To Kill the Christ! - Chapter Twenty-seven: A Senator’s Letter of Passage

The steep road to lacus Sebinnes was made more dangerous by mud flows across the road after they passed the snow pack. Only a slow and careful descent enabled the caravan to safely reach the Roman village on the northwestern end of the lake. It was a small town that offered services to caravans braving the pass during most months of the year. The road south along the lakeshore was paved and well traveled, but Carl paid for ferries to carry them the length of the lake to rest men and animals. Though the Italian roads were much better than any they had used in Gaul, they still had a great distance to travel from the foothills of the Alps to central Italy's Rome.

Long before they reached Piacenza Alexander made an offer. "I'll ask my patron for a letter of passage that will allow you and your men to use official way stations in Italy and in the rest of the Empire. To use it you will need to carry official documents or packages to officials in Syria, but that's a minor requirement."

If Alexander could produce on his promise, it would ease their passage the remainder of the journey to Jerusalem and back, especially past officious and snoopy border guards. They would escape tolls and taxes or tariffs and speed their way.

Without announcing it, however, Alexander had a plan of his own, one in which he would accompany Carl to Judea. He was intrigued by the story of Jesus.  All he had to do was to come up with a plausible scheme that would allow him to trade in Syria or, perhaps, even Judea.

Normally he would trade for silk that came through Palestine and Syria from China, but Tiberius and the Roman Senate had ruled against the massive expenditures that Roman aristocrats, especially men, had been paying for silk in recent years. Too much Roman coinage was going to Asia. Some even said that Tiberius was offended when he saw Roman men in the effeminate silk.

While musing on the demands of the rich for silk, and on the Senate's restrictions on it, Alexander arrived at a logical scheme, buy the purple dye made from shellfish that abound in the sea near Roman Syria. Roman aristocrats showed their caste by the width of the purple stripes on tunics and togas. Only the emperor wore purple togas.

That night they camped outside of Brixina. It was a short journey from there to Piacenza the next day.

Carl was away from the fire, checking on the guard, when Alexander asked Marcus and Sertorius how long they had known him.

"Eight years," Marcus volunteered. "He rescued us and three other soldiers from a prison in which we had been held nearly three years. We were captured in Gaul and sold to the Coritani so their Druid leader could sacrifice one of us each year to their wood spirits. The sacrifice takes place each year at their fall festival or meeting. Dumnocoveros, the ri of the village, tried to capture Carl and his men when they sought passage through the Cheet and across the Trent river.

"He made a great mistake in confronting Carl, and he lost. He and his general died, and Carl won the kingdom. He told me later that he didn't want Nottingham, as he called it, but rather an area north of Sherwood Forest. But, now he was ri of Nottingham. That's when he found us and set us free."

'If you were free, why are you now with him?"

"We chose to serve him. He said we could leave at any time, but if we served him five years, he would make provision for us to return to Rome. We willingly served him."

"But, you said you've known him eight years."

"Yes," Sertorius entered the conversation, "by the time five years were up one of our comrades had died from his prison exposure, and only one man wanted to leave for Rome. The rest of us had married Coritani women and settled down in Long Reach, the kingdom built by Carl north of Nottingham. Marcus was the engineer and leader in building the town of Long Reach and its great fortress."

Marcus interrupted. "You probably aren't interested in this"—he had learned that engineers had their well defined interests that were seldom shared by non-engineers— "but we used building techniques I've never used before. It's been exciting and even fun."

"But Long Reach can't be as great as Rome!"

"Of course not. Nothing is as great as Rome, but the people in the town of Long Reach—all of them—have stone houses with wood paneling on the inside to make the houses warmer. They have glass windows! All of them! Think of it, even Rome, when I last visited, had a glass window only in the ceiling of a public bath, and it was translucent, not transparent!"

Marcus waxed enthusiastic as he recalled some of the wonders that he had begun to consider normal since he had lived with them for several years. "Every house in Long Reach is close to a fountain. No one has to go to a public toilet. Each house has a toilet with waste sent to a treatment pond before the water is allowed to enter the river. Not just the rich. Every household!"

He literally beamed in the light of the fire. "Even Rome doesn't have that!"

Alexander was startled. How could this backward country possibly have more amenities than Rome? "What about public baths?" one of the amenities required wherever Romans settled.

Sertorius butted in. "There are public baths in the center of Long Reach, one for men, one for women. I have used it nearly every night! And we don't even have to pay to use it. Queen Rebecca insisted that everyone have the right to use the public bath because cleanliness helps reduce sickness. I don't know about that, but a free bath is a wonderful thing to have in a rather primitive country. It isn't as ornate as our Roman baths, but it's comfortable."

"Is he Roman?"

Marcus: "No. I had to teach him Latin when we first met him, now he speaks it fluently, as you can tell. He isn't Roman, and I don't know what he is. He and Rebecca and Raphael, the man he is chasing, the reason for this trip, all speak a language that none of us had heard before. It seems to be made up of Latin, Greek, German, and other languages I don't recognize. Many of us have learned some of the language.

 "He knows so much about Rome and its history. I don't know how he learned it since he has never been to Rome, and, as I said, I'm teaching, er, I've taught him Latin. It's uncanny. If I believed in those gods we Romans worship, or, for that matter, those the Celts worship, I might think he has been visited by a spirit."

Alexander didn't believe in such spirits, either. "What is this fortress you're building?"

Marcus had hoped he wouldn't pick up on Sertorius' comment, but pride in overseeing its construction overcame his efforts to hide the building from others. "It's the largest building of its kind in Britannia and Gaul. I think the only larger building in Rome is the Hippodrome. A thousand people will live in it comfortably every day, and up to sixteen thousand if attacked. It has walls so thick on bedrock that they will stand against even a Roman army siege.

"Carl designed it, but," he continued, adding with pride, "I was responsible for building it as well as the castle in which the king and his family will live."

He had justifiable pride of accomplishment, but he caught himself. Enough. I can't go beyond this description.

Alexander was impressed, but like most Romans he didn't believe any barbarian country, and he had seen several, could possibly approach the size of the buildings in Rome. Perhaps Parthia or Egypt could, but no other place. He attributed the exaggeration to the natural pride of the builder. On the other hand, this Carl was different from any barbarian he had met.

"Is he a like a consul, a Caesar in Britannia, or is he a vassal of Rome?"

"He owns lands and rules like a Caesar, but no Caesar freed slaves or did so much for the plebeians. He's like a Caesar in that the rulers of a few tribes in Britannia are his vassals, but that is only because they attacked him, and he destroyed their armies."

Alexander was inclined to take such stories with a grain of salt, but his own men had explained how Carl had gone directly to the spot where he had been buried and ordered his men to dig there with their shields. He had not regained consciousness until Carl had breathed life into his lungs. Perhaps the stories were true, or close to it.

Early the next day they arrived at Marcus Aurelius Pontus' villa and estate, which was located three Roman miles northeast of Piacenza. Though it was not the normal time of the year for him to be there, Aurelius had arranged to be in his country estate because he expected Alexander's arrival. It was a long distance from Rome for a senator to live, but during much of the year, especially during the summer, the weather was more salubrious than that in and around the city.

The greeting between the two men, one richly dressed and tall for a Roman, was effusive. Carl could see that the affection was real. Alexander introduced Carl and explained how he had saved his life and his precious cargo.

Carl politely demurred. "Your Excellency, Alexander is too kind. It is he who saved your cargo"—he almost said amber—"from being buried in the avalanche where it would be found in the spring, if it had not plunged into the ravine and been lost forever. Alexander put himself in harm's way by going to the rear of the caravan after his drivers had fled."

The senator nodded, then looked closely at Carl. He was taller by several inches than himself, taller than all but perhaps one or two Gauls against whom he had fought, yet he didn't have their facial features nor did he have their accent. And he wore clothes—the commandos wore body armor—such as he had never seen, whether east or west. More importantly, the stranger did not seek praise for his own praiseworthy efforts, but, rather, praised Alexander for his risky efforts to save the caravan. This was a character trait he saw in few men. One of them was Alexander.

That night a celebration was held in the outer buildings of the estate. Alexander, Carl, and his men were too common to be hosted in the great house with its beautiful and palatial dining room, or even in the extraordinary garden courtyard. While others celebrated, Carl stood aside, drinking a glass of wine from the estate's vineyards and musing on the scene.

So this is how the Roman rich live. He saw the large number of servants, all of them slaves. And their wealth is possible because of land, slaves, and third-party commerce. He involuntarily shook his head.

Wine, meats of several kinds, and fruit were plentiful, and the commandos relaxed for the first time in several days. He had no reason to be suspicious of the senator, but he knew better than to let down his guard in enemy country. Pember and three others were detailed to stay sober so they could remain on watch. Carl set aside amphorae and food for them to indulge in after their watch or during the journey the next day. He himself stayed sober and took the mid-watch.

Early the next morning he examined the horses, especially their hooves. They had been groomed and cared for, and their hooves were in good shape, except for those of two horses. Three others had horseshoes that were worn so badly the nails were losing their hold. Since Italians were unaware of horseshoes, there were no blacksmiths he could call upon. He would have to stay another day to shoe the horses if Aurelius would permit it.

Exiting the stables, he met Aurelius and Alexander. The senator was dressed well for the cool morning, but he extended a warm greeting to the man who had just cleaned the horse dung from his hands.

Aurelius reached into a bag carried by a servant and handed Carl a huge piece of amber, saying, as he did so, "Alexander told me that you knew of his cargo, and that you served as a guard to assure its safe arrival. I would like for you to have this piece of amber as thanks for your service."

It was a most generous offer, and Carl was momentarily speechless as well as overtaken with greed. Such a piece was as valuable as a large, flawless diamond. He started to stammer his thanks. He realized how much the gift meant to Aurelius, and to Alexander for that matter, but he paused before he could utter an intelligible word. "Your excellency, such a gift does me too much honor. What we did"—he emphasized the plural—"was natural." He paused to let his subtle rejection sink in.

"However, if you wish to reward us, perhaps one small piece of amber for each of my men would be more than adequate. They were the ones who dug Alexander out of the snow, and such a piece would serve as a reminder in the years ahead of the incident and of Roman generosity."

The small pieces would not be worth nearly as much as the chunk of amber, but each piece would indeed be something his men would treasure the rest of their lives—provided they didn't lose it while gambling.

He could see the relief flood Aurelius' face for he had anguished over the decision. Now this barbarian had offered a way out. "Yes, of course. Alexander will see to it at once."

The offer from Carl had confirmed his decision to arrange for state assistance on his trip. "Alexander has asked for a letter, one which would permit the use of official facilities, including transportation, to and from Antioch in Syria. I have drafted such a letter, but you will need to travel to Rome for seals and ribbons and to pick up documents that justify the use of such facilities."

Carl was profuse in his thanks. He had planned to circumvent Rome and pick up the Appian Way to Brundisium. Now he would have to go into the city and waste at least one day, but the letter would be worth more than the amber in speeding them on their journey.

 "I would ask for one favor," Carl said. "My horses are losing shoes, and I need to repair them for the remainder of the journey. I see you have a hearth for metal work. May I use it for making horseshoes?"

"Horseshoes! What are those?" Both Aurelius and Alexander were incredulous. Romans used wide leather strips tied around the hooves when conditions were difficult, but horseshoes! Aurelius started to laugh, then sobered.

"I will see them." A quick return to the barn along with Carl's explanation of how the shoe was attached and its utility, caused him to reflect. In combat, a horse with such shoes could wield deadly force against an enemy. "Yes, use our forge. Will you teach my ironmaster how to make a horseshoe and attach it?"

"Thank you, I will. One of my com . . . men is experienced and can show him how they are made."

Carl knew that the query was an admission that the barbarian knew something the Roman did not. Aurelius turned to leave when he spied the saddle with its stirrups. Another explanation was followed with a request for a tanner to learn how to make such equipment.

As they walked back to the men's quarters, the senator broached another subject, one that lay behind the request for the letter. "I have a request," he said. "Take Alexander to Antioch in Syria. He will not have a caravan to slow him, though he will have two helpers riding with him. He will take amber to trade for royal purple dye, which is made on the coast of Syria. Your presence will offer him protection from the brigands of Asia Minor and other Roman colonies even as you speed on your way with the aid of Imperial Roman services."

The last comment was a reminder of what he was giving Carl. "He will make arrangements to have the dye and dyed cloth shipped to Rome from Antioch. Do you agree?"

Carl didn't hesitate, though it certainly complicated his plans.  "Yes, of course. I will be pleased to have Alexander and his men with us, though we leave as soon as I shoe these horses."

Aurelius was deeply in debt to the barbarian.

Carl surmised that Alexander was traveling in search of his roots. He's a highly successful trader he speculated, but as rootless as the slaves who populate the Roman world with little or no chance of returning to their homelands. Still, Judea isn't Alexander's homeland, or is it? I'll leave the metaphysics to the Rabbis, but I can use a Greek-speaking translator in Asia Minor.

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They arrived in the greatest city in the Empire late in the morning of the second day. The number of towns and the amount of traffic increased the closer they got to the city. Once they had to leave the road to allow a Roman century to pass. The military had right of way. After all, the roads were built for them and, often, by them.

Roman soldiers stationed at the north gates were more symbolic than functional since no armed person was permitted to enter the city without permission. Only the Praetorian Guard patrolled the city and protected the emperor, and even most of them were billeted outside of the inner walls of the city, though there were watchmen who served as police and firemen within the city. The commandos again concealed weapons in bags of wheat. Alexander's entreaties allowed the scruffy-looking Britons to get into the city without a harassing search.

Rome was fascinating. Every tongue in the empire could be heard, including Nubians from Africa, Armenians from the Black Sea, and Gauls from Gallica.

Most slaves lived on estates, which made it increasingly difficult for small farm owners to compete, but the city also contained tens of thousands of slaves in service positions and in high places. They served in many upper class homes as teachers, in the markets as craftsmen, and in businesses as bookkeepers and clerks.

Alexander led the commandos to the commercial center where artisans made jewelry and clothes of the finest linen and silk. The edict against silk did not mean no silk could be worn. It was but an attempt to keep wealthy men from using the material and women from using it exclusively.

After he conducted his business, which provided funds from the sale of some of the amber for Aurelius and for himself,  he wrote to his household slave, a Greek in whom he had great trust, providing a letter of credit to maintain his house, farm, and slaves.

His manager would be relieved to know his master was off on another trade expedition. The farm would be closer to making money by the time he returned. Since Alexander had never married, the manager had complete control of the farm, buying and selling, while keeping scrupulous records. Alexander had promised to free him in the future, and he had treated him well, even as his father's father had been treated well because of his talent and service.

The bright afternoon sun caused Alexander to pause at the doorway leading from the dark interior of the trading house. He wanted to treat Carl and his men—and himself—to a public bath. Carl was loathe to lose sunlight hours, but he realized it would be a treat his men might never again experience.

"I must warn you, Carl, that men and women sometimes share the baths here, unlike Gaul. Your men must wear an apron when they go into the baths. If any women are present, they also will wear aprons."

He gave a lurid grin. "But these particular baths are places where bored women sometimes seek male companionship. It is frowned upon in polite company, but it happens nonetheless."

He led them past the Thermae of Agrippa, the massive baths Augustus' favorite general had bequeathed to the people of Rome, to one of the smaller, more common baths that charged to enter. They were ahead of the normal rush hours when Roman men wile away the late afternoon and early evening.

The baths they had frequented in Gaul were extraordinary places for otherwise backward countries, but nothing they had seen approached the public baths of Rome.  Colorful if garish mosaics adorned every wall, and tiles on the floors were placed in concentric designs.  Marble columns along each side of the pool held up the roofs of the many rooms that led from the main pool, though the high, vaulted ceiling over the pool, with a hole in the center, filtered the bright light. Carl was pleasantly surprised. I wonder what the baths for the elite are like, if the freemen get to use these?

There were actually two calderia, and the commandos and Sertorius went to one while Alexander led Carl and Marcus through a long hall with many cells, only a few with curtains pulled, to a smaller pool. They wore sandals because the floors were so hot.

After rinsing off in the tepid pool, foregoing rubdowns and skin scrapings in the interest of time, they stepped into the main pool. The heat of the water with its inlaid tiles was as much as Carl could bear, and he was thankful for Alexander's warning as several women were in the pool. Their aprons left their breasts exposed, though they knelt in the water when the men first arrived, a motion that covered their exposure. Carl was both embarrassed and intrigued. He had warned his men not to stare at the women if they were in the pool, now he found he was having difficulty not doing so himself. It was nearly two harrowing weeks since he had been with Rebecca.

Alexander motioned to two of the women, black hair piled high to keep it from getting wet, and introduced one to Carl and the other to Marcus. They had stood upright upon seeing Alexander, water streaming from their breasts. Carl was introduced to Minerva.

That's appropriate, he thought.

She was taken with the tall foreigner, as she knew he was because of the beard and because no slave was allowed in the baths, and readily engaged in polite conversation, standing next to him and pressing a breast against his arm, much like a cat rubbing against the leg of its owner, seeking his attention. Even in the heat he could feel an urge. The temptation was more than he dared take.

 Carl excused himself and told Alexander he was going to the frigidarium. He needed a cooling down. Nothing physical had transpired between the two, but he knew that his thoughts alone could get him into trouble. He wasn't ready for co-ed bathing, unless it was with Rebecca.

Unknown to Carl, Marcus had been watching his reaction. He, too, had a consort, and he was unsure of what to do. Roman men had great freedom to betray marriage vows. But Marcus had read enough of Jesus' teachings to think otherwise. He had a beautiful, loving wife in Long Reach, but he was a man with a sexual appetite. So he watched Carl with interest, and when he left the pool, he reluctantly followed.

They exchanged sheepish grins in the frigidarium.

Marcus was anxious to continue the journey. His father's farm was only two stadia south of Rome so they could be there early enough to receive a warm welcome and dinner. They waited for Alexander outside the baths, observing the passing scene. Many men, Marcus knew, spent long hours in the baths, exercising, being massaged, and talking with others in the numerous alcoves and colonnaded walkways designed for conversations.

Alexander, who had disappeared with one of the women from the pool, soon reappeared in the street, an ebullient man in his tunic, clean shaven. The commandos and even Marcus and Sertorius stood out from the vast array of white and dark tunics.

It soon became obvious why tunics were preferred over their modern clothes when they had to use public toilets. Men and women hitched up their tunics to do their business, while Carl and his men had to drop their pants. This was no problem when in privacy, but the public toilets of Rome were open and very public places for both sexes. Carl learned quickly that Romans had very different ideas of privacy of bodily functions. On the other hand, only he of his men seemed embarrassed by the situation. He had a lot to learn, though the use of a duster or tunic when he went to the toilet would solve part of his problem. At least the public toilets had waste and odors carried away by excess aqueduct water.

They paused near a forum to watch the mass of humanity. None of the commandos had ever seen so many people.

"Alexander, I feel out of place," Carl said. "The Romans give us wide berth and look down on us."

Alexander was embarrassed for Carl, but it was true. "They don't understand that you are free men. We tell whether a man is free or not by his beard or lack of it, and by his clothes. Only slaves and barbarians are bearded, not freemen or Roman citizens."

He pointed to a group of men slowly walking in the forum. "See those men? They are all freemen. If they labored they would wear dark tunics, but they have white tunics and togas, so they are of a higher cast. Two of them are equites—knights—as you can tell by the narrow purple border on the tunic and toga. Aurelius has clothes with broader trim because he's a senator. I don't wear any stripe. It's forbidden."

Carl marveled at the distinctions. He vaguely recalled reading something about the use of dress to distinguish among the classes, but to see and feel it in practice was something else entirely. He and his men were perceived as barbarians and slaves. Such a misapprehension on the part of a Roman citizen could cause problems.

He quickly apprised his men of the situation. He didn't want anyone to take umbrage (a word he didn't use) at a visual or aural slight, or to give one, either. For it was forbidden to denigrate a senator by word or gesture.

They had earlier passed two fora, and the openness of those busy legal centers was remarkable in a city so full of people. But now they passed four-story brick insulae that were crowded and, from what Alexander said, not especially well built.

The streets were narrow and made more so by tented stalls of taverns, shops, and booths that intruded into the streets and masked the front of gated houses and insulae. Carl noted there were no street level windows and turned to Marcus. "What happened to those wide streets Roman engineers are famous for? Many of these streets aren't even paved."

Marcus shrugged his shoulders. The city had been built around the famed seven hills, with most of the people crowded into the low lying areas, which flooded every so often. The inhabitants were the working class and small merchants of the city. Large, constantly flowing public fountains, supplied by streams and rivers far from the city, were surrounded by women who lived in the buildings and carried the water to be used for cooking and drinking.

They passed the inner walls, supposedly erected by Servius in the late Republic. They were fifty-feet thick. Carl was visibly impressed.

Marcus noted that he turned in his saddle to observe the wall as they rode through a huge gateway.

Carl turned to him and yelled. "This is impressive." He grinned. "Too bad they didn't put these stones in some of the streets when the people moved outside of it." He continued to examine the fifty-foot wide wall as they rode into a newer part of the city, nor was he the only one to do so.

As they exited the eastern gate, passing between walls of houses on each side of the Via Appian, he thanked Alexander for treating them to the kinds of baths only the Imperial city had. Carl was aware of the Roman contradictions, a need for highly moral wives and mothers while the men acted like bucks during rutting season. Only for the Romans, rutting was always in season and the does, who often were slaves, were plentiful. And Alexander wasn't married.

As they neared the farm house, Marcus expressed his concern. The buildings were run down and strangers were working the land. Another stranger came to the entrance to greet him, a large wolfhound at his side.

"I am Marcus Cota," he announced, only the second time Carl had heard him use his nomen or clan name.

The stranger retreated a step, a move that evoked a low growl from the dog.  "We were told you were captured and killed," he stammered. This was not something he had anticipated of the stranger at the door, especially with a small army in the dust of the courtyard.

"Where are my father and mother?" Marcus had a premonition.

"Your father died soon after you were reported dead. Your mother tried to keep the farm with the help of his brothers, but she got into debt and sold the farm to my master," and his voice grew steadier, "Cassius Marcellus Cicero, senator of Rome."

Marcus was aghast, but he was without recourse, at least at the moment. He repeated the question. "Do you know where my mother is?" He would grieve for his father when the time was proper.

The slave squinted, partly because Carl was sitting on his horse and had unsheathed his sword, twisting the blade so that it reflected sunlight into his eyes. Whatever haughtiness had risen to the surface was immediately squashed. "She is with your uncles and cousins, I think. It's been four years."

Marcus quickly returned to the men. He was not anxious for them to see his humiliation, from son of a landowner to one reliant upon relatives. Britannia suddenly looked better than he could have imagined.

He explained the situation to Carl and pressed for him to continue as quickly as possible. "I'll find my uncle and my mother and meet you in Ostia in four months, as soon as the sailing season opens and you can sail from Syria. A former neighbor, who also owned property that ended up in Cicero's hands, owns the Flying Crane, a tavern on the waterfront." He gave a brief smile. "It once had been quite successful, partly because he ran a brothel on the side.  If he is still there, we will meet at the tavern or I'll leave a message for you.".

Sertorius lived south of the city by several miles, and the entourage left him outside of a small village as they rushed on toward Brundisium. He, too, would meet in Ostia to return to Long Reach with Carl.

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Two weeks after Carl met Aurelius, the senator was introduced to Gaius Portius, equestrian and responsible for intelligence gathering in Britannia for Caesar Tiberius. He had replaced Marcellus who had retired to his country estate. Aurelius and Gaius were attending a dinner hosted by Tiberius, and they had been placed next to each other on a dais. Aurelius knew it was on purpose because he was a senator and Gaius was a knight.

Conversation quickly turned to Gaul where both had served and from there to Britannia.

"I had an interesting meeting a couple of weeks ago," Aurelius said. "A barbarian king from Long Reach in Britannia befriended a trader friend of mine and stopped at my country estate outside of Piacenza. He was tall and dressed like a barbarian. No, different even from the Gauls and Germans, and used something he called 'stirrups' to keep his men on horses when they cut quickly. It also enables his men to use the horse like a battering ram. It is an interesting invention, and I have made a few for my horses. I have had to change our military saddles. I must say, the 'stirrup' is an improvement."

"Did the chieftain give his name?"

"My client called him Carl of the Long Reach, which supposedly has something to do with striking men at great distance."

Gaius had heard from Marcellus the story of Carl's demonstration in Nottingham. What was he doing in Italy? "Did he have a large force with him?"

"No, about twelve men including two Romans who were going home."

"He surely wasn't coming to Rome."

"Actually he did visit Rome before going on to Syria." Aurelius neglected to mention the letter of passage.

"That's a long way for a barbarian to travel, from Britannia to Syria!"

"Yes. I've met many barbarian chiefs in my time. This one is different, more self-effacing yet confident. He didn't have that Greek hubris or Gallic bravado." He composed a pompous look. "More like a Roman."

Gaius acknowledged the jibe with a loud laugh. "Will he return to Britannia?"

"I suppose so, when the mare opens for sailing."

Gaius harbored the information. He must think this through before talking with Tiberius.

Their conversation quickly shifted to a discussion of Blaesus the gladiator from Spain.