"You have your dagger with you?"
I nodded. "I do. Why?"
"Balanced for throwing, isn't it?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Can you throw it from there, where you're standing, and stick it in the tree?"
I glanced at the tree, gauging the distance, visualizing the tumbling flight of the knife and then seeing the result. "Easily, " I told him, "but I'd rather not. "
"Why not?" From the way his eyebrow shot up, I saw I had surprised him.
I shrugged my shoulders, making light of the reason for my reluctance.
"Convenience, I suppose, and cleanliness... or laziness. Tree sap does strange things to the skystone dagger. It stains the blade. Doesn't damage it, but it discolours it slightly, and it's very hard to clean off, unless you do it immediately. '" I stopped, looking at him. "Why d'you want me to throw it, anyway?"
He cleared his throat and then met my eye. "I didn't, particularly. " he responded. "I was hoping you might show me how to throw it. "
"Well, of course I will, happily!" Filled with sudden pleasure, I whipped the dagger from its sheath at the small of my back, swung it up shoulder high, aiming as I did so, and flung it hard and true at the tree. It flipped end over end once and thudded home in the centre of the bole with a deep, satisfying thunk. I crossed to it, worked it free of the wood and dried the sap from the tip immediately, then took it back to show the slight discoloration to Caius.
"You see what I mean?" I held the blade angled to the light. "That doesn't happen to any other blade, at least, not to any I've noticed. But, as I said, it comes off easily enough if you wipe it immediately. Leave it to dry, however, and you've got a black stain that almost can't be removed. Here. "
I handed him the knife and he examined it closely, holding it loosely in his fingers the way he had seen me hold it prior to throwing it. I showed him the throwing grip and gave him a brief lesson in how to throw properly, with enough strength to flip the knife and hammer it home into the target. Eventually, I allowed him to try a throw, and he sank the point a good thumb-nail's depth into the trunk. We retrieved it and he did the same again five times in succession. Then we increased the distance to the tree and he had to make the required adjustments. He threw two misses, the knife clunking lengthwise against the bark, before he captured the correct weight again, and his shots were unerring from then on. When I estimated he had had enough, I retrieved the knife, dried the blade and slipped it into its sheath.
"So, " I asked him, "what made you decide you wanted to throw knives?"
Before responding, he linked his arm through mine and pulled me into motion. We moved on as he spoke, leaving the big tree behind us.
"I didn't really want to throw knives, Publius. I merely wanted to do something different. Does that make sense?"
I made a gesture of agreement, although he had me mystified. But he paid no attention to me. My reactions were not important to him at that moment. He was talking simply for the sake of talking.
"I'm restless, " he went on. "and I don't know why... " I could almost hear his thoughts churning. "I don't like the way I'm feeling, Publius... don't like feeling I haven't come to grips with my life or my own desires. Do you know what I mean? I feel I'm missing something. Do you ever feel that way?"
Conscious of the impossibility of responding intelligently to that, yet wanting to clarify what he was driving at, I said, "I don't know, Caius. Perhaps I do, from time to time, but I'm not sure if we're both talking about the same thing. What is it you're missing? Have you any idea?" He threw me a sidelong glance and then returned his eyes to the path at his feet. "Yes, I'm missing my son, for one thing. I'm not happy with his decision to follow Magnus. "
I answered him firmly on that point. "That's because you would never have decided to do that, Caius. You wouldn't have to. You're Caius Britannicus, Legate, Senator and Proconsul of Rome. But we're discussing Picus's decision. He's only a lad, and a grunt, at that, not even a centurion yet. He has to do what he's told, like any other soldier. More than likely he had no choice at all. It's pointless to fret over it, anyway, because there's nothing we can do about it. "
He kicked at a clump of grass. "Damnation, Publius, I know that. But I still don't like it. I should have kept the lad here on the Colony. "
"How? You mean you should have forbidden him the privilege of serving with the legions? Of following in the steps of his ancestors? How long has it been since the last Britannicus stayed at home and didn't serve the Empire?"
"It's never happened, you know that. "
"Then why start it now? You know the experience will be the making of the lad. "
"I know it will, of course! But what if... ?"
"What if what? Do you mean what happens if he's killed?" He answered, his voice a whisper, "Yes, I suppose I do. " I reached out and grasped him by the shoulder. "Then your name will die with you, my friend. But it won't happen. Picus won't die. He'll come home because he knows he'll be needed. There is a position waiting for him in our Colony, and his experience and skills will be important. The lads who stay here with us will learn their trade with us. They'll be good soldiers, but they'll be home grown.
Our Picus will bring back the training and experience to round them out and make real fighters of them, real Romans. "
"I suppose so. " He heaved a great, deep sigh. "I know you're right, my friend, " he said. "My intellect knows you're right, but my heart — " I cut in on his words. "What's really bothering you. General?" He stopped short, in mid stride, and looked at me. "That is, Publius. What you just said. "
I blinked at him. "What did I say?"
"You called me General, and that's what I'm missing. Soldiering, Publius! The excitement, the challenge, the movement, the constant stimulation and requirement to be prepared for anything. The constant need to think on one's feet and keep abreast and ahead of developments. " I had stopped walking, too, and now I was staring at him in amazement. He took my stunned silence for recognition of the problem.
"Don't you agree?"
"Agree?" I said, hearing the wonder in my own voice. "I can't even believe what I heard! General, can you recognize horse turds when you see them?"
His gaze went blank. "What d'you mean? Of course I can. "
"So can I. " I nodded. "Aye, and I can hear them when they hit the ground, too, fresh dropped. But I seldom hear them dropping from the horse's mouth. "
The old Britannicus surfaced quickly. "Varrus, what in Hades are you talking about?"
"What you were talking about. Horse shit. I've never heard the like. You were the one who loved to talk for hours about the pettiness and uselessness of the military life — the inactivity, the boredom, the frustration, the bureaucratic meddling, the ineptitude and the general folly bred by the army's 'hurry up and wait' mentality. " I stopped to draw breath, and he did not interrupt me as I continued. "You know, if I didn't know who I was listening to, I'd be tempted to think you were sorry for yourself. But I know that's not the case. You've a huge job to do here in this Colony, and you're doing it well. What you're feeling right now will pass. It's nostalgia for a way of life that's over. You've done it all. Trying to repeat any part of it would drive you insane. The job you have to do today means more, and demands more, than anything you've ever tried before. " Now it was he who stared open-mouthed at me. "By the living Christ, Varrus, " he breathed, his eyes wide in wonder, "you've never dared speak to me like that before. I've never heard you talk to anyone like that! You're really eloquent in fury... I must have pissed on your cooking fire to make you that angry!"