Iron Shaft: Septimus

Metilus Cripus Hispanus to his L. Cornelius Pusio, honored son of Lucius, greetings.

Pardon the long delay in replying to your mother, but I spent the festivals of Juno and Mars this year visiting a friend at Alba Longa, a day’s journey down the coast. We sat in his garden, watching the ripples on the lake, sipping good wine and talking as old men do of past triumphs, faded glories and those small defeats that become smaller and smaller with each re-telling. It had been many years since my last visit to Alba Longa, as I will tell you, and the final time I saw the beautiful . . . Ah! . . but that part of my story will have to wait.

Please reassure your noble mother that once I received her message, I hurried immediately to the latrine and listened to the gossip of the women. In less than a finger of time, and before I was able to use my sponge and escape their shrill chatter, I was fully informed of the recent scandal - which took place during the last festival of Matralia.

Then, as instructed by your mother, I went secretly to the Forum Boarium and recovered her clay pot. This has now been completely destroyed; its contents are secure. The reputation of your Noble, and gracious, family Matron is safe once more.

My discretion is absolute.

Fortunately I still have a lot of friends on the Esquiline who owe me favors. They told me that the rumors will soon blow away, but your noble mother may well be advised not to go near the Temple of Mater Matuta until next year. Tongues will not stop wagging until there is another scandal to divert them. It will not be long.

When your father died and she forfeited the right to garland the goddess during their major Matralia ceremony, she received much sympathy. Naturally she was given the exalted honor of supplying the special cakes in clay pots that are offered in sacrifice. According to the rumors, the new High First Matron started examining the contents of some of these pots, and turned to the other matrons in horror. She declared the first three all nefasti.

She has never liked your mother, and your families have had their differences, so I suspect that she was trying to disgrace your noble mother and drag her spotless reputation through gutters of mud. At that moment in the service one of the younger matrons screamed loudly. A slave had been caught defiling the ceremony by her illegal presence.

Naturally, the high matron whipped this slave, but such outrageous behavior clearly desecrated the rites and rituals to such an extent that everything was lost. All the other matrons grabbed the children of their sisters and fled the Temple, leaving behind the pots and sacrifices.

Unfortunately the clay pots used by your mother were clearly marked with the name of the gens Cornelia, and if their contents had been examined later, and declared nefasti, your mother would not have been allowed to partake in next year’s festival. Disgrace for her and disaster for your political career would surely have followed. So she begged me to recover her pots before there were any more investigations.

It cost me several denarii to bribe the Temple acolytes, which your mother can consider a gift from me, do not try to repay me with coin. In this way I was able to recover the suspect pots and destroy them. Your mother’s slaves should be punished, however, as the cakes inside were clearly not of the required high quality.

Scandals in Rome are as common as rain and this one will wash away soon. Rome is the greatest city in the world, with perhaps one exception. Believe me. I have visited this place and sampled some of its many pleasures and incredible delights. But I would prefer to be a humble citizen of Rome, despite all its flaws, than be a Pharaoh in this other city.

I well remember the time I went there, long before Caesar buried his shaft in that particular pearl. I had the honor of preparing the way for him and moistening her very willing mound and teaching her some of the many tricks she later used to such good effect on lesser men than Caesar.

When you read this letter to your mother, please do not read those last words. If you are interested, however, I will send you an account of that particular encounter on a separate roll.

[For the sake of continuity I have combined the two accounts, the first and second scroll, in one story - ed.]

It was in the autumn of the year that Marcus Licinius Crassus and Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus were Consuls in Rome [55 BC - ed.] that Caesar brought his legions back to Gaul after successfully invading the island of Britannia [see Sextus - ed.]. At that time I still held the rank of Praefectus Equitum Magnus in the Legio X, despite the total absence of horses or cavalry during any of our battles. The ships that were supposed to be bringing them to the Island of Dogs never arrived, so I served Caesar and Rome in other ways. Some of these I remember with affection - others still cause me to sweat at night.

"Cunnus, head for that beach," Legatus Publius Crassus, son of the richest man in Rome, shouted in my ear as our ship lurched unsteadily towards the pounding surf on the shores of Gaul. He was not giving me an order, but trying to force the Greek Trierarch of our rapidly sinking vessel to get us into shallow water before we all drowned.

Iron Shaft, if he does not obey me, cut off his hand, the angry Legatus yelled loudly, and throw his body overboard. The Greek Trierarch, who had some Latin, scowled at us both and ignored every word. He used that special look inferior men give when they think they know better than their superiors.

As I have written to you on a different scroll [see Sextus - ed.], we had to leave the tribes of Britannia somewhat hurriedly. Our nominal allies, the Cantiaci tribe, had finished their fi’itch ruetho [‘raven run’ horse races and games - ed.] and were entering the time they call Catlach. They were also surrounded by mortal enemies and dubious allies. Storms had destroyed most of our ships. It was only when I captured vessels from the treacherous, Gaulish Venelli tribe, that we were able to escape, thus sparing us the horror of spending a whole winter on that miserable island. But it was an escape not without peril or difficulty.

Where is Caesar? Publius asked, with a snort. And for the fifteenth time in the last hour I once again scoured the gray horizon, but only saw lesser vessels and none carrying the gold vexillium of our leader.

Over there, I replied, pointing into the distance. In the silvery haze other ships could be seen riding the surf and being tossed onto the rocks. Even with my superior eyesight I could not identify any of their passengers or crew, but it is best if you do not frustrate officers when they are anxious.

Get the men ready, he snarled at me, despite the fact that I was not one of his centurions.

During the boarding of the ships, back in Britannia, I had made sure that all the men of the Legio X were safely onto their transports, and was about to do the same, when I saw another problem. The auxiliaries of the Legio VII, were scattered, frightened, and in danger of being left behind. Their centurions had abandoned them.

Along with Legatus Publius Crassus, I forced the last of the Thracian archers and Balearic slingers into the waves by shouting at them and prodding them with spears. I was among the last to clamber up the sides of a vessel and mercifully watch the cliffs of Britannia fade behind us.

Fortunately Caesar had been one of the first to board the largest and most seaworthy vessel, and he had even managed to take all his horses and valuable supplies with him. He was well ahead of us when our ship began to sink.

I touched the elbow of the Greek and pointed at a break in the surf. He nodded, but had already seen our only hope. Then I forced all the auxiliaries who could still stand to the sides of the ship and got them ready to jump into the water if we hit any obstacles. It was not necessary. We were all thrown off our feet as the keel of our ship, that had not long to live, finally ground into the sands of Gaul. We were back.

Romans are particularly good at bringing order out of chaos, so despite the gloom of evening and the total absence of discipline, it only took three hours to round up enough men to make a feeble marching camp that would have disgraced the whole of the army if it had been seen in daylight. We had no leather [tents - ed.] so we fell asleep where we lay and waited for dawn.

With the late arrival of a weak sun the Legions began to sort themselves out, and I remained with the Legio VII at the request of Legatus Crassus. His legion was by now mostly auxiliaries and he had few veteran officers. Naturally his Primus Pilus hated me, and when a proper marching camp was finally dug it was made clear that I was not welcome around their fires.

Are you Centurion Hispanus? the well outfitted vexillarius asked from the back of his horse. The one they call Iron Shaft?

"I am Praefectus Metilius Crispus Hispanus," I replied, pausing between eating a bowl of cold puls, and removing sand from my armor and weapons. Small shreds of dignity still remained, and I clung to them. What do you want?

He looked down his nose at my unfortunate condition. "You are to come with me. Where is Legatus Crassus?"

I pointed to the back of the camp where we had dug temporary latrines. I did not know where Publius was, but this seemed like a good place to send the shining vexillarius, who was beginning to annoy me.

Come with me, he frowned, and twisted his reins. I ignored him. I still had food to eat and my pole to find [i.e. locate his personal supplies - ed.]. He rode off.

Who was that? asked Legatus Crassus, appearing at my side and helping himself to most of my remaining puls.

I shrugged. We are to go with him, I said, brushing wet sand from my underwear and rubbing my sword clean. When he gets back from the latrines. Publius chuckled.

"He was carrying the vexillium of the Bull-X," he said between laughs and mouthfuls of food. Meaning that our messenger was from the Legio X, and probably thus from Legatus Labienus - or Caesar.

Then I’d better find my shield and helmet, I said reluctantly and went to recover them from the pile of equipment salvaged from the ships still floundering on the shore. Our men had emptied the vessels and put all that they could not identify into one location. Men were picking through this recovering what was theirs. In the Legions it is one of the unbreakable rules that you never steal the weapons of others, so they were all looking for their own marks before taking anything from the pile.

It did not take long. An officious optio directed me to the pile of shields previously held by officers, and I was back in the center of camp before the vexillarius realized his mistake and came back to join us. Thus, I was reasonably equipped as we all made our way to the camp of the Legio X. I was proud of the way my men had constructed their camp and were now establishing good order.

Wait here, grunted the vexillarius as he left us before the tents of the tribunes. We were not alone. Centurions and messengers crowded the benches outside the tent of the praefectus castris and the Primus Pilus was surrounded by optii all desperately seeking his attention. It was also clear that the tent of Labienus and the tent of Caesar were fully occupied. We found a bench, threw the occupants off, and took a seat.

A tab-leg noticed us and saluted. "Legatus Crassus, greetings. How goes the camp of the Legio VII? Without waiting for a reply he handed Publius a sliver of wood with a sloppily written order upon it. He went on: The camp of Fabius is a day’s march south of here. Caesar commands you to take your legion and guard the border between the Atrebates and the Ambiani. Your legion should leave at once, but you are to wait here until he can speak to you. As you see, there is much to be done." He hurried off without waiting for our reply.

We took our seats and waited. It was about the fourth hour when a party on horseback rode past us, saluted the aquilifer, and dropped from their saddles. To my surprise, Legatus Crassus jumped up from his seat and shouted.

Marcus - by the balls of Apollo - what are you doing here?

He was addressing a tall, distinguished man several years older than himself, who, despite the rigors of a long ride carried the dirt with dignity. He swept his helmet off a fine head of dark, curly hair and looked around with deep brown eyes searching for the voice that was hailing him. His hand went automatically to the sword at his waist and he spread his legs. Then he grinned, sprang forward and took Legatus Crassus in a huge grip with both arms.

Publius, you son of a pig-in-a-toga, it is good to see you. How wet is your shaft? Where is your legion? I was coming to see you.

Both men laughed, thumped their fists into their chests, hugged again and insulted each other in a spirited manner that left no doubt that they were related. Both men had the same nose, the same eyes and the same swagger that only the very rich can afford. With his right hand behind the neck of the new arrival, Publius turned to me.

"Iron Shaft - this is my brother, Marcus. Greet him and piss on his caligulae." Of course I did the former, but not the latter.

"Greetings, Marcus Crassus, welcome to the camp of the Legio X," I said as respectfully as I could.

Save your piss, laughed Marcus Crassus, reaching out and gripping my arm. Brother Publius has told me about you and your previous adventures in Britannia looking for pearls. Is it true what he said about those barbarian priests and their skulls?

He did not want my answer, so I just grinned and nodded as he turned back to his sibling.

I come from Father, he said in a very different tone of voice, lowering his head and bending forward. "I’ve been waiting for you in the camp of Sabinus. I rode out this morning when we got the news that Caesar was back in Gaul. I am to become one of his questori. Did everyone return safe from Britannia?"

Publius reassured his brother that all was well, or at least as well as could be expected. They fell into a conversation about their relatives, their mutual friends in Rome, and the tedious journey Marcus has recently undertaken to get to the lands of the Belgae.

Then there was an awkward moment of silence.

"And pater?" Publius asked at last. It was a topic both men had been avoiding.

"Yes, pater, brother Marcus responded, dropping his arms to his side and lowering his head again so he was looking at the ground. He is in good health and appears in the Senate for most sessions. Every day his augurs read the signs from the gods, but he grows irritable at their readings. One day, when he almost broke an ankle without warning, he had the last one whipped and thrown in the Tiber."

Both men smiled uneasily. "Pater sent several of them with me, and they had no better success while we were traveling. Despite the generous use of expensive chickens, they totally failed to predict the fury of Summanus [god of nocturnal thunder - ed.] while we were in the lands of the Allobroges, and we almost drowned in a swollen river."

Where is he now? He’s not coming here, is he? Publius almost shouted.

No, laughed his brother, "he is still in Rome, but he has sent a whole collegium to begin your training while he waits for you."

Waits for me? What do you mean? asked a puzzled Publius.

He wants you back in Rome, right away, responded Marcus, and drew out a worn-leather scroll-case sealed with wax against water damage. Here is his message. Read it later. I can tell you what it says.

Publius took the scroll slowly, and fiddled with the seal, but did not break it. Why now? There is a lot to do here, and in the past Caesar used me to govern some of the lesser Amorican tribes. He might need me again.

Caesar will obey the wishes of Marcus Licinius Crassus, said the brother with a hint of scorn in his voice. "Pater wants you at his side right away. You are to begin training as his personal augur, and you are to help him prepare for his Proconsulship in Syria. He is taking you with him when he leaves next year."

Why?

Marcus looked at me with a hint of suspicion, but Publius vouched for my discretion. Never-the-less, they stood closer to each other and stopped speaking whenever a tab-leg came within reach.

"I suppose it is no secret that pater intends to take an army to Syria, and then march into Parthia at the first opportunity, Marcus said softly. I wish he would abandon this desire to match the military feats of Caesar and Pompey. He is an old man and the rigors of such an extensive campaign could kill him. But he has never forgiven the Senate for the way they treated him after the Spartacus revolt and the servile war. He insists on a full triumph before he dies and Parthia is the last independent power on Rome’s borders."

Strangely, I knew nothing of this history at the time, it was only later that Quadratus explained to me that it had been Marcus Licinius Crassus, father of Publius and Marcus, who had led the army that finally defeated the slave Spartacus. As it had been a war against a disgraceful rabble of inferiors, not against a professional army of enemies, Marcus Licinius Crassus’ victory was devalued and he had never been awarded a full triumph in Rome. The sting of that insult was still very fresh among his collection of humiliations and it was now his greatest ambition to sponge this away by successful Parthian conquests.

He was - er - is a great general, Publius commented, so why does he need me? It was clear that my Legatus was conflicted by the need to support and honor his father and the equally strong desire to be nowhere near him.

"You are to be his personal augur, and read the wishes of the gods with more accuracy than he has been getting recently, smiled brother Marcus. You are to be his most important Legatus, and probably the commander of at least six legions. He also wants you to start raising and training those legions, as he doubts if he will be given any by Caesar or his co-Consul, Pompey."

Both men grinned. At that time everyone expected Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus to take up his Proconsulship in Hispania when he left his Consulship at the end of the year. Naturally he would expect to take his own legions with him, leaving nothing for Crassus.

Is Pompey still sulking? asked Publius, who had not been to Rome in some time.

He rarely attends Senate meetings, unless he wants something, admitted Marcus, "but he has been very active in getting and bringing grain to feed the plebs. There have not been any food riots recently, and most Senators acknowledge the work of Pompey in getting grain supplies and that foul Publius Claudius Pulcher for giving them away free."

Being a patrician himself, Marcus used the patrician name for the gens Claudia, which was a not-to-subtle way of insulting the man all history now knows as Clodius. That was the first time I heard either name, but it was not to be the last.

When will father leave Rome? asked Publius, I had heard that there was trouble brewing in Syria. Something to do with the previous governor?

Marcus grunted and shook his head in irritation. "Yes, that fool Aulus Gabinius left the whole county in a big mess. Pater has been receiving a steady stream of complaints from the equites, who are mostly tax collectors, about the state of lawlessness they encounter - and then there is that business of the high-priest Hyracanus. Pater will have lot of work to do in Syria before he can invade Parthia."

"Isn’t Gabinius a creature of Pompey? I’ve dined with them both at his domus. The man did not seem incompetent. What went wrong?"

"Yes, Gabinius is a client of Pompey and obeys him in everything and in every-way. Under normal circumstances he would have made an excellent governor of Syria, but Pompey sent him to Egypt to sort out the mess created by Ptolemy XII Auletes, which he did, but that meant he left Syria to fall apart. Since the Senate did not give him permission to leave Syria, there is talk of trying him for maiestas [high treason - ed.] when he gets back to Rome."

Maybe father will find it hard to restore order in Syria, and so not be able to invade Parthia, Publius ventured, hopefully. Marcus put his arm around his brother.

"I would not wager a bronze denarius on that happening, brother. No, you are fated to lead his legions from Hierapolis to Hatra - crushing all those horsemen before you."

There will certainly be heavy fighting, said Publius gloomily, It is a big country.

"Nothing is too big for Pater, grinned Marcus. Don’t worry, brother, you will be camping your legions at the base of the Zagros mountains before Vulcan gets his shaft into Vesta." [an obscure reference to one of the pairings at the lectisternium - the banquet of the gods - ed.].

It will probably be Iron Shaft that does most of the shafting, said Publius, turning to me with an expression on his face I did not like. It was a look I had seen before, too many times, and every time a prelude to discomfort and peril. The Parthian women will be in more danger than their husbands.

Parthia? What was he talking about? I wasn’t going anywhere near Parthia. My goal was to remain safely and obscurely hidden in the depths of the Legio X, which was certainly not leaving Gaul in the next few years. After a difficult and dangerous summer campaigning in Britannia the legion needed time to rest and recover. There was a lot of work to do this winter.

A sudden burst of activity at the flaps of Caesar’s tent caused tab-legs to flee in all directions. We turned in anticipation and Publius started walking.

"At least you will have a decent chance of getting your wife pregnant before you go off with Pater," Marcus said to his brother’s back. That stopped him.

Wife, what wife?

"Pater has a bride waiting for you in Rome. You are to be married as soon as you arrive, Marcus laughed. Didn’t I mention that piece of news?"

Publius seized the shoulders of his brother. Wife, what wife? What are you talking about?

"Pater has chosen a wife for you. She is waiting for your shaft. Pretty girl. You’ll enjoy her."

Who? Publius almost shouted. Who is she?

"Do you really want to know? Does it matter? You’ll have to do it anyway if it is what Pater wants. Why not wait and have it come as a surprise."

I thought Publius was about to strangle Marcus.

Tell me!

Pushing his brother backwards, Marcus pretended to cough, then said slowly: Her name is Cornelia Metella.

Publius turned a greenish shade of white and I saw his legs sag.

Cornelia Metella, he almost whispered. Are you sure?

Marcus had the decency to keep his face blank as he nodded.

A groan escaped from the lips of Publius. It is fortunate that father wants me with his legions next year, for my patronage and service with Caesar is certainly over. I’ll be lucky to escape this camp alive. Does Caesar know this?

Marcus shook his head. It is our secret. Then they both noticed me.

Iron Shaft, Publius spoke directly into my face with such a stern expression rocks cracked, If you value my friendship, you will not say anything about this plan of my father’s. Do you understand? Never mention it again. I depend on you.

What could I say? I hadn’t understood a single word, except for the shafting part, but with togas this is often the case. I slapped my right arm across my chest in salute.

"You may count on me, Legatus Crassus."

That was when we got our summons to the tent of Caesar.

~~~ooo~~~

Chapter 2

Greetings, Marcus Crassus and Publius Crassus, may the blessings and good fortune of Apollo, Jupiter and Mars protect and favor you, so said an immaculate Gaius Julius Caesar, raising from his chair and stepping forward to embrace his two guests. Wine?

Despite the fact that he had only been back in Gaul for less than three days, the inside of his tent would not have disgraced the best rooms in the villa of Livia - without the wall paintings. His slaves almost fell over themselves rushing the best watered wine in silver beakers into the hands of his two guests. I got nothing.

"Legatus Crassus, he went on, taking the arm of Publius in his hand and shaking it firmly. Your legion, how did it fare?"

I bring the tally taken yesterday by my centurions, Caesar, we did not lose a single man during the voyage back from Gaul, replied Publius Crassus, handing over a scroll that listed all his surviving veterans.

Excellent. I have plans for your legion, do not depart without getting them from Vibius, said Caesar turning and putting the tally on the nearest table where it was promptly snatched away by his cornicularius [chief clerk - ed.].

And you, Marcus, son of Marcus, I was expecting to see you ten days ago!

Both brothers froze for the beat of a gull’s wing until they realized that Caesar was making one of his very rare jokes. Stilted laughter followed and smiling broadly Caesar patted the face of Marcus and gripped his shoulders in both of his hands.

"Son of my faithful friend, I welcome you into my service. I have a note here that you are to become a questor. I hope you like hard work. I wear out questorii like soft caligulae. Ha!"

Everyone in the tent laughed nervously, again. Two jokes in succession were more than any of us were expecting. Was the Hairy One in a good humor?

Do you have scrolls for me? Where have you been staying? he went on, pleased with his attempt to set the brothers Crassus at ease - not realizing that his jests were having the opposite effect.

"For the past two weeks I have been with Quintus Titurius Sabinus, noble Caesar. His legion has been guarding the eastern flank and keeping the Menapi quiet. He tells me that there were occasional disturbances over the summer, but nothing serious. Here are his reports, and also messages from my pater, in Rome." Marcus Crassus handed Caesar several scrolls wrapped in fine goat skin.

Caesar carefully separated the military scrolls from those brought from Rome, then stroked his nose thoughtfully. And your father, how goes he?

"When I left home, noble Caesar, he was in good health, contentiously carrying out the duties of Consul, serving the Senate and people of Rome. He was amazed and envious of your triumphs among the trans-Rhenus barbarians and the tribes of Britannia. I am to tell you that the Senate has decreed ten days of celebration in Rome in honor of your achievements, and even Cato spoke in your favor. All Rome hails the great Caesar." So spoke the diplomat.

Do they, do they, mused the Hairy One, picking up a golden laurel wreath and placing it on his head. What Caesar wore on his head was a very good indication of his mood. This was an excellent sign.

Our summer campaign went well. I will be sending a full account to the Senate shortly, but now I must get my legions ready for winter and prepare for my return to Gallia Cisalpina [Cisalpine Gaul - ed.]. You, Marcus, will be staying here with Sabinus and his legion this winter, and you Publius will be taking your legion down the coast, back to Armorica. There have been grumblings among the lesser tribes and I would like you to keep watch over the Veneti and Venelli. I don’t trust them.

Marcus saluted in agreement with his orders, but Legatus Publius Crassus hesitated. Caesar noted the hesitation at once.

"What is it, Legatus Crassus, you know those seafaring tribes better than any of my other officers. You are very valuable to me."

Noble Caesar, stuttered Publius, forgive me, but I have been ordered back to Rome by Marcus Licinius Crassus. My brother brought me the news that our father wants me to go with him to Syria, and take command of his legions.

From the way that Caesar hooded his eyes, I realized at once that this news was not a surprise to our great leader. As I was to find out later, his lines of communication with Rome were excellent and he even got messages from his agents while we were fighting in the Island of Dogs. He probably already knew what Pompey had for dinner last week.

After a long pause. Naturally, murmured Caesar, again rubbing the side of his nose, he will want you at his side when he takes his legions into Parthia, will he not? And in you he is getting one of the best officers in the whole Roman army. As I well know.

He paused again, touched the gold wreath around his head and turned thoughtful. You will ride behind him in the chariot when Rome gives him his expected triumph and whisper in his ear ‘You are only a mortal man’. Since it is usually a slave that rides with the hero and whispers these words, this was a strange compliment. He went on: As a dutiful son you must honor and obey your father, I would expect no less from you. He put his hand on the shoulder of Publius. Go with the blessing of Jupiter and Caesar. I will be sorry to lose you.

Overcome, Publius went down on one knee. Noble Caesar, your generosity humbles me, I would never leave you, but filial duty binds me to my father.

I understand, said Caesar using two fingers to bring Publius back to his feet. Your loyalty to me is my most valuable possession. Is there anything I can give you that will make this parting easier; a gold torque, an axe from the Temple of Jupiter, a legion of men? Speak.

Caesar, all I need in this life, and the next, is your blessing and your continued good opinion of me. I need nothing else - but . . .

But?

Perhaps a trifle, a small token of your esteem, nothing important, just one man.

The tent grew very quiet and my bowels were suddenly seized by the fiery imps of Hades. NO! I screamed silently to myself.

Caesar appeared puzzled. He had not been expecting this request. "One man? A priest, a sacerodos, a nubile slave?"

Very slowly all eyes turned towards the flaps of the tent where I was trying to make myself invisible.

Iron Shaft.

Marcus gasped and Caesar wryly smiled.

"My Praefectus, Metilius Crispus Hispanus? What can you possibly want with him, unless it is to impregnate all your female slaves?"

Publius knew he was in a clever trap set by cunning Caesar; if he praised me and my many virtues, which we all knew were vast, he would be laying out all the reasons I was valuable to Caesar; but if he used faint words of praise he was insulting me and making his request seem foolish.

Caesar, my father has requested that I raise him new legions and staff them with the best possible centurions. All the world knows that Caesar has the best led legions in the whole army of Rome. Where else should I look to obey the orders of Marcus Licinius Crassus? Why - here in the tent of Caesar.

It was a good and subtle defense of his request, and Caesar continued to smile thinly.

You think Iron Shaft is a good officer?

"I do Caesar, he was with me - at your orders - when I took my men to Britannia in search of those moon pearls [see Quadratus - ed.]. Here he paused slightly and looked to see if Caesar had caught the deeper meaning behind this reference. We had gone to Britannia to bring back the moon pearls needed to save the life of Caesar. He went on: During that trip Iron Shaft showed the kind of initiative in carrying out his duties that my father will desperately need in Syria."

And Parthia, Caesar whispered sarcastically. Clearly the ambitions of Marcus Licinius Crassus were obvious to everyone. "I know the value of Iron Shaft, he has served Rome well during his short career in the Legio X." He turned and picked up a scroll from his desk but did not try to unroll, or read it.

As he tapped it on the side of his face, he continued: As you say, he knows more about the strange ways and customs of the Gauls and Celts than any decent Roman should. If - if I was thinking of returning to Britannia next year, I would need men like Hispanus. This was our first hint that Caesar was thinking of returning to the Island of Dogs next season.

I now know what it feels like to stand on the slave-block and have customers discuss your merits and flaws, while trying to decide on a fair price. I stared at the immaculate ceiling of Caesar’s tent and kept quiet. My fate was being decided by forces outside my control and with weapons that never touched a sharpening-stone.

I have a feeling, nothing more, that at that moment Caesar was going to refuse the request of Publius. He knew better than most my true value, and the weight of gold coins held by the aquilifer in my name testified to the gratitude of the Hairy One. He knew that in the past I had frequently saved his reputation, and sometimes his life. Such services were important to Caesar.

We were suddenly interrupted.

"Caesar, Greetings, I have just received a message from Legatus Cicero, apparently the Legio VIII - what in Hades are you doing here!"

Legatus Titus Labienus, Rough Chin, my old nemesis had just violently entered the tent of Caesar and had crashed into my shoulder, nearly knocking both of us off our feet. If he had been carrying his vine-stick I would have been carrying a thick scar across my face to this day. He was addressing his last remark at me.

His unattractive face was flushed red with anger, and the healing disfigurement on his cheek looked to be throbbing and in need of further of my treatments. [see Sextus - ed.]. Unconsciously he touched it with his finger and the conflict between his gratitude for my medications, and his natural anger at my continued existence fought expressive battles across his face.

The weaker of the two emotions lost the contest. What is this man doing here? he snarled at me but looking directly at Publius, then he noticed brother Marcus and the strange look that Caesar was giving him. He stuttered into silence trying to hold inside him the frustrated anger he dare not show before the Proconsul.

Legatus Labienus despite his many faults and weaknesses was a very valuable commodity in the army of Caesar; everybody hated him. This was a property Caesar skillfully created and manipulated to increase his own popularity, amongst other things. Labienus always took the blame and Caesar always took the credit.

Labienus, greetings, Caesar said slowly, braking the embarrassed silence that followed, you have something for me?

Labienus nodded a reluctant acknowledgement in the direction of the brothers Marcus and Publius, then handed Caesar a thin scroll. From Cicero, he explained, what is important is what he does not say in there. Swift action must be taken at once or there could be a mutiny. I have sent for him. If he has any sense he will come immediately.

Yes, indeed, Caesar sighed taking the scroll and throwing it on one of the tables, I will speak to him when he gets here. I wish he was as scared of me as he is of his brother. [Marcus Tullius Cicero - the orator and letter writer - see later - ed.]. No one laughed.

Why do you tolerate him? grumbled Labienus. Clearly there was no wine left to spill between these two men.

He is a totally honest man, admitted Caesar reluctantly, making the compliment sound like a fault. Bring him to me the moment he arrives. He waved Labienus away, but as his Legatus reached the flaps, he spoke again.

Oh, Labienus, have you thanked Iron Shaft for saving your face? It was said softly and with a total lack of irony. He was a superb actor.

A barbarian spear could not have stopped Rough Chin in a more ugly fashion. We could all see the immense struggle going on inside the man by watching the ripples of hate twist the strands of his neck into knots. Without turning back to face his audience he clenched his fists and choked out only one word: Gratitude. He then flung aside the flaps, pushed the anxiously waiting tab-legs out of the way and stormed off.

Marcus cleared his throat. "Noble Caesar, with your permission, I will begin my duties at once. I have far to go. Do