“Sacrovir, it is good to see you!” Florus spouted, extending his hand with exaggerated enthusiasm.
Sacrovir took it and nodded. “What news?” he asked suppressing a sigh at his friend’s sudden ostentatious behavior. Instead of answering, Florus gazed over at Heracles who was standing behind Sacrovir with his arms folded behind his back.
“Who’s the Greek?” Florus asked, pointing.
“This is Heracles,” Sacrovir answered. “He has been instrumental in training our cadre of gladiators.”
“Ah,” Florus responded. “Well, let’s go inside, shall we? My mouth is quite parched from that ride!”
Sacrovir sighed, and the three men went inside. The house was rather ornate, decorated in Etruscan fashion. They went into a parlor, where Florus immediately grabbed a goblet of wine from a waiting servant. Once he had downed it completely, he spoke again.
“I have good news. Several dozen tribal chiefs have committed themselves to our cause. I looked for those with the most to gain and the least to lose. All are indebted up to their asses to Rome. Independence means financial freedom. There is a delegation on the way that should be arriving in a few days. In the meantime, I have another little surprise for you.” With that he went outside.
Sacrovir and Heracles were befuddled by Florus’ enthusiasm and boundless energy. Once outside they saw a long line of chained men being escorted in. All one hundred looked bedraggled and haggard, yet with eyes full of hope.
“What in Hades are these?” Sacrovir asked, not bothering to disguise his disgust.
“These,” Florus began, “are mostly thieves and petty criminals bound for the slave galley when I bought them. I offered them a chance at freedom, and in exchange they take up arms in our cause.”
Heracles smiled. “So we are building an army of thieves, led by debtors.”
“How do we know they will not desert or, worse, tip off the Roman authorities?” Sacrovir asked.
Florus shrugged, unconcerned.
“All have everything to gain and little left to lose; desperate men.”
“Give me time with them, and their loyalty will be without question,” Heracles offered. “I have been working with a number of our men already, and I assure you these will fight.”
“I have several more of these coming as well,” Florus remarked. “Combine that with whatever the Gallic chiefs bring us, and we should have quite the army.”
Sacrovir patted his friend on the shoulder.
“You have done well,” he conceded. “Heracles, release their bonds and see to it they are properly fed and housed in the barracks. Work with them for a few days. Gain their trust and their loyalty. There is strength in numbers. Enough debtors and thieves can defeat the finest legions of Rome!”
“Would you look at that?” Ellard laughed, pointing towards the slaves that were being set free.
Radek set down his spear and shield and walked over to see what his companion found so amusing. A smirk crossed his face. Many of the men that Florus purchased were the same men that Radek and Ellard had been imprisoned with.
“I’ll be buggered,” Radek replied. “Let’s go say hello.”
Both men were full of laughter as they walked down the short slope to where the slaves were gathered. An attendant was walking down the line, unlocking their manacles.
“About time you sorry cocks caught up to us!” Ellard mused.
A couple of men looked at them aghast.
“What sight is this,” a man named Torin replied as he rubbed his sore wrists. “Sacrovir offered you your freedom as well?”
“He doesn’t know we’re runaways,” Ellard replied proudly. “A hot meal and silver coinage were our compensation.”
Torin stared at him coldly.
“It is a just compensation for the trials we have been through over the past week,” Radek added, his arms folded across his chest.
Torin spat at him. “Fuck your compensation,” he growled. “You left the rest of us to rot in those accursed mines!” “You had ample opportunity to join us,” Radek said coolly. He glanced at the rest of the men who were now glaring at him. “All of you had the chance to run. Ellard was the only one man enough to take a chance.”
“Three others tried to escape just after you did. Their crucified corpses were left alongside the road,” Torin replied bitterly.
“A better fate than the mines,” Ellard sneered.
“Quite,” Radek continued. “And now you will have a chance to earn your freedom, not to mention plunder to be had for those who survive this venture.”
“Ha!” a man snorted. “You make it sound so bloody easy, Radek. You forget that we were bought to fight the Romans! What chance will we have?”
“None,” Radek replied quickly. “Most of you sorry bastards will piss yourselves or faint like women at the first sign of trouble. I, on the other hand, have a plan.” He then turned and walked back up the slope to where his newly furnished weapons lay.
“What is he talking about?” Torin asked.
“We were once slaves,” Ellard clarified. “Now, we are mercenaries. But Sacrovir’s coin and freedom does no good if we are dead men. We will do whatever treachery is necessary to survive this campaign.”
Tiberius paced in the atrium as he tried to find the right words to say. Even in death it was hard for him to speak with his predecessor. Finally, he entered the small shrine. It was more of an oversized booth than anything. Inside was a raised altar bearing a bust of the late Emperor Augustus. Tiberius had had the monument made specifically for his own use. Though he’d never had much use for praying to the Roman gods, he did see something tangible in trying to reach out to the deity that was his step-father. If there was any real divinity to Augustus, then perhaps he could reach out from beyond Elysium and bring guidance and inspiration to the troubled Emperor. Tiberius raised the hood of his cloak over his head and knelt before the stone image. Candles on either side cast a soft glow on the bust, creating an almost lifelike appearance.
“Oh, Divine Augustus,” he began, his head bowed, “I, your unworthy successor, do ask for your guidance and strength in this hour of my need. I seek justice for my lost son, while his widow seeks petty vengeance. Many within my own family blame me for Germanicus’ death. I swear, on all that I honor, I did not wish that. I ask that you grant me the means to bring justice to the guilty; even if that justice comes at a heavy personal price.
“Have mercy on my soul, to help me to quell the fire of rage that burns within me. Give me peace that I may continue to serve in the capacity you saw fit to leave me.”
As the Emperor left the shrine, he was greeted with a sight he did not wish to see. Agrippina stood sullen and petulant, still in mourning dress.
“Does my step-father continue to spout off hypocrisies to the dead to cover for his guilty conscience?” There was spite and venom in her voice. Agrippina was chief in implicating Tiberius’ guilt in the death of her husband.
The Emperor’s face grew hard. Unleashing on her would be considered a sign of his guilt. Not to mention it would only temporarily satisfy him. He had no intention of allowing himself to be a woman’s whipping boy.
“Take heed in your tone,” Tiberius warned. “You give yourself airs that are not yours, only because you are the daughter of Agrippa and the granddaughter of Augustus.”
“And let us not forget, half-sister to your beloved ex-wife,” Agrippina’s eyes narrowed, her loathing for the Emperor caused her to tread recklessly into dangerous territory.
Tiberius clenched his jaw. It was no secret he still loved Vipsania deeply, even after all these years apart. It made things awkward from the beginning between him and Agrippina, given that he had been forced to divorce her sister in order to marry her mother. Vipsania’s health was failing, and Tiberius loathed the fact that Agrippina would use her own sister in order to hurt him.