"No, this is something that I have to doalone," I told him as we sat at his table on my last night.
While I believe Gaius' disappointment wasunfeigned, there was no mistaking the relief on the face of hiswife, but I did not begrudge her. In fact, I was happy that foronce I could do something that would ease her mind about hissafety. Any reservations I had held about Iras and how she feltabout my nephew had long since dissipated; I suppose having onechild after another will do that. She was still a rare beauty, evenif she was a bit thicker in the hips, but then she had always beena bit thin for my tastes. I also know that another love Iras and Ishared was for Miriam, who is never far from my thoughts, and Iwould catch Iras at odd moments pausing from her chores to looksuddenly off into space with a sad smile on her face. I do not knowhow I knew she was thinking about Miriam in those moments, unlessit was because she was on my mind at the same instant, but I didunderstand why she would feel the way she did about my wife. If ithad not been for Miriam, I would have cut Iras' throat, with nomore thought or regard than if I was butchering a pig, because ofwhat she had done to Eumenes. But I had accepted that she was justthe weapon, wielded by Cleopatra, who bore the ultimateresponsibility. And if I had, who can say whether or not Gaiuswould have found such happiness? In some way that I cannot easilyidentify, I have come to the conclusion that the one thread thattied us all together, in a bond that ran more deeply than blood,was Miriam. If it were not for her memory, and the fact that thethought of how disappointed she would have been in me if I hadcompletely turned my back on what I suppose I would describe as myhome life, I fear I would have become irretrievably lost. I knowthat her death exposed the rough edges of the hard iron in my soulthat made me so respected in the Legions and so brutally efficienton a battlefield. It was my abiding love for her and not wanting toinsult her memory that kept that iron from overwhelming me. Thesewere my thoughts as I sat with my family, all of us in morosesilence, even young Titus, who had been allowed to stay up late. Iknew he was much too young to understand the specifics of what washappening, but he clearly knew something was amiss, and a sure signof how disturbed he was in his own way was that neither Iras norGaius had to admonish him to sit still or stay silent once. As Ilooked down at his bowed head, I saw that his hair was a mass ofcurls that Iras insisted women would swoon over, while both Gaiusand I were equally as adamant that while hair might be the pride ofa woman, it was the shame of a warrior. That was always when shewould point out, with a mixture of quiet satisfaction and pride,that even if her son did serve, it would not be in the ranks,because like his father, and thanks to my efforts, he would be anequestrian. Like me, and Gaius, he might not be born an equestrian,but I was sure that he would have very little memory of the timebefore I achieved my lifelong dream.
However, that was before, and that banterhad not been heard between us since my return to Siscia. Thatnight, I watched him as I sipped from my cup of unwatered wine ashe played idly with a carved toy Legionary, suddenly striking mewith a pang of pain as I remembered another boy, now gone more thantwenty years.
Gaius cleared his throat, the sign that hewas about to say something potentially awkward or irritating, and Imade ready to snap at him to desist from trying to come withme.
"I sent word to Scribonius."
Of all the things he could have said, I wasleast prepared to hear that.
"How do you know how to do that?" I gasped,so surprised at this point that I was not even angry that he hadtaken such a risk.
"How do you think?" he asked me levelly and,to my grudging admiration, his gaze never wavered from mine.
"Diocles," I breathed, finallyunderstanding.
He said nothing, but just nodded. I satback, needing time to think. While I had tried to keep the truthfrom Gaius, thinking it was for his own protection, seeing him sodistraught over the supposed death of my best friend, who I had toremind myself had been Gaius' first Centurion, I finally broke downand told him the whole story. When we arrived back in Siscia, sometwo months after Scribonius' "death," among the various pieces ofcorrespondence waiting my attention were two letters from Valeria,a number of messages from the agents that handled my affairs, andone papyrus scroll that immediately caught my attention, which Iopened first, with admittedly shaking hands. The name wasunfamiliar to me, especially since it was not a Roman name, butGreek. However, the hand that wrote it was very familiar to me, andI was struck by a stray thought, trying to guess the number ofreports I had taken from my best friend and long-time SecundusPilus Prior. It was in Greek, and it was very banal, and to anyonewho did not know both of us intimately, would seem to concern aninquiry I had sent about the acquisition of some books that werehard to come by. When I read it, I found myself roaring withlaughter, both in relief that Scribonius had made good his escape,but at the way he told me all that I needed to know about where hewas, and what he was doing, without seeming to say a word. At most,it would seem to anyone else to be a spectacularly boring andlong-winded, particularly given the subject, letter. By the time Iwas finished, though, I knew that he was living in a paradise forscholarly types like him, and I knew exactly
