Final Campaign

long journey to the afterlife. Primus sat on his horselooking extremely uncomfortable, and I watched in silent and grimamusement, wondering what his real purpose had been in coming. Ihad no illusion that it was out of any sense of duty or obligationto either me or Scribonius. The priests finally arrived, with theircart filled with cages for the doves and rabbits, along with aslave driving a small herd of goats. Next to the funeral monument,this is always the most expensive part of the funeral, and in mostcases a man’s comrade opted for a smaller and less expensive bloodsacrifice, doves being the most common, in order to pay for abetter monument. In the case of an Evocatus, however, that was nota consideration, and I realized that this was probably why MarcusPrimus was sitting on his horse, watching. For some reason, he wassuspicious, I was sure of it, and I knew I had to do something tothrow him off. When the priests reached us, their cart creaking toa stop, I pretended to examine the goats, seeing that there were afew yearling lambs mixed in.

Shaking my head in a manner that I knewPrimus could not miss, I said in voice louder than needed, “Nothinghere is suitable. This is Sextus Scribonius, formerly SecundusPilus Prior of Caesar’s 10^th Legion, and Evocatus. Heneeds a sacrifice worthy of his station. I want you to go draw ayoung bullock from the sacred herd.”

The chief priest, an old man named TiberiusHybrida Propertius gasped, the other two priests no less astonishedat my demand.

“Prefect, bullocks are only used foroccasions of great portent and auspicious days,” Propertiusstammered. “We only have four bullocks and the campaign is notthrough yet.”

“I will pay for it,” I snapped, despiteinwardly wincing at the cost, seeing how it was not reallyScribonius lying on the pyre.

Propertius looked over at Primus, thePraetor startled by this turn of events. I turned around to facePrimus as well.

“Praetor, I would consider it a huge favorif you would approve my purchase of a bullock from the sacred herdto sacrifice for my friend.”

“I am sure you would,” Primus replied, hisfat lips pursed in an expression of irritation. You asked for this,I thought, watching him sit his horse, trying to decide.

“You can afford this, Pullus?” Masala asked,his surprise clear.

“I can,” I said simply.

I knew neither Masala, nor Primus for thatmatter, had any idea of how much money I had managed to save overthe years. Neither was there any need for them to find out, so Idid not begrudge the question.

Primus sat, drumming his fingers on hissaddle for a moment before he finally said, “If the Prefect wantsto honor his friend in this manner, then he should be allowed to doso. So. yes, Prefect, you may purchase a bullock.”

“The price for a young bullock is a thousandsesterces,” Propertius said with a trace of smugness, sure that Iwould balk at the price.

“Fine, you can draw on my Legion accountwhen we’re back in Siscia,” I replied.

Properitus raised an eyebrow, then lookedback to Primus, who spoke, “See here. Prefect, don’t you have themoney on you?”

I turned around on him, staring at thePraetor in surprise, though inside I was cautiously optimistic.

“No, Praetor, I don’t carry that much moneywith me on campaign.”

Primus tried to look sorry, but wassingularly unsuccessful.

“Well. I’m afraid that if you can’t pay forit now, then you can’t have the bullock.”

I was about to open my mouth to agree andchoose one of the goats or lambs, but something stopped me. Perhapsit was the sum of all my experiences with the patrician class andtheir treachery, duplicity, and general untrustworthiness. Whateverit was, I realized that if I gave in too quickly, Primus wouldundoubtedly be suspicious.

“Praetor, are you insinuating that my wordis no good? That I can’t afford a thousand sesterces in the name ofmy best friend?”

Normally, I would have tried to keep my tonefrom sounding angry or menacing in any way, but this was not thetime for that, and I was secretly pleased to see Primus blanch,suddenly clutching the reins of his horse as if he were preparingto make an escape.

“Why no, Prefect,” he stammered. “I meant nosuch thing. It’s just that…it is a large sum of money for someoneof your station, and I just thought it would be easier for everyoneinvolved if you could pay the money.”

“I can assure you that I have more thanenough for the cost in my Legion account, not to mention that thefuneral club for the Evocati can help to pay for the expense. Ifyou will recall,” I finished pointedly, “I’ll be elevated to theorder of equites when I finish my term as Camp Prefect, andyou of all people know how much money that requires.”

I paused.

“But I understand your concern andappreciate it,” I lied. “And perhaps you’re right. I thinkScribonius would understand.”

“Yes, I’m sure he would,” Primus agreedenthusiastically, the relief showing on his features.

I turned back to the herd of goats,selecting two animals, one lamb and one goat for the sacrifice,which of course were much less expensive. The priests did theirwork quickly, slitting the throats of each animal with their bronzeknife, catching the blood in the cup, then raising it to the godsin offering, finishing by sprinkling the blood over the coveredbody on the pyre. Intoning the prayer for the dead, Propertiusstruck a spark, catching the oil on fire with first a blue flame,before the bright yellow when the flames fully caught the wood. Westood back, Scribonius’ slaves still sobbing quietly as the firegrew. Diocles was next to me, standing there with tears in his eyesas well, and it suddenly occurred to me that they were all sayinggoodbye to Scribonius in their own way. Primus remained in place,staring at the flames consuming what by this point he believed tobe the remains of Scribonius, or so I hoped, the column of smokerising to join the others as we performed our final duties for ourfriends.

While the fire was allowed to cool down sothe ashes could be gathered, I returned to the camp and went to seeGaius, who was still in the hospital tent. I found him in thesection