Finally, I said, “I believe you.”
Then, before he could respond, I spun aboutand walked over to the three men, noticing that a second one wasnow watching me approach, blinking his eyes rapidly as he tried toclear his head. The third man’s head was beginning to move a bit,but he remained unconscious, and I squatted down in front ofthem.
“Which one of you is Flaccus?” The manin the middle was my guess, and I was correct; or, he nodded toindicate that he was, but before I removed the gag, I asked,“You’re not going to do anything stupid like yelling, are you?Because,” I smiled at him, “that would be a foolish thing todo.”
He either correctly interpreted that mysmile was nothing but a promise of pain, or he had already reachedthe correct conclusion, because he shook his head, and I reachedout and pulled the rag from his mouth, which made him cough and gaga bit.
“So, Flaccus,” I said, “before I askyou anything, tell me who you are. Or,” I amended, “who youwere when you marched.”
In both my father’s andgreat-grandfather’s accounts, they mentioned how habits that havebeen drilled into men as raw Tirones still stay with them, sometimes decadeslater, and this was proven true when he rapped out, “GregariusImmunes Lucius Flaccus, Fifth Century, Second Cohort,6th Legion…Centurion.” That hehad correctly guessed my rank surprised me, and I asked how he hadknown. It was not quite a smile, but I detected some humor when hereplied, “Because I know one when I see one. Although,” he added,“I’ve never seen one your size.” In what was clearly anafterthought, he allowed, “I’ve heard of one who was our PrimusPilus for a bit, though, but that was long before mytime.”
All three of my companions tied to my familyreacted in the same manner as I did, with a little gasp, but beforethey could say anything, I held up a hand to stop them.
“Do you remember this Primus Pilus’name?” I asked, trying to seem as if I was asking out of mildcuriosity.
He gave me what I thought was astrange look, but it was quickly explained when he scoffed, “Ofcourse! Anyone who’s served in the last fifty years knows aboutPrefect Pullus.” Somewhat perversely, I did not respond, choosinginstead to simply look at him as he worked it out for himself; Iwas beginning to think I would have to ruin it by telling him,when, with a gasp, he exclaimed, “Juno’s cunnus! You’re his…what? Grandson?”
“Great-grandson,” I corrected, butthen jerked a thumb at Septimus. “He’s the grandson.”
“What are you going to do tous?”
This came from the second man, who was toFlaccus’ left, and since he was missing the tip of his nose andhalf of an ear, I made an educated guess.
“You must be Pulcher,” and he gave anod. “What about you?” I asked. “Which Legion?”
“The22nd,” he answered, but in asullen manner that gave me an idea that, unlike Flaccus, he was notcarrying an identity disc. I was right, but the reason for it waspartially revealed when he said bitterly, “If I wasn’t tied up, I’dshow you why.”
“Pulcher lost two fingers of his righthand,” Flaccus explained. “He was cashed out.”
“With two fucking years left on myenlistment,” Pulcher burst out bitterly.
“That’s a tough thing,” I told him,and I was being sincere, although I was not going to spend timecommiserating, and I returned my attention to Flaccus. “Now thatyou know who I am, I’m going to ask you, as one comrade to another;how many men did Aviola bring here?”
“Aviola?” Flaccus looked confused, butonly for a heartbeat, giving a humorless laugh, “You meanNorbanus?”
This was a new name, but to forestallanother delay, I pointed back over my shoulder.
“I don’t care what you know him by,I’m talking about the cunnustied to a chair.”
“We know him as Marcus ValeriusNorbanus,” Flaccus said. “But as far as your question, there werefive of us.” I could not stifle a groan, but Flaccus shook hishead, assuring us, “You don’t need to be worried, Centurion. Yes,there were five of us that Norbanus hired, but Glabius wasn’t sentanywhere by Norbanus. He just got bored and left.”
“You mean he’d gone too long withouthis wine,” Pulcher interjected, and Flaccus chuckled as he admittedthis was the real cause, assuring me, “He left just after it gotdark, and I highly doubt he was planning on coming back. And evenif he was, he’d be too drunk to remember the way.”
I stood up, fighting the urge to sigh withrelief by admonishing myself that, while it was certainly good thatAviola had been lying about reinforcements, there was still theissue of Demeter and his crew.
“Centurion Pullus,” Flaccus spoke up.“Is there any chance that you could cut our bonds?” he askedhopefully. “I can’t feel my hands.”
While I saw no harm in it, I also madeit conditional, telling them, “I’ll only free your hands on thecondition that you stay right where you are until we’re finishedand ready to leave, and keep your mouths shut.” I was not surprisedthey both agreed, although I did add, “And if either of you doanything,” I drew my gladius,having to crouch a bit to draw it from its spot strapped tomy back, “I’ll use the Prefect’s gladius to gut the both of you.” Suddenly, Iremembered the presence of the third man, and pointed at him, “Whatabout him?”
“That,” Flaccus said scornfully, “isTymnes. His brother Timon was outside, supposedly hidden away in aspot where he could warn us if anyone came. This one,” he jerkedhis head at the unconscious man, “is even more useless than Timon,and Timon was next to worthless. That bastard obviously ranoff.”
I cannot say why I felt it necessary, but Ishook my head as I said, “No, he didn’t run. He’s dead.”
This startled both Romans, and theyexchanged a glance, but it was Pulcher’s shrug of indifference thattold the tale, although Flaccus was the one who said, “Then it’sprobably better if this bastard doesn’t wake up, Centurion. Theymay have been useless, but they were as close as Castor andPollux.”
“I’ll let you decide what to do withhim then,” I said, then turned my
