I ask that you do not try to find me. Though I will always have fond feelings for you, I bear nothing but disdain for the legions you serve! Farewell, Calvinus, until I see you again in the next life,
Rowana
“I did not honor her request,” Calvinus said when he saw that young Metellus had finished reading. “I sought her out, for no other reason than I wanted to make certain that the family of the man who saved my life was safe. You were but a few months old then. I was surprised that your mother was not angered at seeing me. Your father’s grave fund was paid to your grandfather in Ostia, so I gave Rowana a bit of my own money to provide for you both. That was the last I ever saw of her. I only wrote to her one other time, and that was after I met your uncle during the Germanic Wars.”
“Then that is how she knew where to find you,” Metellus observed, looking over to Artorius, who nodded in reply.
The Centurion was still in shock, the realization that the man he sat next to was, in fact, his brother’s son seemed surreal to him.
“Then it is time for you to take what is rightfully yours,” Artorius stated.
Metellus looked at him perplexed. “What do you mean, sir?”
In answer to Metellus’ question, Artorius stood and suddenly found a surge of purpose.
“Don’t you see? You are a Roman! The citizenship that will take you another twenty-four years in the auxilia to attain is already yours by right! You’ve been an auxiliary for the last year when in reality you should have been serving as a legionary, should you still wish to remain in the army.”
“But I cannot prove who my father was,” Metellus protested. “My mother is dead, and there is no one who can vouch for my lineage.”
“I possibly could,” Calvinus conjectured. “Though I admit it will be difficult. Even a Master Centurion carries little weight in matters such as this. I have not seen young Metellus since he was an infant, and if all were needed was an endorsement from me, then every auxiliary trooper in the Empire would be doing everything he could to find favor with the nearest Centurion.” Calvinus’ assessment made the situation look grim until Artorius’ face suddenly brightened.
“I have a better idea,” he said, his purpose now laid clear before him. “What about adoption?”
Metellus looked confused as Calvinus’ face broke into a grin. “A citizen may adopt whomever he chooses to be his son and heir, and you know Diana and I cannot have children.” He then faced the young trooper and placed a hand on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. “Metellus is already my nephew by blood. I would be honored to have him as my son!”
Diana’s heart leapt as Artorius explained what had happened with Metellus and Master Centurion Calvinus. She folded her hands in front of her face, her eyes wet with emotion. Her husband seemed concerned about how she would feel about the situation, and he kept trying to explain himself to her, afraid he was upsetting her.
“I want this, not just to have an heir,” he said as he paced back in forth in their bedroom. “This young man is of my blood, he is an Artorius by birth. Never mind that I am only eleven years his elder…I feel a bond with him already. I swear on everything I love that I felt my brother’s presence in that room! It was as if he was guiding my hand.” He had turned away as he spoke and was staring out the window into the night, afraid of what her reaction would be. A gentle breeze blew in and he closed his eyes, his arms folded across his chest. Diana reached out and wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight as she kissed him on the cheek.
“When can I meet our son?” she whispered into his ear.
For one father there would be no joyous reunion with his son. Justus stood trembling, the letter from Artorius having reached him long before the official notification from Rome. He stood inside the foyer of his house, his left hand resting on a pillar, the other holding the message from his friend in a balled up fist. His eyes were shut, face red and teeth grinding. Flavia and Gaia stood in the doorway leading into the back hallway. Flavia placed a hand over her mouth, her eyes immediately filling with tears.
“It’s about Gaius, isn’t it?” Gaia asked her father. Though nine years had separated her from her brother, she had always adored him. He in turn had always been there for his little sister.
Justus’ face was clenched hard, unable to speak. His cheeks stained with tears, he turned to face his wife and daughter. He stared not at them, but rather at the statue of Bellona, the goddess of war, that sat on a niche behind them. As the wife of a soldier, Flavia had felt that extra care should be given to both Bellona and Victoria, whose statue also adorned the room. In fact, the entire atrium was a virtual pantheon of Roman deities. His sorrow quickly turned to hatred as he stared into the lifeless eyes of the statue. He had just come off duty and was still in his armor. Eyes still fixed on the goddess; he slowly drew his gladius and cupped the blade in his left hand. He squeezed hard, unaware that the ever sharp blade was cutting into his hand. Flavia grabbed her daughter by the shoulders and slowly backed away as blood dripped from Justus’ hand.
The Centurion walked quickly over to the niche that held the large bust. It was made of a hollow ceramic; still highly ornate, though far more affordable than marble. It was also more fragile. Flavia held Gaia close as her husband raised his sword and pressed the point underneath the goddess’ chin. A wicked sneer then crossed his face, and with an unholy howl of rage he swung the sword, which smashed through the bust and shattered it with a loud crash. He then lunged towards the full-body statue of Victoria and with a backhand swing smashed it in two at the torso. The upper portion flew apart as it crashed onto the floor. Flavia released her daughter and fell to her knees, holding her hands up to her face as Justus committed one terrible sacrilege after another. The smashing of ceramic echoed throughout the hall, with Justus’ howls of anguish terrifying the household slaves.
As he strode towards the final statue, one of Apollo, Gaia rushed forward and came between her father and the god. Though just nine years old and half Justus’ size, she managed to stay his hand with a simple touch on his wrist. He gasped and hyperventilated as he hung his head, sweat dripping from his brow. Gaia effortlessly took the gladius from his hand. At first Justus thought his daughter was shamed by his conduct, but then he saw the cold determination in her eyes. She dropped the sword, turned and picked up the statue, and with an affirmative nod from her father, she gave her own cry of rage and smashed it onto the tile floor. As she met his gaze, Gaia’s eyes flooded with tears as the pain of her brother’s death overcame her. Justus grabbed her and held her close as both of them let their grief overwhelm them, his deeply cut left hand smearing blood all over the back of her stola. Flavia stumbled to her feet and limped over to her husband and daughter. All three clung to each other as they collapsed onto the floor against the wall. Justus uttered blasphemies under his breath, damning the pantheon of gods who had taken his beloved son from him. It was then that he swore he would rather be damned to the fires of hell than pay tribute to such abominations.
“I hate formalities,” Artorius grumbled as he passed some documents over to Metellus, “but at least this makes everything official. This one confirms that you are a citizen of Rome by adoption, and that your name is now Metellus Artorius Posthumous. I felt the cognomen appropriate as it still gives a sense of bonding to your biological father, my dear brother.” Artorius sighed deeply, looking away for a second.