“They are my guests,” Pilate said, stepping between Proculeius and the legionaries. “These men fought beside me through hell itself, and I will not have them dismissed like this. If they go, I go.”
Knowing that he could not have a feast without the groom, Proculeius gave a false smile once he realized Pilate was not bluffing.
“Very well,” he replied coldly. “If you wish to continue to stain yourself with the contagion of the legions, so be it. But they cannot stay in the hall. Your friends will eat in the kitchens and outside in the gardens.”
Artorius started to protest when Praxus grabbed him by the shoulder from behind.
“It’s alright,” he said quietly. “This place is a little too stuffy for us anyway.”
Feeling as if he had gotten the best of the rabble, Proculeius abruptly turned and walked away, his giggling wife in tow.
A few hours later, after a series of speeches and several courses, Artorius decided to take a break from the prenuptial feast when a late guest arrived. He gave a broad grin as he recognized a face that he had not seen in many years.
“Justus, you old sod!” he shouted, saluting with a full cup of wine, which he slopped onto the expensive marble floor.
His friend was adorned in a crisp white toga with the appropriate trimmings, to include the Equestrian’s narrow purple stripe. Though technically not a part of the equities until after retirement, Centurion’s still serving were authorized to wear the status when in civilian garb.
“Well, the gods do have a sense of humor after all!” Justus Longinus replied boisterously, embracing his friend in a hard bear hug. Artorius cursed himself that here was his friend of equal rank looking like a patrician, and he was in what amounted to little more than an expensive red tunic and a polished Centurion’s belt.
“Easy there,” Artorius protested with a loud belch. “People are going to think I’m your bloody catamite or something!”
Justus laughed and cuffed him across the ear.
“Damn, but you’ve gotten big,” he replied as he released him. “How many years has it been now?”
“Too many,” Artorius replied, resting his arm on Justus’ shoulder. “A couple years before I joined the legions, in fact. Say, weren’t you taller than me back then?”
His red-haired friend gave a short laugh and nodded as if embarrassed.
“Yes, though I think now you still have to stretch to get me by an inch! And I think I was right in stating that the gods have a sense of humor, Centurion.”
Artorius shrugged in mock humility.
“Ah, just got lucky I suppose.”
“I’ll say,” Justus emphasized. “You beat me to it by a full year, you bitch! I was just promoted to the Centurionate two months ago.”
“Well, there isn’t as much going on in the east now is there? Not like the Centurions are as willing to give up their comfortable billets in that corner of the Empire,” Artorius mused, his eyes clouding slightly. It was still warm and mildly stuffy in the atrium. He had hoped to get some cool air outside to sober up, but instead found he was now more inebriated.
“Justus!” a female voice snapped.
Artorius glanced over his friend’s shoulder and saw his fellow Centurion’s wife walking through the large double doors.
“Artorius, I would like you to meet my wife, Flavia.”
“It is an honor to meet you at last,” Flavia said with a short curtsey.
“The honor is mine.” Artorius forced his brain to think clearly as he bowed and took her hand, kissing the back of it.
“Uh, you seem to be drooling a bit,” Flavia said with a nervous laugh.
Just then Diana appeared at Artorius’ side.
“And you must be the lady Diana.”
“A pleasure,” she replied, taking both of Flavia’s hands. “Forgive my husband. He just needs to get some fresh air.” She playfully prodded Artorius with her knee before leading Flavia into the banquet hall.
Artorius burst into laughter, which was cut short when he turned and saw that Justus was stone faced.
“Um…sorry old friend,” he stammered. “First time I’ve seen you in gods’ know how many years, and I slobber on your wife’s hand.”
Justus forced a short laugh.
“It’s not that,” he replied. “Look, if you can sober your ass up for a few, I do wish to talk with you before I get lost in the frenzy of Pilate’s prenuptial celebration. Once I start hitting the sauce, I’m fucked.”
A raucous cheer erupted from within the hall as if emphasizing his point.
“Sure…” Artorius replied as he stumbled out the door. He downed some more wine, and then splashed the remainder into his face before dunking his head in a nearby fountain. The water was quite cold and he beat his right foot on the ground as if counting off the time. When he figured he was alert he pulled his head out with a dramatic gasp.
“That’s better… I think,” he said with a loud sigh of relief. His mind was at least temporarily cleared, and he slicked his soaked hair back. “So how’s that son of yours doing, anyway?”
“It is about him that I wish to speak with you,” Justus replied, leaning up against the fountain next to him.
“What is he now, fourteen?”
“Sixteen,” Justus corrected. “Another year and he’ll be of legal age to join the legions.”
“You must be proud,” Artorius mused.
“Normally I would be,” Justus agreed. “The thing is, I’m afraid for Gaius. When he was two we took him to a priest to see his future, spent a shitload of money on it, too, what with the sacrificial birds and all that poking through their guts. The son of a bitch told Flavia and me that our son will not live to see a full score in years. He said that my son will die in battle before he reaches his twentieth birthday!” His hands gripped the edge of the fountain, his knuckles turning white.
Suddenly Artorius no longer felt any of the effects of his previous imbibing, his mind clearing in an instant.
“So refuse to sign his endorsement to join the legions,” Artorius offered. “After all, one must have proof of citizenship…”
“Spare me the technicalities,” Justus growled. “I know how it works, and trust me, my wife has asked me to do the same thing. I also know that I would only delay the inevitable. Every recruiting officer in the entire eastern region of the Empire knows that Gaius is my son. Once he’s of age they can enlist him with or without my approval. Besides, it is his life to live, though I wish he was not so damn adamant about following me into the ranks. I didn’t spend a fortune on his education so that he could stab barbarians for a living!”
“Fuck the auspices,” Artorius retorted.
Justus looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m serious! We make our own path in life, Justus. Our fates are not ruled by the flight of a gods’ damned bird or by what color their bloody entrails are. For being such an advanced and learned society, Rome has some truly backward traditions. I mean, seriously, since when do educated men believe disemboweling a peacock will somehow win favor with the gods? Only a fucking moron believes they can tell the future from a swallow’s liver.”
“My wife believes it,” Justus replied quietly.
Artorius smacked himself on the forehead.
“Damn it, that’s twice in one hour that I’ve insulted your wife.”
“No offense taken,” his friend replied, shaking his head. “And besides, I don’t believe much in omens either. If I believe it at all, it’s because Flavia believes. Her devout faith in the gods is what sustains mine. I suppose she feels that she has to have enough faith for both of us.”
“Faith that your son will die before he’s twenty,” Artorius thought aloud. He closed his eyes, expecting a sharp rebuke from Justus.
“Do you even believe in the gods?” Justus asked after a short pause.
Artorius shrugged his shoulders.
“I believe in something,” he emphasized. He almost let slip about his encounter with his brother’s soul, but stopped himself short. He was suddenly grateful he had at least sobered up partially. Surely Justus would have thought him mad were he to tell him about seeing and speaking with Metellus.