I was about to retort, but I realized therewas no point, so I simply shrugged and said, “We’ll see. But,” Ireturned to the original subject, “I would like to be allowed towork on my forms, using the hitching post, and all I require is astraight piece of wood,” I held up my hands, placing them apartfrom each other, “this long.”
I thought he would say no, but he surprisedme by shrugging. “I do not see why this could not be arranged.”That was when he caught me completely on the back foot again. “ButI in turn have a request of my own.”
“Oh? What’s that?” I asked warily, yetI still was not expecting him to say, “That you not go into Petuaron market days anymore.”
I instantly knew this was about Bronwen, butI was still unprepared for what was coming, and Ivomagus’ attemptto sound casual failed miserably as he explained, “I received amessage from my brother with some good news. He has arranged amatch for Bronwen, one to which her father agreed. She,” he smiledat me, “will be marrying Berdic, as soon as they return toPetuar.”
I did try, but I do not believe I wassuccessful in hiding my feelings about this, which I tried to shrugoff by saying, “She has my sympathy. Too bad he’s even uglier now.”Grinning, I asked Ivomagus, “In that message, did your brothermention how Berdic is recovering?”
His reaction made me feel a bitbetter, but he dismissed me with a wave, calling out to the twoguards and rattling off what turned out to be instructions toaccommodate me, because I was led outside to the post by one ofthem, while the second guard disappeared. He returned soon enough,carrying a bundle of sticks of varying thickness, although theywere roughly the same length, and I picked through them until Ifound one that was the closest to being suitable, grumbling as Idid so. Then I shrugged out of my tunic and tied it at the waist,dropped down into the first position…and I instantly felt better.There is something comforting in this ritual that I had adopted afew years earlier when I stopped resenting my father and startedtrying to emulate him, although I did not know of our relationshipthen. Even as I dictate this, I have qualms because, while it wasonly in hindsight, I think deep down I had known Titus PorcinianusPullus was my father, perhaps not from the moment we met, but notlong afterward. And, I suppose in my own way, my adoption of theritual of a third of a watch a day at the stakes that had beenbegun by the Prefect was my own sort of homage, both to my fatherand to the legacy of the Pullus name and what it means to those ofus who march under the standard. My actions drew a small crowd, butthis was not unusual, and soon enough, I was barely aware of themas my muscles fell back into the familiar rhythms of thrusts thatoriginate not from the arm but from the hips, over and over. By thetime I was through, I was panting from the exertion, anotherreminder of the fitness I had lost in just a bit more than a month.There was another thing that I was reminded of, and this was evenmore unpleasant; I stank. I had managed to convince them to provideme a basin, a rag, and some tepid water, but I had not had a goodoiling and scraping since before the campaign started, let alone atrue Roman bath of Tepidarium,Caldarium, and Frigidarium, along with a massage by a trainedslave. It did not help matters that I was wearing the same tunicand loincloth I had been wearing the night of the banquet, and Ihad not thought to request that I be allowed to have my spareclothing. Even worse, at least as far as I was concerned, I was notallowed to shave, I suppose because Ivomagus did not want to temptme with a sharp razor when we were essentially living under thesame roof, and my face itched terribly.
Consequently, once I was done at the post, Ileaned the stick against it, and entered the hall to findIvomagus.
“I would like a flask of olive oil anda strigil,” I informed him, finding him engaged in conversationwith four of my guards, thinking that this was not only notunreasonable, but not unusual.
What I received was a blank stare fromIvomagus, which was partially explained when he asked, “Why wouldyou need olive oil, Centurion? Your meals are provided.” Before Icould answer that, he asked, “And what is a strigil?”
By the time I was through explaining, withIvomagus translating, all five men were doubled over with laughter,which I found to be confusing and irritating in equal measure.
When I demanded to know why, Ivomagus had tocatch his breath as he said, “We know that Roman men are certainlyvery…fastidious, Centurion, but this is the kind of thing our womenwould do, not a Parisii man.”
“Which is why you smell like pigs,” Ireplied, and I was pleased to see the smile vanish from Ivomagus’face, but I was not through. “In fact, if you ever tried to ambushus, we would smell you coming from a mile away.”
Since the others did not speak Latin, theyhad to look at Ivomagus’ expression to get an idea what I wassaying, and while they may not have known the words, they couldcertainly see it was something they would not like, so they allglowered at me. Honestly, it was somewhat amusing, like seeingchildren mimicking their Tata, although they have no idea what ishappening. Ivomagus rose, but I did not know what he intended tosay, nor would I ever learn, because from behind us, I heard acommotion, turning just in time to see a man burst through thedoorway, spattered with mud and panting, yet it was his expressionthat was the most telling. He ran across the hall, sliding to astop in front of Ivomagus, although he had begun talking before hereached the
