“Then maybe Gnaeus won’tbe as unhappy as we think,” Septimus joked.
“And I’ll be sure to letAlgaia know in my next letter that my son is making eyes at somenative girl,” my mother sniffed.
I knew she was teasing me, but I was morethan happy to play the game, holding both hands out as I said inmock alarm, “No! Please, Mother! Not that! Anything but that!” Imade a show of shuddering, but I was only partially jesting as Ifinished, “Algaia scares me more than any German.”
“As she should.” My mothernodded with approval.
We were laughing about this when we heardthe door at the rear of the villa shutting, and I recognized Gaius’voice as he called out, “Whose horses are those in the stable?”
Before any of us could answer, he enteredthe room, and I had to blink twice to make sure I was seeingcorrectly, which my mother noticed.
“Yes,” she said dryly,“he’s grown quite a bit the last few months.”
And, it was true that he had, at leastanother two or three inches, but he was also filling out, hisshoulders broader than I remembered from the last time I saw him.This was not what caught me, however; when Gaius Gallienus enteredthe room and I saw his face, I would have sworn on Jupiter’s stonein that moment that he was a young Sextus Porcinianus Pullus, whichmade sense, of course, since that was his father. Still, while wehad commented on how he resembled my stepfather the last time wevisited, now his appearance was even more striking.
“Alex?” He frowned, notexactly the greeting I would have hoped for, but he also is aclever youth, because he immediately asked, “What’s happened toGnaeus?”
Septimus chose this moment to stand, tellingus, “I need to get busy doing what needs to be done so that you canget back to…?”
“Petuar,” I remindedhim.
“Right, Petuar.” Septimusnodded, but he was already walking out of the room, calling, “I’llbe back as soon as I can.”
“Where is Petuar?” Gaiusasked.
“In Britannia,” my motheranswered. “And that’s where Gnaeus is right now.”
Gaius did not ask why, nor did he seem tocare.
“When are we leaving to goget him back?”
This was his first and his only question,and in that moment, Gaius Gallienus became my brother in more thanname.
About the only positive thing I can say thatcame about from what I had done at Petuar was that I was given whatI needed to take a proper Roman bath, or at least as close to whatcould be created with the materials at hand. A makeshift strigilwas fashioned, and one of Cogidubnus’ slaves rubbed me down witholive oil that had been supplied from the cooks. It was familiarand quite foreign at the same time, although I suspect that thelatter was more because I was standing naked in front of anaudience as I showed the slave what to do that was the strangestaspect.
“And,” Ivomagus asked, “you do thisevery day?”
He, Tincommius, and a handful of other menwho had been my guards had essentially invited themselves to comeand watch the strange spectacle of a Roman man bathing; I was notasked if I agreed. Honestly, I considered refusing, but I itched,and I stank more than my pride would be bruised.
“No,” I told him. “Not every day. Ifwe do some sort of work that makes us sweat and get dirty, thenyes. Otherwise, it’s every three or four days.”
Ivomagus translated this, eliciting a lowchorus of sounds that seemed to register astonishment and amusementin equal terms. Cunovindus, the Parisii who had been my firstguard, said something in a jocular tone that elicited both somelaughter and agreement.
Looking over at Ivomagus with a raisedeyebrow, he said, “Cunovindus says that you may smell like aParisii woman, but you fight like a Parisii man.”
I knew that it was meant as acompliment, yet I only offered a smile in reply, returning myattention to the slave who was running the strigil down my injuredleg that fortunately had not required stitches, and I was thankfulthat this was the last stage of this part of the process. All thatremained was to shave, but there had been some back and forthbetween Ivomagus and the king that, while I did not understand, Iwas certain meant that Cogidubnus was unwilling to hand me a sharpimplement. I have no idea what took place, but I would like tothink that Ivomagus pointed out the absurdity and the foolishnessbehind denying me a razor after I had spent a night with aspatha in my hand, defending hispeople. Yes, I was more worried about myself, but there was atleast one other person in Petuar whose welfare I worried about thatnight. All that mattered was that, once the slave was finished, Iwas handed a polished brass mirror and a bronze razor. This was thefirst moment I had to see my reflection, and I was taken aback bythe jagged and still very pink scar that ran from the edge of myhairline to just above my right eyebrow, the remnant of mycolliding with the log during our escape back across the river.Using the rest of the olive oil, I managed to do the job with onlya couple of nicks, all while my audience commented on myperformance, which I was curious about but did not ask. Speaking ofBronwen, she had insisted that, while I was bathing, my tunic andloincloth be surrendered so that she could have them washed, andthe tunic mended, which meant that for a period of time I wore aParisii garment that, naturally, was too small for me. When Idonned it, I believe that this brought home to the Parisii just howlarge a man I am, even for a barbarian tribe, because the fabric,much rougher against the
