A waiter refilled their glasses with wine and water, and informed them that their food would be arriving soon. “What did you order for me? I was trying to become invisible,” Constantine quipped, nervous fingers straightening his silverware.
Alexandros gave a low laugh and replied, his strong baritone quiet in the low hum of the dining room, “There’re still a few eyes on you, but most people seem put off by your decision not to join the political table.” He nodded toward the men relaxing on the chaises. One of them gave a slight wave as he saw Constantine looking in his direction. Others gave him decidedly cool glances.
“That’s the governor and a few of his Senate cronies. After those air battles above Brittenburg, we got tasked to retrofit up here at Northern Airbase Hadrian. One of those senators owns the company that got tasked with the retrofit, as though our own engineers and mechanics weren’t good enough!” Alexandros grumbled. “Thing is, they did such shoddy work on so many things that my guys ended up going back through and doing the whole thing over again from top to bottom. It threw that denarii-pincher into a tizzy when I tossed his so-called mechanics off the ship with a few of our large ballistae pointing at them. They didn’t seem eager to come back on. When he came down to demand I let his workers back aboard, I said I would only if he agreed to ride on the ship after they were done.”
Constantine smiled. “I’m sure he didn’t want to risk it.”
“Exactly,” Alexandros said. “By the way, have you met our new political overseer? All the way from Rome-Senatora Octavia Pelia!”
“I have met her, actually; she seems fairly competent to me. She gave a speech last month on the Brittenburg Incident.”
“Why Tribune, I didn’t know you had been keeping tabs on her.”
Constantine felt his cheeks heat. “Who says I’ve been keeping tabs on her?” At Alexandros’ level look he added, “Fine, maybe I just like knowing who the politicians around me are.”
“Especially the good-looking ones.” Alexandros joked. “Am I the only one who sees this?”
“Evidently, Your Air-captainness.”
Chuckling, Alexandros held up his hand. “Before we continue, here’s the feast!” He sat back and they watched the arrival at their table of a steaming hot turkey, surrounded by all the trimmings and glistening with drippings. Two waiters placed it slowly on the table while another stood by sharpening a large carving knife.
Eyes wide, Constantine scooted back from the bird. “I sincerely hope you didn’t order anything else, Rufius! They’ll have to roll us out of here as it is!
About an hour later, tribune and captain lounged back in their dining chairs; the remnants of the meal strewn on the plates and platters before them. Constantine pulled out a small coin purse and deposited a few large golden denarii on the table. “That ought to be sufficient, don’t you think?” he asked. Alexandros examined the coinage and nodded.
They both stood, adjusting the straps of their belts. “You sure you don’t want them to put it in a box for you so you can eat it later?” the older man asked, alluding to the perpetual hunger of young men.
Grinning, Constantine shook his head. “I don’t want to be eating turkey for a month!”
They moved to the door to leave, only to encounter a party headed in the opposite direction. The two groups neatly intersected and, engulfed by the large and loud entourage, Constantine found himself face to face with his superior officer, General Kruscus Minnicus. The tribune raised a hand in salute, holding it while the general returned a half salute.
“Tribune Appius! I’m so very glad to see you here. It’s great to know we’ll have the ‘Victors of Brittenburg’ along for our trip to the far north,” the general said slyly.
Constantine was confused. As far as he knew, Admiral Tritonus was in charge of the expedition.
Minnicus smiled as if perceiving the junior officer’s thoughts. “The admiral is still in charge of the expedition, but Roma HQ wanted someone more. . experienced with ground combat leading the way into the interior.”
Constantine could only nod dumbly, his brain working overtime to figure out what strings the general could have pulled to get this assignment. Minnicus’ bland smile began to edge downward as he waited for Constantine to respond.
Seeing his friend falter, Alexandros stepped in. “Please excuse us, General; we just had a large meal and are still feeling the effects. We’re actually on a very tight schedule, so we must be off.”
Waving his hand dismissively, Minnicus bade them farewell as he walked over to a long table overcrowded with his lackeys. As he sat, Constantine noticed him conspiratorially talking into the ear of one of his comrades at the table, the only one still wearing his hat and cloak.
As Alexandros pulled him free of the situation, Constantine’s mind continued to race. What is he up to? he wondered as he slowly extracted the check tag from his pocket.
Alexandros snatched it from his fingers and retrieved his cloak from the wardroom for him, tossing a small copper coin to the servant in return. He pushed the cloak into the tribune’s arms. “I hope you aren’t planning on asking me to buckle it up for you. I finished my parental duties long ago!” Alexandros told him.
Finally snapping out of his reverie, Constantine unfurled his cloak around his shoulders and prepared to exit the warmth of the building. Alexandros paused, throwing up a hand. “Hold up; I think I forgot something up in the admiralty office. I won’t be but a minute.” He took the stairs two at a time, leaving Constantine to wait in the lobby.
Constantine sat down on a bench, staring absently at the veins of black and dark blue on the marble floor, tracing the shapes with his mind.
“Did you know that they carted this marble all the way from the Aegean?” a voice asked at his shoulder.
Constantine jumped, startled by the soft, yet firm timbre of the man’s voice. He turned his head to see a man sitting next to him, clad in the nondescript beige tunic and red belt that rendered him indistinguishable from the innumerable functionaries that populated the administration center.
“The government taxed the locals to pay for it, regardless of whether they wanted it or not. It depressed the economy for about thirty years,” the man rumbled on, ignoring the wide-eyed stare of the younger tribune. “That money could have been spent back in Rome, could have been put to good use. By my calculations, the amount spent on marble here could have fed the populace of Rome for a year. Not well, mind you, but amply, for an entire year. And instead we get. . this grandiose building in one of our northernmost provincial capitals that’s never had an emperor visit.” The man’s voice never changed tone, only the slight inflection at the end decrying the point he was making.
Constantine spoke. “It reminds the locals that they are part of something bigger, something that keeps them safe and protected from our enemies.”
The man turned and offered his hand. “Quintus Gravus,” he stated simply, shaking Constantine’s hand. “You make a valid point, but I still don’t think making a political statement is the same as feeding a metropolis for a year. Especially when all you do is walk on it.”
Constantine thought for a moment. “You’re probably right,” he replied. “But what’s done is done. I don’t think tearing up the floors now would be the best idea. ‘The government over the people for the good of the people.’” In reciting the old Imperial adage, Constantine earned a critical look from Gravus.
“I figured you’d say that. I’m actually here with an offer for you.” Constantine’s eyebrows rose. “I’m attached to General Minnicus’ staff as the civilian liaison, and he’d like to offer you a position on his general staff as tactical officer. You’d receive a pay bump commiserate to your new position, and also have access to a staff of your own choosing.”