He frowned, and for an instant, I thoughtthat he might have seen through the fiction, but he was actuallythinking of something else.
“I thought the Primus Pilus said we’regoing to wait to get back to Ubiorum.”
“He did,” I agreed, then shook my headagain. “But I’m not going to wait. I think if I just go ahead andmake the decision that, even if the Primus Pilus doesn’t like it,he still won’t countermand me.”
I saw that Alex immediately understood that,while I would be handling all of these promotions, I was doing itfor one man specifically.
“Ah,” he said softly.“Saloninus.”
I was pleased, but not surprised, that Alexhad immediately divined my intentions as it concerned my currentOptio, Aulus Saloninus. In my opinion, and I knew there was broadagreement among the other Centurions, and even with Marcus Macer,who had been in my post before being advanced to Secundus PilusPrior, that Saloninus was the most qualified of all my Optios to beadvanced to the Centurionate. And, just based on his abilities andrecord, he would have already been wearing a transverse crest. Theproblem lay in our system, and frankly, our stubborn insistence onclinging to what I consider to be nothing but ignorantsuperstition. During the battle that we call the Long Bridges,Saloninus had been the Optio of my Second Century, and during thebattle, had taken a spear thrust to the right eye. What hadimpressed me, and our men in the Century at the time was how,despite what was a gruesome wound, he had continued to carry outhis duties, stopping only long enough to have a bandage wrappedaround his head to cover what I had seen was a serious wound.However, since long before I was under the standard, or even mygreat-grandfather, the great Camp Prefect Titus Pomponius Pullus,once a man received a disfiguring wound, he was consideredineligible for promotion. Now, if you were to scour the mountain ofwritten regulations created by Divus Augustus during his fourdecades in power, you would not find one word that says this; yet,we all know that it is there, and it hearkens back to a day when itwas considered a fact that anyone who suffered some form ofdisfigurement to their face was cursed by the gods. And, as far asit goes, it does make sense that no men would want to follow aCenturion who the gods have turned away from, but only if youaccept the idea that the gods control all as a fact. I do not, andthe truth is that I do not know many men who do anymore, but thisis where our stubborn insistence on doing things the same way fordecades and even centuries because that is how our ancestors did itcomes into play. While we do not believe it any longer, not many ofus are willing to risk going against a long-standing tradition;however, I was willing to do so, for the simple reason I believedthat Aulus Saloninus was the best choice to become a Centurion. Thefact that he was on the same ship meant that there was someawkwardness, because I wanted to surprise him, but when you aresharing the quarters normally occupied by the ship’s master, thereis quite a bit of whispering and other acts of subterfuge that arerequired.
I will say that this situationoccupied my time and attention, so I did not really notice that wewere exiting the river mouth into the open sea. In fact, my firsthint was when I almost lost my feet because the ship lurchedsuddenly as its bow collided with a wave, and within a matter ofheartbeats, I despaired of continuing to work at the tiny desk thatwas nailed to the deck in the master’s quarters. Instead, I got upand left the cabin to stand on deck, although I am making it soundeasier than it was. Since this was my first time aboard a ship inthe open sea, even if it was still barely a furlong or two awayfrom the coast, I would characterize my gait as more of a staggerthan a walk, and I found myself snatching at anything that wasunlikely to move to maintain my balance. The first thing I noticedas I reached the deck was the tangy taste of the air, certain Icould taste the salt in it. The sun was shining brightly and therewere no clouds, which I took to be a good sign, but when Iapproached the master of the trireme, which we had been informed was namedthe Brizo, a Gaul namedVellocatus and a member of the Venelli tribe who had been part ofthe first fleet Germanicus used when we began our campaign againstArminius the year before, and commented on the fair weather, hegave me a sourly amused look.
“Oh,” he seemingly agreed, “itis...now, Pilus Prior. But,” he turned and since his hands were onthe steering oar, used his head to nod to the north, “if a stormdoes come up, it will be from that direction. And,” he addedominously, “it will come fast.”
Needless to say, I was not pleased to hearthis, but I felt the need to point out, “But we’re returning toUbiorum weeks before the end of the season, and this is thequietest time of the year for storms. At least,” I hastened toamend, “that’s what we’ve been told.”
“That’s true.” Vellocatus nodded. Hewas quiet for a few heartbeats, and I could not suppress thefeeling that he was having a bit of fun at my expense, although hewas wise enough to maintain a sober demeanor. “But I’ve been at seasince I was a boy of eight years old, Centurion, and over the lastforty years, I have learned that the gods do not always feel likegiving us mortals a quiet few months on the sea.”
Despite my certainty that he was toying withme, nothing in his manner suggested he was telling anything but thetruth.
“Well, my Optio has made sacrifices tonot only Jupiter, Fortuna, and Neptune, but he sacrificed to yourgods as well.”
This did not seem to impress Vellocatus,although he did say with a shrug, “It cannot hurt, Centurion.
