Even before the party, Varus and Santino hadn’t ever really gotten along. Varus was a squirmy intellectual type and Santino enjoyed nothing more than to bully such targets. He did it with me, occasionally, since I actually had a brain, but he knew Helena would kick his ass if he took it too far, so he generally directed his attention elsewhere.
In his typical, juvenile way, Santino had decided to “de-pants” Varus, but it had apparently escaped Santino that Romans didn’t wear pants. But that hadn’t deterred him. Cleverly, Santino effectively fused two stereotypical bullying rituals into one devastating attack. By grabbing the hem of Varus’ toga and pulling it over his head, he’d not only technically de-pantsed him, but had simultaneously performed an atomic wedgie as well. It wasn’t really a wedgie, but the fact that he had been able to yank the toga over Varus’ head and shoulders dictated the title.
But sadly, as was tradition, Varus hadn’t been wearing any undergarments, and he’d flashed the entire party as he spun around in circles, trying to dislodge his robes. Helena and I had laughed along with everyone else, too drunk to know any better. After fixing his toga, poor Varus had been bright red and fled the party in shame, his wife chasing after him after she’d taken the time to smack Santino with a single slap that knocked him to the ground. I hadn’t seen Varus for almost two weeks after that, until Caligula’s last party, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk since either.
I could imagine he was still pretty angry about the whole thing.
“Yeah, about that,” Santino said quietly, almost apologetically. “That was pretty funny, right?”
I knew Varus wanted to kill Santino, but his trembling quickly subsided. He was an intellectual after all, and Santino was obviously much bigger and stronger than he was. I supposed I wasn’t giving Varus as much credit as he deserved because he was in good shape, lean and probably pretty strong to. He also wasn’t a bad looking guy, as no ancestor of mine would be, of course, and his wife was very attractive.
Without comment, Varus moved towards his bed and I followed him, making my way carefully so that I didn’t knock over the stacks of papers and notes strewn about the floor in a chaotic mess. The room was a disaster, filled with all kinds of random documents and manuscripts. I noticed a vacant chair in the room and headed towards it, accidentally knocking over one of the stacks in the process. Varus sent me a look of disinterest.
“Sorry about Santino, Marcus. You know how he is. I’m also sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk after Caligula’s death.” I paused. “I know it’s been four years, but I am sorry for your loss.”
The room was eerily silent, and even Santino was respectfully quiet. Varus and Caligula had been very close, probably the closest friends each of them had, and I knew Varus had taken his death pretty hard.
His relationship with Caligula had always interested me because it was a case of historical ambiguity. As a student, I’d spent much of my focus researching Caligula and his family tree, but not once had I encountered a man remembered as a confidant of Caligula’s with Varus’ name. That either meant his name was lost to history or it had been stricken by someone who didn’t want him remembered. Of course, there was also the chance that he was supposed to die that night we’d went back in time and became even less remembered than Galba had been.
I’ll never know.
“Thank you, Hunter,” he replied sadly. “I still miss him.”
“He was a great man, and could have been greater. He died well before his time.”
Varus nodded, accepting my words, but it took another moment before he snapped himself from his lamentation and started rummaging through his papers again, randomly tossing errant ones over his shoulders.
“It is interesting that you reveal yourself now, Hunter,” he said distractedly, forgetting our conversation had even happened. “I actually have something for you. Something I think you will find most interesting.”
“Umm, okay.” I said, looking at Santino, who had taken his goggles and mask off and offered me a shrug.
Varus had a one track mind, more focused than obsessive, but even so, I found it humorous how he didn’t even seem remotely curious as to why we were here.
Taking a moment while Varus searched for whatever it was he was looking for, I decided to check in with Helena.
“3–2, 3–1, over.”
“This is 3–2, go ahead.”
“We’ve made contact with target Victor. He has important intel so we’re waiting him out. Hopefully he can provide directions to November. Howcopy?”
“Solid copy, 3–1.” She paused. “Be careful. 3–2, out.”
I glanced towards the door and found Santino already posted next to it in a crouch, his knife held in a reverse grip at the ready. I turned back to face Varus, who was still rummaging through disorganized papers thrown behind his bed.
I frowned. It wasn’t like Varus to be so disorganized and messy. For as long as I’d known him, his toga had always been perfectly clean and wrinkle free, his face always shaven, and the few times I had visited his home in Rome, I was always impressed with his neatness and organization. He was a taciturn fellow, contemplative and scholarly, a man who had a place for everything and preferred everything in its place.
He was clearly in over his head with something.
I bent over and picked up a handful of his notes, written on a thick, stiff writing medium known as papyrus. Titling them towards the candle light, I tried to discern what was written.
After living in the future and spending years in the past, I had become fluent in both Latin and English, the latter of which I was sadly finding myself using less and less as time went on, as I almost always conversed in Latin these days, even around Helena and Santino sometimes. It was depressing to think of it as yet another piece of home that was slowly slipping away, knowing I would probably abandon English all together one day. If I ever had children, I hoped to pass it on to them. Maybe they could use it as a secret code or something, but that’s all it will ever be to them.
It must have been even worse for Helena, Bordeaux and Vincent, whose native languages had long been without use in the ancient world.
Unfortunately, the text was in neither language, and while some of the letters appeared familiar, most did not. I’d taken a year of Greek in college, and had brushed up on it a bit these past few years, so I could at least identify it when I saw it.
It wasn’t Greek either.
“What language is this?” I asked Varus.
“Hm?” He mumbled, pulling himself up from the bed. He had been lying on his stomach with his knees bent like a child’s as he searched behind the bed. “Oh, it’s Etruscan.”
“Etruscan?” I asked rhetorically, lost in thought. “You mean like…”
“Found it,” he said happily, holding up a clutch of papyrus in his hands.
“Found what?” I asked, not quite sure if I wanted to know. My plans were complicated enough. I didn’t need him adding anymore variables into the equation, and anything dealing with Remus’ orb would be a big one.
“Do you remember the document I discovered with Remus’ orb?” he asked.
He looked at me and didn’t continue. He seemed to be waiting for an answer to a complicated question. I wondered if he actually thought I could forget.
“Uh, yah. Its kinda hard not to,” I replied, trying to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
“Right. Good. Then you will be happy to learn that I have completed a rough translation of most of it.”
“Really?” I asked in abrupt interest. “What does it say?”
“Sadly,” he said, suddenly squeamish, “I have found nothing that describes the orb’s origin. Nothing I have translated so far has offered any insight into what it’s used for or where it came from, but there is still more to translate. However, it could take my entire life to finish it, and I am disappointed to admit that what I have translated is not fully reliable.”