Pisakar took up a position behind and to the side of Lucius, serving as guard and aid-de-camp during the meeting. And although one of the lower officers usually served in this capacity, Pisakar probably wanted to snoop. He cleared his throat to let Lucius know he was disappointed in him for not making the centurio stand for the meeting.
“Thank you, Princeps Primus Centurio,” the centurion said.
Lucius nodded, acknowledging the man. “And please, address me as Centurio.”
“Aye, Centurio.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, you look familiar. Have we met before, or is age blending all faces into the familiar?” Lucius asked, tone airy and bemused.
“I can’t speak for your memory, sir, but in my case, it may be both.”
Lucius cocked his head to the side, an eyebrow quirking up. “How so, Centurio? How are you called?”
“Segomaros, sir. It’s a family name.”
“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while…” Lucius mused.
“I doubt you’d remember me, sir. The last time we met, I was a snot-nosed miles fresh out of training. I fought alongside the Black near Mongotiacum.”
“That was about thirty years ago.”
“Aye, sir. I’ve aged a bit since then.”
“And the name?”
“It’s a family name. An ancestor of mine served with you back when you were with the XXX Ulpia Victrix, sir.”
“Shit, Sego? Gods, that was a long time ago.” Squinting a bit to blur the edges of Segomaros’s face, Lucius nodded. “You’ve got something about him in your face. The chin and the cheeks.” He turned to address Pisakar. “Segomaros enlisted the same time I did. We went through training together. He got promoted to signifier when I was promoted to tesserarius.”
“How old were you, Centurio?” Pisakar asked.
“Nineteen, I think. It was the first year of Traianus’s second Dacian war. Sometime I’ll tell you how I led, with the aid of Centurio Segomaros’s great-great-great- however many times great-grandfather, a half centuria out of an ambush and rescued the Vexillation I was assigned to.”
Turning back to Centurio Segomaros, Lucius smiled as the color drained from the Centurio’s face. He could hear Pisakar’s deep chuckle behind him.
“I don’t think the Centurio quite believed why the Imperator sent him,” Pisakar said.
Lucius chuckled. “And that brings us to the point of this meeting. What news from our Imperator, Centurio?”
Segomaros took a second to collect himself and reached into an oilskin bag, pulling out a sealed folio. Pisakar stepped from his position behind Lucius and retrieved it from the Centurio, inspecting it before turning it over to Lucius.
“I’m to wait for your reply and return immediately, sir,” Centurio Segomaros added.
Lucius broke the seal on the folio and pulled out folded papyrus, again, sealed. He brought his pugio to hand and carefully ran the dagger blade along the papyrus’s edge, popping the wax. Carefully, he preserved the Chi Rho surrounded by a laurel wreath, the symbol Constantius had used since his victory at the Battle of Milvian Bridge twenty years ago, earning his undisputed status as Imperator of the western half of the empire.
Lucius unfolded the papyrus and scanned the message from the newest self-styled “Dominus,” Lord of the Roman Empire. “I’m to report to Constantinopolis to ‘consult’ with the Dominus on matters concerning the Goths and Sarmatians.”
“When?” Pisakar asked.
“‘At my earliest convenience,’ it says.”
“So, immediately?”
“Immediately,” Lucius confirmed. “Legatus Pisakar…”
Pisakar drew up to full attention at the use of his title by his commanding officer.
“See to the comfort of the Centurio and his men for one more night.” He turned to address the Centurio. “You’ll depart at first light with your message for Dominus Constantius.”
The centurio stood up and saluted. “Sir!”
“Centurio Hamilcar,” Pisakar called. When a man wearing a centurion’s crest stepped into the office, Pisakar issued his orders. “See to Centurio Segomaros and his men. Have their supplies restocked and ready to march out at first light.”
Hamilcar saluted and stepped out of the office; Segomaros followed.
Lucius turned around and pulled out a large roll from the storage cabinet. Setting it on his desk, he unrolled the large map of the northern region encompassing the territory along the Danuvius.
“Pisakar, I want you to take the legion to…” He ran his finger over the blue line of the river. “Oescus. I want you close in case I need you. That’s central enough so we can go east or west before crossing the northern border into wild country.”
Piskar looked over Lucius’s shoulder, checking out the small mark on the northern border of Dacia, near the western border of Moesia.
“You don’t think he’ll send us north from here?” Pisakar asked.
“I’m not sure. I don’t know the man, only what I’ve seen him do. I’d rather not gamble and have you out of place if we need to hurry. I’ll need a proper escort.”
“Two Cohorts?” Pisakar asked. “The First Cohort and the Eighth?”
“Yes. Give me the First…” Lucius hesitated, considering which other cohort he’d want to take. “And the Sixth.”
