The Silver Eagle

Romulus was curious now. ‘What do you trade in?’

‘Here they like Italian wine, olive oil, Greek statues and copper,’ Varus replied. ‘And olibanum and myrrh are always in demand in Egypt and Italy. Tortoiseshell and hardwood too.’

Rome, thought Romulus excitedly. This man has travelled recently from Rome.

‘Are you not also traders?’ Varus enquired.

He’s fishing, thought Romulus. But surely there was no harm in a little conversation?

‘No,’ replied Tarquinius, putting him at his ease. ‘We’re on our way back to Italy.’

‘How long have you been away?’

Romulus grimaced. ‘Five years.’

‘Really?’ Varus exclaimed. ‘Even a journey to India takes less than twelve months each way.’

Romulus and Tarquinius looked at each other.

‘We fought for Crassus,’ said Tarquinius slowly.

‘Vulcan’s balls!’ Varus’ mouth opened and closed. ‘Are you deserters?’

‘Watch your mouth!’ Romulus snarled, thumping the table with his fist.

‘Peace, friend. I meant no insult,’ said Varus in a placatory tone. Alarmed, his companions stood, but he raised a hand and they sat back down. He then gave a knowing look to the barman and a jug of wine quickly materialised. Varus drank half a beaker first to show they had nothing to fear. ‘Try some of this,’ he urged. ‘It’s the best Falernian. Brought it here myself.’

Suspiciously, Tarquinius tried it. His frown disappeared, replaced by a broad smile. Reassured, Romulus reached for the wine himself, pouring himself a generous measure. It had been years since he had drunk anything that tasted better than vinegar.

‘Not all of Crassus’ soldiers were killed at Carrhae,’ Tarquinius revealed. ‘Ten thousand of us were taken prisoner.’

‘Rome was full of the terrible news at the time,’ exclaimed Varus. ‘It was soon forgotten by most, though. What happened to you?’

‘The Parthians marched us more than fifteen hundred miles into the east,’ said Romulus bitterly. ‘To a place even the gods have forsaken.’

‘Where?’

‘Margiana.’

Varus looked intrigued.

‘We served as border guards,’ Romulus continued. ‘Constantly fighting the Parthians’ enemies — Sogdians, Scythians and Indians.’

‘A hard fate, by Jupiter,’ muttered Varus. ‘Especially as many of Crassus’ legionaries had almost completed their army service.’ He took a sip of wine. ‘You two escaped, obviously.’

Romulus nodded sadly, remembering the cost of that escape.

Varus noticed his face. ‘An arduous journey, no doubt.’

‘Yes.’ Romulus wasn’t about to explain more. ‘But eventually we reached Barbaricum.’

Like all merchants, Varus had heard of the large trading city. ‘And then?’

‘Joined a trader bound for Arabia with a cargo of spices and timber,’ lied Tarquinius smoothly. ‘Here we are.’

‘By Jupiter, you’ve travelled the whole world,’ said Varus in amazement. ‘I thought you were just guards from another merchant ship.’

Still upset by the memory of Brennus, Romulus drew his dagger and held it flat on the table. At this range, he could stab Varus before his companions had even noticed. ‘I don’t like being accused of lying,’ he hissed.

Tarquinius stared at Varus. ‘We’ve been through a lot, you understand.’

‘Of course,’ he replied quickly. ‘Your tale is remarkable.’

‘Think what you like,’ said Tarquinius mildly. ‘It’s true. And we’re the lucky ones. If they’re still alive, the other poor bastards are rotting in Margiana.’

Varus looked at them again. This time he saw the world-weary expressions, Romulus’ threadbare military jerkin and the holes in Tarquinius’ leather bordered skirt. Neither really looked like someone hired to protect a cargo of spices. ‘I apologise,’ he said, filling both their beakers to the brim. He raised a toast. ‘To those under the gods’ protection.’

Romulus sheathed his knife and they all drank.

There was silence for a time.

‘You won’t know about the situation in Rome, then?’ asked Varus at length. ‘It’s not good.’

‘We’ve heard nothing,’ Romulus replied eagerly.

Tarquinius too gave Varus all his attention. ‘Tell us,’ he requested.

‘Things between Pompey and Caesar began to sour about four years ago,’ said Varus. ‘It started with the death of his wife Julia, Caesar’s daughter. You heard about that?’

Romulus nodded. It had been news when Crassus’ army was in Asia Minor.

‘Then Crassus was killed, and the whole balance of the triumvirate disappeared.’ Varus frowned. ‘But Caesar was busy campaigning in Gaul, so Pompey relaxed a little. Took a back seat for a while. Every politician on the Seven Hills jumped in, trying to get into office. They used intimidation, bribery or even force. Crime soared, and there were regular riots. The blame for that can be laid at the feet of Pulcher and Milo. Their gangs were clashing on a daily basis for control of the city. The streets became very unsafe, even in the middle of the day.’

‘Sounds terrible,’ Romulus said, hanging on to every word. Uneasy memories of his vision at the crucifix were beginning to surface.

‘It was.’ Varus made a face. ‘The worst violence was after Pulcher was killed by gladiators working for Milo. Almost three years ago, that was.’

‘Milo had been hiring fighters for some time, hadn’t he?’ Romulus could remember the external duty, which was much desired by those in the ludus.

‘Indeed,’ Varus replied. ‘But they went too far by murdering Pulcher. His followers went crazy afterwards. There was a huge battle in the Forum Romanum, and hundreds were killed. The fuckers even burned down the Senate House!’

Romulus paled. His vision had been accurate. He looked to Tarquinius, who gave him a tiny, reassuring smile. It did little for his nerves.

Unnoticing, Varus warmed to his task. ‘After that, the Senate had little choice. They made Pompey sole consul, with dictatorial powers. Under Marcus Petreius, one of his legions was brought in to quell the trouble.’ Seeing their shock, he scowled. ‘I know. Soldiers in the capital! But it calmed things down. And after Milo was exiled to Massilia, everything went quiet for a few months.’

Romulus tried to relax. According to Tarquinius, Fabiola had survived the riot in the Forum, so hopefully she was safe. Mithras, he thought, and Jupiter, Greatest and Best, look after my sister.

‘But Cato and the Optimates were still on the warpath,’ Varus continued. ‘They wanted Caesar to return to Rome and stand trial for various things — using violence during his previous term as consul, exceeding his remit in the conquest of Gaul. Meanwhile, Caesar was eager to continue in office — it didn’t matter which one — to avoid prosecution. His campaigns had made him incredibly wealthy, so to further his ends, he bought up every politician who’d take his money.’

‘Shrewd,’ said Tarquinius.

‘Caesar’s supporters repeatedly blocked the Optimates’ attempts to corner him,’ agreed Varus. ‘As a result, there was often stalemate in the Senate.’

‘And Pompey sat on the fence?’ asked Romulus.

‘Yes. He was often “sick”, or missed crucial debates.’ Varus shrugged. ‘I think he was trying to stay out of trouble.’

‘Or he knew what might happen,’ added Tarquinius.

‘You could be right,’ agreed Varus with a heavy sigh. ‘But for whatever reason, Pompey has finally joined the Optimates and all those who want Caesar’s head on a plate. Nine months ago, it was only the veto of Curio, a tribune paid off by Caesar, which prevented the passing of a decree recalling him to face justice. More attempts have been made; it’s just a matter of time before they succeed.’