Sego shrugged, the plates of his shoulder armor clanking lightly with the motion. “The Imperator can do what he wants. If he says he wants you to be a centurio, they’ll find some men for you to lead.”
Lucius snorted and chuckled. “Where do you get all this?”
“I like gossip. You keep your ears open, and you can hear all kinds of interesting things,” Sego replied.
“Well, master of ears, why are they refitting the I Adiutrix?” If it were true, he’d miss Sego, guessing the lanky German would most likely be staying with the XXX Ulpia. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave his friends and the legion he’d been a founding member of, but he had little choice if the orders were indeed coming directly from the imperator. He’d signed the contract, and he’d do his duty.
“Old Man’s going after Parthia…”
ONE 117 CE
The afternoon sea breeze blew in from the Internum Mare, cooling Antiochia in the stifling heat of high summer. After three years of campaigning in Armenia and Mesopotamia, Trajan had decided it was time to return to Roma, bringing Lucius and his legion along with him for their brief stop in the city founded by Alexander the Great’s general Seleucus.
“With Traianus leaving for Roma, we’ll lose all our gains. All that fighting, killing, and dying for nothing.” Lucius shook his head as he pulled a rag out of his belt pouch and wiped the sweat running down his nose. Lucius’s armor shone, the polished phelarae catching bits of sun and reflecting them like he was gemstone. He’d earned a couple more medals during the years serving Trajan in his Parthian War.
“Yeah. It’s unfortunate. Parthia is already gobbling up all the territory we took from them. It is what it is,” Syphax replied with a half-hearted shrug.
Lucius nodded. “As my old centurio used to say, ‘ours is not to question why, but to do and die.’”
“He’s not wrong.” Syphax pulled out the summons from the emperor as they approached the gates of the palace Trajan used while in Antiochia.
A pair of Praetorians in their shiny, segmented armor and purple cloaks stood sentinel at the palace’s entryway, their shields propped against one side of their body, their pila held upright. Lucius and Syphax stopped before the Praetorians, Syphax presenting the orders allowing them entrance into the temporary imperial residence.
“Alright, you’re free to proceed.” The Praetorian handed the orders back to Syphax while his comrade opened the doors for them.
They stood in the entryway as their eyes adjusted from the bright Syrian midday sun to the darker confines of the palace. Syphax untied his helmet and pulled it off. His short tightly curly hair was damp from sweat. Lucius followed suit. The cool interior of the stone building felt good on his head after being confined inside the metal helmet.
“All this sweat is going to rust my armor, then I’ll have to polish it again.” Lucius wiped his forehead and neck with the rag, then ran it over his short brown hair.
Syphax laughed. “If you quit wearing that manica, you’d have less armor to polish. It would probably be cooler too. Still not used to the heat after all this time?”
The manica that covered his right arm from shoulder to wrist had only been issued to the legions fighting in Dacia to protect their arms from the deadly falx. A legionnaire without a right hand was a useless soldier, assuming he even survived the encounter.
“Mostly used to it, but walking around inside my own personal oven doesn’t help. Not all of us were born in the deserts of Mauretania Tingitana.”
Syphax, born of Berber heritage in Africa, was dark brown after the years fighting throughout Mesopotamia. Lucius, at best, managed a red tinted tan, preferring to wear a long-sleeved, light linen tunic to keep the sun off his fair skin.
Lucius, eyes adjusting, spied a small, fussy older man making his way towards them. A moment later, he recognized the emperor’s personal chamberlain.
“Ah, if it’s not Syphax Quietus and the young Ferrata.” Felix bowed before the two legionnaires.
“Not so young anymore, Felix.” Syphax turned towards Lucius. “What are you now, thirty?”
“Thirty-one last spring,” Lucius replied.
Felix chuckled. “Still younger than either of us, eh, Syphax?”
“That’s the truth.” Syphax reached up and ran his hand through his hair, the white hairs interspersed with black catching rays of sunlight streaming in from the still open doors. His fingers pulled the hairs and released them, the curls springing back into place. Lucius’s centurion wiped his hand across the dark brown skin of his forehead. “Our world is graying, Felix. Fading. Tell me true, how is the old man doing?”
Felix took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, reaching to grasp Syphax’s forearm. “He’s…” His voice caught. “He is…still himself.”
Syphax and Felix made eye contact, an intense understanding exchanged. Lucius, looking between the two older men, turned his thoughts towards his father. Ambeltrix Gaius Silvanus had walked the earth as long as their emperor had and a few years more. His father, the image of robustness and vitality—a larger-than-life figure—had weathered poorly from when Lucius had left to join the legions and when he’d returned six years later. He wondered how his father fared with another eight years on his shoulders. Legionary years were hard years; Ambeltrix had served twenty-five of them.
In many ways, Lucius had felt an affection for his emperor akin to that of a son to his father or a favored uncle. That feeling had become tarnished over the years as Lucius fought in two long wars, but he’d signed the contract and hitched his fortunes to those of the empire. And because of his service, the emperor had recognized him and raised him up, not once, but many times, placing the burden of leadership on his young shoulders and ensuring he was guided to his full potential. Syphax, a member of the Quietus family who was beloved of the emperor and who had served him so well, had been placed above Lucius to guide him and develop him so he could better serve the emperor both men had dedicated their lives to. Syphax had become the older brother he’d never known in his own family.
Watching the exchange between Syphax and Felix confirmed the rumors were true; Trajan, Imperator Caesar Nerva Traianus Divi Nervae filius Augustus, was dying. The man who’d called Lucius from the forests of Belgic Gaul to the mountains of Dacia and the arid deserts of Mesopotamia, the other looming figure of Lucius’s life, was about to pass on from the world.
“How is he today, Felix?” Syphax asked.
Felix sagged in on himself. “Tired and spiteful. He wants to challenge the gods who have brought him so low when he was about to do what no Roman had done before him.”
“He rages against the coming night?”
Felix nodded, shaking loose tears from his eyes. “He does. When he thinks I’m not listening, he argues with himself about his past failings. Men like him are not suited to die in bed. He should have been struck down with a gladius in his hand and armor on his chest.”
Lucius watched his centurion’s face droop.
Syphax’s eyes grew distant. “Aye…”
Syphax and Felix, after their shared quiet grief, made eye contact and nodded at each other signaling they were ready to greet their ailing imperator.
“Shall we?” Felix asked, turning away from Lucius and Syphax and walking back down the hall whence he’d come. “He wants you to meet with his liaison to the Mithraic leaders before I take you to him.”
Although Lucius had been initiated into the secrets of Mithras when he’d been assigned as Quietus’s optio and eventually risen to the third rank, he hadn’t met the man who stood between the emperor and the various pater patrum of the empire’s Mithraic temples. The religion had come out of the east and grown in popularity with the empire’s elite, particularly those leading Roma’s legions. Lucius had been promoted to third level, Miles, as learned the mysteries of Mithras and its tenets as practiced by the leadership of the empire.
They followed Felix through a series of dark corridors sparsely lit with the occasional oil lamp, passing a few Praetorians standing watch. The corridors felt dry and dusty, as if the imperator’s people hadn’t taken the time to properly clean the large space before his temporary residence.
