"Picus, " I began, "I have some words for you, as my newest nephew. " That drew a general laugh and relieved me of the little embarrassment I felt. Picus was looking at me expectantly from across the table. "You join the legions soon. Tomorrow, in fact, if leaving home for the purpose qualifies as entry. I have a gift for you, and you will honour me if you accept it. "
The boy's eyes widened as he wondered what could be coming. I reached beneath the table and produced the package Diomede had brought me, unwrapping it as I continued speaking.
"Before your father left for Africa, he asked me to make this sword for him. It wasn't ready by the time he left, for I had no idea that he was going until it was too late. And now he swears he will soldier no more. Anyway, I made this for General Britannicus, and it is a fine weapon, I think. The hilt is made in one piece, by a new technique I've been experimenting with. Now that the General has no further need of a sword, I can think of no more appropriate place for it than hanging by the side of his son. " I drew it from its bronze-covered sheath. "The designs on the scabbard and hilt are Celtic — the art of the people of Britain — as appropriate to a Britannicus as his name. The iron of the blade was mined, smelted and wrought here in Britain. Believe me, Picus, you may wear it and use it with confidence. It will serve you equally well in battle and in dress uniform. " I sheathed the weapon and handed it to him. None of us spoke as he took the sword from my hands and gazed at it with reverence, his eyes tracing the whorls and scrollwork of the Celtic designs that covered it. The scabbard was of sheepskin, lined by the natural wool of the animal; I had scraped and shaved it to a point approaching baldness to protect the blade against rusting and to polish the iron each time it was sheathed or drawn. The outer surface was covered by a skin of bronze, thin as the finest parchment, beaten and decorated by my own hand. I had had no wish to do less than the best I was capable of for my friend in the making of it.
Picus drew the blade from its sheath respectfully, testing its weight in his hand and cutting tentatively at the air.
"Uncle Varrus, " he said, "I have never owned, or held, or even seen anything as beautiful as this. I thank you for the honour you did my father by crafting this for him, and for the honour you do me by considering me worthy of receiving it. " He turned to his father. "Father. I swear to you that I will try to hear this sword with all of the honour you would have bestowed upon it. "
A pretty speech indeed for a mere lad. I could see that Britannicus was moved. He stood and approached his son and embraced him without speaking. I felt Luceiia's eyes on me, and when I looked, they were awash with tears. Britannicus turned again to me and I saw approval in his eyes. He cleared his throat, and I wondered what he was going to say.
"Another cup of wine, Publius, my friend, to wet the head of the Empire's newest recruit. "
While Picus reverently showed his prize to the three officers, we toasted him, and we toasted the old Twentieth Legion, and then we toasted Varrus the sword-maker. When we had emptied our cups, Britannicus looked at his son again, his eyebrow high and imperious.
"Now, young man, you may retire. You are still a civilian and not yet of a legal age to bear arms. We bid you good night. "
When the boy had gone we sat down again.
"He's a fine-looking young man, Caius, " I said. "Looks like a Greek god."
"Looks like a damned Hun, is what he looks like! His mother's family all look like that. They maintain they're of pure Roman stock, but one of their ancestral grandmothers became overfond of a northern slave, if you ask me. "
Picus's departure seemed to be the unspoken signal for the break-up of the dinner party. Shortly after he had gone, the three young officers also excused themselves. They had to be astir before dawn and had a long journey ahead of them. Luceiia left Caius alone for a short while and went to confer with Diomede and the kitchen staff about arrangements for an early breakfast and rations for the travellers, and when she came back she bade us both good night and warned us not to stay up too long talking. Caius picked up the wine jug, which still held a good amount, and the two of us went into his cubiculum, where one of Diomede's people had a roaring brazier prepared for our comfort.
We sat together in companionable silence for a while, each of us busy with his own thoughts. Caius broke it by thanking me again for the gesture of the sword, and I shrugged it off, saying I could think of no better purpose for the weapon.
"Nevertheless, " he insisted, "it was a gesture worthy of a noble friend. "
"Good, " I said with a small smile. "I was a little worried — not much, but a little — that you might object to my giving it without consulting you. I did it on impulse, but the sword was made for you in the first place. " He shook his head. "No, Varrus. How could I possibly have any objections? It is a magnificent sword and one which I would have been proud to carry. But I no longer need a sword, and Picus will love it. There will be no other like it in his legion. And, by the way, I know I've asked you something like this before, but how did you get the iron of the blade so light in colour? Is it skystone metal?"
I grinned, shaking my head. "No, no skystones, no magic — merely one of my grandfather's tricks, Commander. We mix charcoal into the iron during smelting and tempering. It toughens and hardens the blade and somehow enables it to hold a much harder, finer edge. As a side effect, it seems to lighten the colour, too. "
"Ah, yes, your melting and smelting. You started to tell me about that once before, last time we met. Tomorrow I want to talk to you about it at more length. And what about the Celtic scrollwork on the sheath? It's the same as the work on the one your grandfather made, isn't it? The one Theodosius has now. "
"Yes, more or less. It was your friend Bishop Alaric who got me interested in that... among other things. "
He smiled. "Alaric is a catalyst. No one who meets him is ever unchanged. But Luceiia tells me you are a wealthy man now — a legacy from your grandfather, I understand? It sounds like a fascinating tale. I'd like to hear it, if you have the time. "
"There's not much to tell, Commander. " sat silent for a few minutes, gathering my thoughts. Then, in as few words as possible, I told him the story of finding the golden hoard in grandfather's pikes. He listened carefully, as always, and then began asking questions that led from the gold all the way to everything else I had been doing over the past five years. I answered them all briefly, hoping to get them out of the way and then get him talking about his adventures, but try as I would, there was no way I could sidestep his questions and work in some of my own.
I ended up by telling him the whole story of my run-in with Seneca, my flight from Colchester, and my troubles on the road to Aquae Sulis.
"So, " he said, finally, "it is to the Senecas that we owe the pleasure of your company. You have been here how long, now? A month? Two? And your initial encounter with the Seneca brat was a month before that, more or less?"
'"Less. " I said. "About two weeks, perhaps three. " "Does Quinctilius Nesca know you by sight?" "No. not at all. None of them really knows who I am. The scum I met on the road were looking only for a grey-haired man with a bad limp. That's all they have to go on. They'll never find me here. "
"Hmmm. unless Primus Seneca remembers that I had a friend with grey hair and a bad limp when he last saw me. which is not too unlikely!
Never underestimate these Seneca creatures, Publius. They are not like other men. They have a capacity for evil that is almost supernatural. " "In that case. Commander. " I said, troubled by the ominous tone of his voice and his immediate identification of a point that had occurred to me months before. "I had better move on. I see no point in attracting trouble here to your home. "