

"You think me dead, then?" Caius snapped, and the tone of his voice silenced me utterly. He drew a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. When he spoke again, his voice had regained its usual dispassionate calm.

"Publius, I know better than anyone how easy it is to hate the Senecas — the entire tribe of them. But I cannot simply allow myself to be thrown into a convulsive reaction every time one of them demonstrates what I know to be the nature of the beast.... There are more important things at stake in our lives right now. Neither you nor I has the time to concern ourself with the personal treachery of a Seneca. Leave them to time — to history and God. We have our own priorities. What we are doing here in this Colony is far more important than anything any Seneca might do out yonder, where the world is coming apart. Our success here will mean our survival... and that will be all the revenge we will ever need against a family who are headed directly for extinction.

"Don't talk of scores and debts, Publius. You have no need to fret about such things. Time itself will settle such debts very soon. " There was nothing I could say in response, and there was silence at the table for some time. Luceiia excused herself and left the room. It was I who finally spoke again.

"You're right, Caius, of course. I'm sorry. I find I'm growing more emotional as I get older. Time will take care of Seneca and all his kind.... But if I can change the subject, I find it hard to believe that with things as bad as they are, Magnus intends to leave Britain and cross to Gaul. "

"Why not?" The bitterness in Caius's voice must have burned his throat like vomit. "We are talking of ambition here, my friend, not duty! Rome's new emperor must make a name for himself beyond these shores. He is known here in Britain. Now he must make his Divine Presence known in other lands. "

"But how could his generals permit this?"

"Don't be naive, Varrus! Each of them sees himself commander of the new Praetorian Guard, personal bodyguard to the new emperor. They'll fight like demons not to stay behind. "

"But some will stay, surely? He'll not denude the country of armed strength?"

Caius's anger gave way to disgust. "No, you can rest assured he'll leave enough strength behind to guarantee himself a bolt hole if his plans fall through the net of fate. He will keep Britain strong for now. He's no man's fool, our noble, newest Emperor!"

"Publius, is Luceiia ill?" Alaric's voice was concerned. "She was deathly pale when she left here. "

"Was she?" I felt alarm flare in me. "I didn't notice. Please excuse me. I'll just check that she is quite all right. " I rose quickly and left to find her. When I re-entered the room my face must have looked strange, because Caius immediately asked me what was wrong. I crossed to the table and picked up a jug of wine.

"What day is it today?"

Alaric answered me, "The Calends was two days ago, so we are at the third day of the month. "

"What year?"

"This is the eleven hundred and thirty-sixth year of Rome, " he said. "It is also the three hundred, eighty-third year of our Lord. Why do you ask?"

"Because it has been momentous. " I poured a cup of wine for myself and then moved around the table, filling their cups, too. "First, I brought home my skystones. Then you arrived, Alaric, an event of some importance on its own. Then we learned of invasions, treason, mutiny and war, of a new emperor and the death of a noble and worthy friend. And now, my wife tells me she is with child. This is a momentous day. " I raised my cup, and my friends drank with me. A silent toast.

XXIX

As I grow older, it becomes clear to me that life is like campaigning: long periods of quiet and boredom when nothing seems to happen, and then short, intensive spasms when everything important is compressed into chaotic action.

The year just past, 383 of the Christian calendar, was a chaotic one — at least in its final months. By comparison, the four years that followed were somnolent.

There were many things happening, of course, throughout the country and all over the Empire, but none of them affected our quiet Colony. For us, it was a time of building and consolidation, with very few traumatic incidents.

Caius's son Picus sent us word that he was marching off to war with the new emperor, Magnus Maximus, to help him claim the imperial throne, and after that we heard no more of him. It hurt Caius deeply that the boy could not see the glaring imperfections of the man, but Picus was young, only eighteen that year. He would have to do his own learning, like every other man.

Caius and I discussed that, along with several other topics, one crisp morning after he had found me actively debating the techniques of combat with three husky young trainee soldiers. At that point, we had not yet developed a regular, formalized program for training our young men as fighters; that development still lay a full year in the future. We had, nevertheless, begun a program of informal training for youths fifteen and older, accepting the need to make a start somewhere if all of our Colonists were to be expected to bear arms and comport themselves knowledgeably in their own defence.

No one knows the origins of the Roman practice sword; the name of its creator and the story of its beginnings are lost in time. The efficacy and practicality of its design, however, have never been altered and could not be improved. It is made of wood — a piece of heavy, ash dowel — and is circular in section, more like a club than a sword. It is cut to the same length as the gladium, the classic Roman short-sword, but it possesses twice the weight, which makes it awkward to wield and difficult to work with. The extra weight builds the strength of the user's arm so that when real violence occurs, when blades are bared in earnest, the sword's real weight seems as nothing in the hand of a well-trained soldier. Attracted by the clattering of these practice blades, Caius came upon me working at close quarters in a small, cobbled, dung-strewn courtyard, face to face with the three strapping young recruits. They were all attacking me at once, trying to get their blades around my shield and above or beneath my guard. They couldn't, and I was enjoying myself greatly, aware of the advantage I had over them. They were young and inexperienced, rash and undisciplined. In a matter of mere months, I knew, they would learn enough to overwhelm me quickly at this game. For now, however, I was taking advantage of their youth, strength and clumsiness, encouraging them to attack me more and more strongly, and with less and less success as their frustration increased. As soon as I noticed Caius standing there watching, however, I brought matters to a close swiftly, rapping each of the three soundly with a heavy, telling blow of my blade — one on the helmet, one on the elbow and one in the ribs —