All Together Now . . .

[Major Major]

Soon enough, I had to preside over my first session of the Senate. It was proper and fitting that the consul give a speech regarding the state of the City as it had been entrusted to him, and I had spent the preceeding two days writing and rehearsing it. “Murder, He Wrote,” indeed!

I was going to propose the force of watchmen, hoping that the lex Caecilia would be a proper memorial for my efforts. The speech went well, or so I thought. “While Athens of historic fame is guarded by slaves, Rome, being as it is, can surely rely upon the orderly zeal of its own free men, sacrificing their ease and convenience for the proper security of the Republic.”

Cicero had come out of hiding and was sitting in his usual place, looking utterly woebegone. He listened attentively as I discussed the virtues of my proposal, the ability to suppress riots, ensure the grain supply, control fires, and then I launched into something I had had in reserve.

“In particular,” I said, “the Watchmen must have the ability to investigate extraordinary and unusual crimes — particularly vile murders, kidnappings, and other such gross transgressions of public order. Such incidents are particularly deleterious to the majesty of Rome, disruptive to the orderly transaction of the public business, and of private business as well.

“I have persuaded the brilliant physician Asclepiodes to lend his talents to such a staff. As for the principal investigator, I believe that the noble Marcus Tullius Cicero may be able to provide the services of such a man. Senator Cicero?”

He got to his feet and lugubriously said, “I indeed know of such a man, whose devotion to the law has made him a worthy citizen of Rome, but he has suffered grave personal losses, and wishes to enjoy his retirement in the country.”

I never did trust Gordianus, anyway.

Lucius Vorenus managed to survive being named Prefect of the Watch; when I proposed him all he said was, “I am a soldier of Rome; I will go where Rome orders.” They clapped louder for that than for anything I said, the ingrates.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

That afternoon, heady with my success, I went to boast to Xena. I had an interesting encounter with Asclepiodes on the way to Atia’s house. He and his slaves were coming down the street we were going up, and he stepped aside when he saw my lictors. I had them let him by and said, “Greetings, Asclepiodes. You will be pleased to know that my bill to establish a city watch has passed, and your offer to help the investigators has been graciously accepted. I intend to name the respected Decius Caecilius Metellus to be its chief investigator.”

He tossed his head and rolled his eyes. “You Romans, always double dipping.”

“Actually, I mean Decius Caecilius Metellus here, my client,” I said, pointing to Hermes, who had after all taken my name when he was freed.

“Me!? I mean . . . I am honored, noble Consul,” Hermes said.

“Yes, Hermes, you will have to investigate low tavernas, brothels, and other unseemly establishments of our great City. I know that you, as a noble Roman, will emerge from such institutions untainted.” I got that out before he broke down completely laughing.

Then I addressed Asclepiodes again. “So you have been to see the special prisoner?”

“Indeed I have. Her recovery is extraordinary. There is actually some volitionary motion in her lower extremities, and in a few months she may be able to walk again.”

He would put it that way. For me, “recovery is extraordinary” would mean that she could walk all the way to Ostia, where a ship would take her to Egypt, out of my hair and of Caesar’s (what was left of it). We exchanged a few more compliments and then went our several ways.

Then we turned the corner and saw written on a wall “XEN. FUT. CAE.” and a picture to match. In the picture she could stand. Presumably Asclepiodes had seen it and being him, had commented on its physical characteristics, and if she were using a comic actor’s prop.

Atia was out, but her slaves let me in, and I went to the bedroom. “. . . it will be some time before I can walk again, and perhaps then we can escape.”

“Not on my watch, Xena,” I said.

She had been speaking to Gabrielle, who was as usual sitting on the edge of the bed, and they both looked at me when I came in. I said, “When you have recovered, you will be dispatched to Egypt, where Queen Cleopatra has offered you sanctuary, safely away from me. And Atia.” I had received an urgent letter bewailing the burden of being an unwilling hostess on the very first night of my consulate.

Xena didn’t look particularly pleased, either, but all she said was, “They were saying that you had been named Consul, and were in charge. Has Caesar left the city?”

“Rome has declared war on Dacia, in the ancient fashion, and Caesar has departed thence with an army.”

“I thought so. Ares came here last night, saying he had to see me before he went off on the campaign.”

Asclepiodes might say she was recovering, but he was only concerned with her body, and if she kept on having such visions like that, I wasn’t going to be worried about her being a danger with a state of mind like that. I humored her with some comments about the shields of Mars, which seemed to interest them both. (I was already dreading another song by Gabrielle.)

When she ended her wild vision I asked about her condition. Gabrielle put back the coverlet and let me see Xena’s legs beneath the sheets. They moved slightly when I asked her to move them. I repeated the part about Egypt, and though she seemed only to think she would walk only as far as the crucifixion ground outside the Esquiline Gate, at least Gabrielle seemed willing to entertain the possibility.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

I didn’t see them again until a few days later. The first cohort of the Watch had been mustered in at a ceremony in the Forum. Since this was a force to be used inside the City, instead of against foreign enemies, swearing them in on the Field of Mars would not be proper.

Vorenus’s man Titus Pullo had not been there, and I had been given to understand that he was supposed to be a senior centurion in the Watch. When I mentioned it, Vorenus told me that Pullo had an obligation to Atia, and I was annoyed enough about it to go there myself.

I saw that Pullo was standing sentry duty in front of the house, chatting with a good-looking woman. He was paying no attention to my procession of lictors and other hangers-on, but then I had been given to understand that he was a man with an eye for women. So much for him being married.

The escorts stepped aside as Hermes and I went up to them. She was saying, “. . . such a bold man. Surely you can grant a poor lonely woman a chance to have a talk with an old friend.”

“Titus Pullo!” I barked, and he snapped to attention.

“Yes sir consul sir.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting sworn in as an officer of the Watch?”

He looked disturbed. “Sir, lady Atia asked me to keep watch. Her usual guards are all off at one of their Jewish celebrations.”

I looked him over. “Very well. You will report to the Prefect tomorrow and he and I will take your oath.”

He smiled, then resumed his brace. “Very well, consul sir.”

I waved my hand and said, “Hermes, come along, the rest of you . . .” We entered the house. Hermes said, “She just up and left.”

“Who?”

“That woman.”

“That woman?” Atia had come at the sound of our entry. She confronted us, looking annoyed. “Is is that woman again?”

“The woman who was trying to get in?” Hermes said. He had been paying attention, anyway.

“The woman who hangs around the street, looking at the house, with murder in her eyes. I see her every time I go out or even look out on the street. I’m surprised you didn’t notice her, that cheap-looking blonde tart.”

Women do notice.

She went on, “And my bath has been confiscated by that Greek blood-letter of yours! That woman! I can’t wait until we boot her out!”

Atia then led me towards her private bath. It was one of her bigger extravagances, and Antonius had made some comments about being able to do things in it that people normally did in bed. When we came in the room there was a gasp and some one ducked underwater, leaving one head above the water.

“Gabrielle, don’t be so silly. Atia knows what a woman looks like.”

She surfaced, said “It’s a man!” and sounded again. Curious, I wandered over to the edge of the bath.

“What did Asclepiodes say, exactly?”

“If she could float, she could practice walking,” Atia said with a sniff.

I could see the large bruised spot on Xena’s back, which was facing us. I could also see that she was floating upright. She said, “Is that you, Decius Caecilius?” When I acknowledged my presence, she continued, “Your physician said that if I practiced my walking like this for an hour a day, it would make my recovery go quicker.” Then she sounded herself and came up, holding her girl’s arm. “Just face away from him, Gabrielle.” Gabrielle was gasping and spitting out water, so her face was red for another reason.

I looked around, saw Eirene supervising the slaves that were watching the whole affair. Evidently they were real gladiatrices, two big, scarred, and tough-looking women. “I will speak to you when you are done exercising,” I said, and then, “Atia, about your guards, I realize that you have been under undue threat and so I will have to grant you special leave, but once the current, er matter is over, you really can’t be keeping them.”

She was leading us away from the bath as I spoke and she said, “Such a pity, Timon is so able.” I wondered about that.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

We came to an agreement about paying Atia back for the extra costs of keeping the prisoners. I was in a good bargaining mood since Cleopatra had felt generous to an old friend and had offered me a special commission for the grain purchases we made from Egypt. Antonius and Caesar could count on scooping up all the gold of Dacia, understand.

It was a few days later when the next problem of theirs came to hand.

The division of powers was not all that hard. Marcus Lepidius, as Master of Horse, commanded the troops that were not on campaign with Caesar. He had removed to Mediolanum, it being convenient to Gaul and Hispania, and sent couriers down to Rome. This left me with civil administration. I could get the sewers cleaned out, but other problems were less amenable. Every Senator had a dozen clients who needed positions in the decimvirs of this town or that, or priesthoods, or trading permissions . . . Hermes was taking the usual tariff, and I suspected he would be rich enough to be a knight by summer.

It was Hermes who brought in the problem. He had access to me at all times, including the ones when I was tired of being nagged by every little problem and was wishing for the good old days of the conspiracy of Catalina. He came in abruptly, bypassing two lazy clerks, holding a familiar woman by the arm.

“Are you trying to escape!” I said, recognizing her. “Hermes, congratulations for capturing the prisoner.”

“No, I pledged to Atia that I would be back before nightfall and wouldn’t leave the City,” Gabrielle said while Hermes said, “She was shopping in the Forum and I thought I should bring her to you.” Then they looked at each other.

“When the first Marcus Brutus was consul he would handle such things personally,” I said, sitting up and getting to my feet. “And when the first Marcus Brutus was consul, he could know everyone there. Gabrielle, I could have you flogged for that, but since you had Atia’s permission, I’ll leave that decision to her.”

“Oh, she wouldn’t do it. Not after what happened yesterday . . .”

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

The first sign came when two slaves entered and set up a table by the bed. Xena said, wearily, “Looks like dinner is served. Why so fancy?”

A moment later the answer arrived, their unwilling hostess herself. Lady Atia swept in, plopped herself down in a chair, and looked at the door.

“What is the reason of this?”

“Dinner. A fruit salad to begin with, come on now.”

Althea, the slave girl server, entered carrying a bowl, which she placed on the table.

“Why are you here?” Xena asked.

Atia said, “Antonius is off to Dacia with my son and Caesar. My daughter is mooning over that boy on his staff, Marcus Agrippa. Decius Metellus and Julia are busy. There’s nothing else to do. Here, have some of this fruit.”

Xena heaved herself up on one elbow, took a piece, and then said, “Here, lady.”

Atia got the angriest look on her face. “Do you think I’m trying to poison you!?” She snatched the slice of fruit and ate it. “There. See?”

They then settled down to eating the salad. At about the time that they were done, the slave girl came in with a big tureen of soup. Atia looked at her and said, “Can you sing?”

She paused, stunned, then said, “Yes, but she’s —”

“I want to hear someone else for a change. Are you afraid of being judged ill?”

“No, my lady.”

“Try ‘Illi Dies Fuit’, Althea,” Gabrielle said. “Here, I’ll play it . . .”

Althea gulped and began, “Those were the days, my friends . . .” her voice died out and she put her hands to her throat. Then she fell over. “The soup . . .” she gasped.

Gabrielle threw aside her harp, jumped to her feet and ran for the door, screeching, “GET HIM!”

A few moments later, Timon entered, holding the servant Duro in front of him, followed by Gabrielle, who wormed around her and went to Xena. Gabrielle said, “I pray the Gods you didn’t have any of that,” as she hugged her patron, who patted her on the back.

Atia looked coldly at the corpse on the floor, then up at the man. “You meant to kill me. You couldn’t stay away from the scene of the crime. Timon, take him downstairs and find out who is responsible.” When he seemed to balk she said, “I remember what that advocate, one of your people, was saying about these situations. Do you? Do it!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Timon said and departed with his prisoner screaming.

Atia said, “Get rid of that soup, bring them whatever they want, Gabrielle, I’m grateful for your quick reflexes, and now I’m going to lie down.” Then she left the bedroom.

The next day, when she had recovered, Atia told me that the man Duro had made some mad claim before he died, about being commanded by a woman named Kallisto. I ordered Vorenus to order the Watch to find the woman who had been hanging around Atia’s house, but she had disappeared from the City.

Had he been working for Servilia, I might have had her sent an order to kill herself, and justified it to Caesar afterwards, but she was spared.


“And next morning, Lady Atia said I was free to go around the City. She made me swear that I would not run away.” She looked down at the floor and then said, “Are you going to . . .” her voice trailed off.

“Send you to Egypt? I have my orders from Caesar himself, and he commands it.” Even if I would have, as I felt he really would have, put them up on crosses. Perhaps not Gabrielle, who was only pestiferous.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

That evening, I felt bothered. Julia was engaged in some rite. The last time that had happened, Clodius had just barely escaped getting what he deserved ten times over, but the long and short of it was that I had no one to talk to. Or so I thought at first. Then I realized that Atia would also be there, and therefore . . .

Hermes was more than a little annoyed at having to stand sentry-go outside the bedroom. “The slaves aren’t going to go breaking in on you!” he said, but I felt I needed security.

With lictors outside the house and attendant outside the bedroom door, I was alone with a dreaded Fury. Perhaps not, because Eirene was directing two more slaves who were washing her back. I could see the bruise was fading, turning from Senatorial purple into a variety of colors — blue, green, yellow — a great mark like an accident at a dyer’s. Gabrielle was the one who noticed, she said, “It’s Decius Caecilius.”

“What can we do?” Xena said. “He’s consul. Consul, is it time?”

I sat down and said, “Eirene, when you’re done, will you leave us? I’ll send Hermes when I’m done.” She nodded, and when they had finished their work, she led them out the door.

“I didn’t want anyone else to hear this.”

“Going to condemn us in secrecy?”

“I’m sure Caesar would be pleased to hear that, but others wouldn’t. Tell me, Xena, how do you think Caesar got into power?”

She sat up, pushing herself upright, and her eyes glared with anger. “He’s a tyrant. He aimed at this, he schemed at it, and he eliminated all his opponents,” she said.

“Very observant of you,” I said, and took some unseemly pleasure at seeing her bewilderment.

“You approve of this!? Of course you would, he made you consul, ruler of Rome in his absence.”

That wounded me, and not without right. “I don’t. When I was young, I imagined that I would someday become consul. In the proper fashion, the fashion my ancestors did, by free election of the people of Rome, after progressing through the proper series of subordinate offices.

“Then, I became an adult, and learned how the politics of the republic actually worked; there were gangs, and mobs, and bribery. I adjusted. I have been aedile and praetor, those subordinate offices.

“Rome has been at war with itself. You might not have noticed this because you have seen us at war with others, but here there have been outright internal wars, the rebellion of Cataline, and more local fighting, the mobs of Milo and of Clodius Pulcher putting an end to order. Even now, I am having to tend to the matter of the gang of Erastes Fullmen, in the Aventine.

“Caesar is a tyrant. Very well. What do you propose to do about the governance of Rome? Cassius Longinus, Marcus Brutus, Servilia, they all imagined that somehow the Senate of their past, the Senate my father knew and idolized, would spontaneously arise from Caesar’s blood, once they had stabbed him to death. They had nothing else to offer.

“Antonius, Lepidius, Atia’s boy, others, have had preferement and position under Caesar. Yes, even me. They would have had to fight or be slaughtered. Yes, even me. The proscriptions of Sulla, the massacres of Marius, those would have been repeated. I doubt you would have survived no matter what.

“Caesar is a tyrant. Very well. What is there to take his place?”

Xena had been furious at first; her fury died as I spoke, and when I finished, she said, quietly, “Leave well enough alone. Leave others alone.”

“Leave the Dacians to raid Greece?”

“The Scythians are behind Dacia, and the Seres behind all the Scythians,” Gabrielle said, interjecting herself into the argument for the first time, and not annoying either. That annoyed me.

“Yes, there are other peoples yet in the world. Must Rome subdue them all, bring them bloodshed, slavery, and tyranny?” Xena snapped, furious again.

“I rather fancy they have those qualities already. Wouldn’t you, the far-traveled, have been the one to notice? To return to the previous point — what else to do? The old ways have ceased to function. You do not think well of Caesar, with cause and I — I don’t know what else to do.”

They both looked at me for a moment, silently. Then Xena said, “I think you had better get about your work, Consul Decius Caecilius Metellus. In time I will be about mine.”

She was right about that, too.

In due time Asclepiodes’s diagnosis and therapy were proven out, as were Caesar’s orders in the matter. And what they did later on . . . but that is another story.

These were the events of seventeen days in the year 710 of the City of Rome, in the consulship of Gaius Julius Caesar and Marcus Antonius, with Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger as suffect consul.

 

[Landshark]

Don't tell me that's the end?

I liked Decius's little speech by the way. Far too often a hero will get away with saying the bad guy is a tyrant and a despot without ever being asked "well how are you going to get the chariots to run on time?".

 

[Major Major]

It's Back . . .

“Decius! I haven’t seen you in a while! Why don’t you ever come see us!”

A Consul of Rome is supposed to possess a proper Roman gravitas, to go about with dignity, representing the power and majesty of the City. It is hard to do so when being hailed by a yellow-haired pest, who moreover would have been tastefully adorning a cross in the Appennius if Caesar had not sent me to get her and her mistress, that bitter March of the previous year.

“Let her approach,” I said to the chief of my escort, and then when she did, “Gabrielle, with Caesar on campaign I have to keep the City in order.”

“Your wife comes to see Atia all the time.”

“Family ties.”

With Antonius on campaign in Dacia, Atia had reverted to the role of staid proper Roman matron she presented. Whether she could thereby tame the wild Homeric barbarian who occupied one of her bedrooms, until she could walk again, was a matter of some concern. Julia would make inquiries on my behalf during her visits to her cousin; but I did not want to be seen playing up to Xena.

Her companion, let wander the City due to Atia’s gratitude regarding an attempt to poison her, continued her usual idle chatter for a while as we went along, and then as we approached the Capitol, went off about her business — if she ever had any.

The centurion of the guard there saluted. “‘er again,” said Titus Pullo.

Marriage and a regular job had done much to settle Pullo, and he had become almost fanatically devoted to order. Gabrielle wasn’t the only singer who had written about his leadership in the battle to clear out Erastes Fullmen’s mob in the Aventine. He had a twinkle in his eye seeing her, and I stopped the men again.

“Pullo, what is this all about?”

“Nothing sir.” He was all business now, back straight, eyes to the front.

“Centurion, are you doing something with her I should know about?”

“No sir, not now. I was thinkin’ about back in Hispania last year, no it’s year before last now.”

I looked at him. Before the Battle of Munda, he and Vorenus had been sent off by Antonius on some mission, and had come back empty-handed. “Very well, centurion, report to me tonight and tell me about this.”

“Wife’s at Lady Atia’s, helpin’ Xena walk again.”

I gave up. “Very well. Atia’s it is.”

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

“Decius! Where have you been keeping yourself!”

Atia had a cheerful look on her face, but then, with Servilia in exile and my wife not being the more forward sort, she was the dominant power of Roman society. Now she stepped forward to greet us.

“Here, or here, or at the Capitol,” I said.

She turned and escorted us into the dining room. “Julia, at last you managed to get the dull drab man to loosen up. No scandalous crimes to solve, I see.”

The house was full of the remaining Senators — those not off currying favor with Caesar, or in their graves for not having curried favor. Or worse, such as Marcus Brutus, who cowered in the house in Samos where Caesar had sent him, not wanting to be served with a cup of hemlock from a fiscally outraged archon who had cause to recall a loan issued at four percent a month.

I chatted for a while with various of the surviving oldsters, and some of the newcomers. Lucius Vorenus hadn’t been the only old soldier who had gone from being conscript soldier to Conscript Father, and too many wanted to talk about the Good Old Days fighting the Gauls.

About the eleventh hour, there was a stir, and then the Unwanted Guest appeared. She could use her legs now, somewhat; but it took Pullo’s wife and her companion to hold her upright. They staggered across the floor, the cynosure of everyone sober enough to notice, and with some effort, the two of them got Xena into a chair. Then she said, “Thank you, Eirene. And Gabrielle, as always.”

Atia clapped her hands. “Everyone, quiet now, the performance will begin!”

It’s a scandal when Senators’ daughters perform. At least this wasn’t for money. Vorena the elder, wearing the most absurd-looking dress and a funny hat, came dancing out of one door into the main room, hoisting her skirts and prancing around like a Greek dancing girl, except they would wear much less. Gabrielle had stored her lyre under her chair, and now that she had it out, she began playing and singing: “I come home, in the morning light, my mother says, ‘When you gonna live your life right?’”

Vorena danced up to Eirene, who rebuked her in pantomime. The song went on, “On Momma dear, we’re not the fortunate ones, and girls, they just want to have games, O girls just want to have games.”

Now she danced away, and there was Pullo. Well, he had said he would be there. While Gabrielle was singing, “The porter calls, in the middle of the night, my father yells, ‘What you going to do with your life!’ Oh Daddy dear, you know you’re still number one, but girls, they want to have games, O girls just wanta . . . That’s what they really waaant!” Pullo pretended to rebuke the girl, who grabbed his ears, pulled his head down and kissed him on the mouth, and then danced away.

And then it got worse, which made everyone laugh all the harder. I would have said something, but I had to catch my breath.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

It was the first hour, and most of the other guests had been sent home, or to their beds, or each others’. Or Xena, installed in a bed of Atia’s. As I could tell, having followed Pullo and his wife as they helped her get there.

Now Pullo looked at us. Julia was sitting in one chair that Atia had had brought in, along with another for herself. Gabrielle was sitting on one side of the bed, her eyes bright with enjoyment, and a somewhat tired Eirene slumped against the wall.

Pullo looked at the audience and said, “Consul Decius sir, you said you wanted to hear about what happened in Hispania. Well, since as most of the others involved are here, too, I guess it’s time to begin tellin’ the story.”


“Tribune Lucius Vorenus reporting, sir.”

Marcus Antonius had put aside most of his entertainments for the moment, perhaps even for the campaign, but he did live on a higher level than such subordinates as Lucius Vorenus. More accustomed to a soldier’s tent than the grand pavilion that the general occupied, Vorenus looked somewhat out of place, albeit very deadly.

Antonius sprawled behind his desk. “Sit down, Vorenus, it hurts my neck to look up, and you look like you sat on a pilum. Sit down.”

When he did, the general went on, “I need you to carry out an important task for me. My client, Marcus Vinicius, is engaged to a rich Hispanic woman, Sertoria Aldonza. She was going to Rome to marry him, but on the way she and her escort were captured by a local bandit, a man called ‘Pendejus’.

“He has a following of deserters from both sides, local Celtiberians, and even some Gauls. I can’t spare even a century, given how many men the Pompeians have. So. . . you have to, if you choose to do this, go find him in his stronghold, break her out of it, and if possible kill him.

“If you get caught, or killed, I will have to say I knew nothing about it.” Vorenus nodded gravely and Antonius got to his feet, holding out his hand. “Good luck, Vorenus.”

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

Two days later, two men made camp for the night amid the arid wind-swept hills of Hispania. “There should be a good bit of money there,” Titus Pullo said, “seein’ as they’re bandits and all that.”

Vorenus had become more withdrawn as they rode on. He was thinking about how to get into the bandit stronghold, getting more and more irritated as he mulled over and discarded one plan after another. It was getting close to nightfall.

All he said, though, was, “Pullo, go get some more wood while I get the fire started.”

“Around here, gonna be more like cowflops,” Pullo said as he departed. Vorenus got a small fire started with what wood they did have, put their hardtack and dried meat out to eat, checked the blankets, and noted the long steel blade pointing at his neck.

“Stand up slowly,” Xena said. “Keep your hands clear of your blades.”

Vorenus straightened up and looked down the long sword into the angry blue eyes that stared him down. Caesar’s enemy confronted him; he was at the point of a very long sword wielded by a very able wielder. “Caesar’s lickspittle Lucius Vorenus,” she said. “Out about his business. Don’t try to trick me with that looking past me at a rescuer.”

Vorenus’s eyes had shifted; she raised her arm slightly and the long sword slapped against the underside of his jaw. “Now put that there thing down and let’s have a talk,” a different voice said.

She turned her head slightly. Her friend, companion, and what more?, Gabrielle the bard, stood there. She smiled sheepishly and waved with her free hand. The other, of course, was being held behind her back by Titus Pullo, whose other hand held a gladius under her neck.

“I don’t want to go hurtin’ your girlie,” Pullo said, “so you just put that there thing away and we’ll go off our way about our business and you go off your way about yours.”

Xena trembled, then got hold of herself. “Sertoria Aldonza is more important that that,” she said, “but . . .”

Vorenus spoke for the first time. “You are seeking the lady Sertoria Aldonza?”

Xena’s eyes tightened. “What of it?”

“We have been sent to rescue her.”

“We’re trying to bust her out, too,” Gabrielle said. “Pullo, let me go, please! Xena, they’re doing what we’re doing!”

Pullo kept hold of her, though.

Vorenus said, “It seems we are set on the same mission. The lady is betrothed to Marcus Vinicius of Rome.”

“Her aunts have asked me to free her,” Xena said, and with one quick motion resheathed her long sword, stepping back as she did. “We must go our separate ways after our mission is accomplished, without betraying each other.”

Vorenus nodded. “Agreed.”

She scowled at him. “Your lips say ‘agreed’ but your body says otherwise.”

He raised his hands. “I swear by all the gods, I shall not harm or molest you or your companion on this mission, until mine is done, and I shall give you leave to depart in safety.” Then he turned his head and glared at Pullo. “Pullo?” he said, an edge in his voice.

Pullo responded by letting go his hostage’s arm and lowering his sword. She fled to her companion’s arms as he said, “What he said, ma’am.”


They slept on opposite sides of the fire, though, and in the morning set out again for the camp of Pendejus. It was a stockade, as might have been built by the settlers founding Alba Longa all those centuries ago. There were a number of bandits, and it looked like a very formidable place to storm, had they had even a cohort. But it was just them. They crouched behind the hill from which they had reconnoitered the place and made plans.

“If only we can get someone in there to open the gates at night,” Xena said.

“Yes. We would have Night and Confusion fighting at our side,” Vorenus said. “It will take too long to recruit one of the bandits, though.”

“Wouldn’t stay bought, either,” Pullo said. “Them sort go with them as has cash in hand.”

“So if we can’t recruit a bandit, what then?” Vorenus said.

“Pose as one?” Xena said.

Vorenus looked at her. “No, not you, and not me, either. But how then . . .” there was a brief silence.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” Gabrielle said.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Jack_Straw]

Major, this is great writing! I am glad to be able to still follow Vorenus and Pullo though Rome has ended. Keep at it, this is an excellent read!

 

[Major Major]

The rough man came walking down the road to the stockade, leading the girl on a rope. He was crop-headed, grizzled, clad in a legionary’s tunic, and looked particularly ferocious. She was yellow-haired, scantily dressed, and whined constantly. “Master, it is too far. Master, my feet are sore. Master, will we eat here?”

The man stopped at the gate. “You guys got a place for the night?”

A head appeared above the wall. “Sure, I got a good place for her!”

“Think the boss’s more likely to want ‘er!”

“Master, will you sell me to this great lord?” she said.

“Who’s calling?”

“Pullo. Marcus Didius Pullo. I got tired of eatin’ dust for Caesar, so I nicked this here joy girl in place of my back pay and lit out for the hills.”

“Awright, Brother Pullo, come in and get settled.” The gate creaked open and the deserter and his slave entered.

The stronghold of Pendejus was a wooden stockade built around an abandoned villa. There was a fire, and a half-dozen bandits sat around it drinking. If there were any other women in the place, they were well hidden.

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

In the night, Pullo shook his companion awake. “Did you see any sign of her?” he whispered

“No,” Gabrielle whispered back.

“Me neither.”

“One of the bandits said something about the boss being busy with his new . . . well, woman.”

“That must be her.”

“Do they know where were at?”

“They’d better.” Gabrielle rolled over and put an eye to the knothole. That evening, in the last of the sunlight, they had made a point of walking directly to where they would be sleeping, figuring that Gabrielle’s distinctive figure would be recognizable. In the night, Pullo bored a hole between the logs, and they took turns listening.

Finally, after several eons, a voice could be heard through the hole. “Are you there?”

“It’s us,” Gabrielle said. They had agreed on what to say just in case they had been suspected and made to talk.

Pullo took up his sword and they made their way to the gate. There was a man guarding it. Gabrielle came sauntering up to him. He grunted. “Latrine’s over thataway. Won’t your master be angry?”

“He doesn’t care for me. Don’t you think the chief is unfair, making you wait up in the night like this?”

He looked up and down her body. “Dunno. You got an unk . . .” he collapsed to the ground.

Titus Pullo bent and touched his neck. Then, without saying anything, he raised his sword and plunged it into the man’s heart. There was a gasp in the night. He looked at his companion and said, “Ain’t no other way. Help me open the gate and you get out.”

There was a small door in the great gate, and they opened it. With whispered greetings, one figure scampered out and two came in. Vorenus looked around and said, “Now we have to get in the villa.”

Quietly, almost as if they had been fighting as one group for some time, the three of them set out across the compound in the night. Xena was a little ahead of the two men, to give her space to swing her long sword. Pullo was on the left, with a small dagger in his left hand going with the sword in his right. Vorenus, on the right, kept a lookout behind as well.

They were halfway across the courtyard when it happened. One of the bandits, who had drunk either even less or much more, suddenly raised up. Perhaps he was going to use the latrine. He gasped, put a hand out in the direction of his weapon, and gurgled in death as Xena cut him down.

But there had been enough noise to rouse others. They cut the first few down as they arose, half-mazed with sleep, but not everyone was totally asleep or close enough. Half naked, fully desperate bandits charged the three of them, or raised the alarm. Those who hung back to shout lived longer.

Then, as the last few bandits drew back, swords in hand, ready to charge the invaders in a last desperate swarm, there was a cry: “Whatever are you doing!?”

“Sertoria Aldonza!” Xena cried.

The woman was wearing a rather loose gown, and she looked as if she had been interrupted. She stood in the door of the villa, her dark eyes flashing with annoyance. “Why are you interrupting us?” she said, her voice shrill.

Both Vorenus and Xena said at the same time, “We’ve come to rescue you.”

“Put down all your swords! Now!” She stepped forward and looked at them, her broad mouth quirked into a smile. “Why Xena, honey, I don’t need rescuing.”

“Pendejus kidnapped you —” she began.

“You mean my dear husband? Oh, dear, there’s been such a terrible mistake.”

Another figure came out the door. This was a tall pale man with a triangular face, which just then bore a sly smile. He said, “What is it, honey bunch?”

“These people seem to think I need rescuing.”

“Really,” he said with a dry tone, and began looking them over. “Oh, I know you. You’re Tribune Lucius Vorenus — isn’t that right, Anserius Dementius?”

One of the surviving bandits said, “Sure is, sir. Can I kill him now?”

“You don’t have to kill him now. And everyone knows the famous Xena, the scourge of Caesar. Whatever brings you together?”

“I have been sent to rescue the lady Sertoria Aldonza, by orders of the Master of the Horse Marcus Antonius,” Vorenus said.

“Tell Antony I’ve found another . . .” Aldonza said with a laugh, and then took the man into her arms. “Pendy, dear, do let them go, poor things, they didn’t know any better.”

The bandit chief ran a hand over the woman’s voluptuous form for a moment, then said, “Get out of here.” Then he laughed, sarcastically, “There’ll be plenty enough new recruits, one way or another, once Caesar wins or loses.”

They looked at each other for a moment. Then Pullo said, “All that for nothing.”

“I will give you to five to get out. One . . . two . . .”

. . . [To Be Continued]

 

[Major Major]

In the dawn’s light, they stood on a hilltop, a ridgeline or two away from the bandit hold. “Antonius is gonna be mad,” Pullo said.

“So will her family,” Gabrielle said. “They don’t look too happy, either.”

Vorenus and Xena were on horseback, staring back in the direction of the camp, a chill silence on them. Then Xena turned her head. “We had best be off.”

“Pullo . . .” Gabrielle said. “Would you really have . . .”

“Them? Of course not.”

She scampered off, mounted up, and they headed east, away from the armies.

Vorenus slid off his horse and went back to join his companion. “Antonius will be displeased,” he said.

“We got a big battle ahead of us,” Pullo said. “Whip them guys in that and no one’ll care.”


And sure enough, two days later, Vorenus and Pullo arrived even as the armies were marching out on the field of Munda, where the sons of Pompeius made their last defiant gesture of resistance. Many who fell that day died upholding the finest traditions of Rome.

Those were the events of six days in the year 709 of the City of Rome, in the consulship of Gaius Julius Caesar without colleague, with Quintus Fabius Maximus, Gaius Trebonius, and Gaius Caninius Rebellus as suffect consuls.


Pullo said, “That fight — that was the first time I ever seen anyone do that trick of jumpin’ over a man’s head and cuttin’ him down from behind. Damn deadly in a fight like that.” Xena smiled and thanked him for the compliment, which made him look uncommonly odd.

“Pullo, would you have?” Gabrielle said when they were done. “With me, I mean?”

He looked at his wife, then from Gabrielle to her protector. “I wouldn’t care to go fightin’ the lady over there.”

Atia laughed.


These were the events of two days in the year 711 of the City of Rome, in the consulship of Gaius Julius Caesar and Decius Caecilius Metellus the Younger.