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Elsewhere, he would have been a gnat to be swatted casually. The fellow is
obviously a deserter. Hang him, I say, and have done with him."
"No." Caius again. I was surprised by the ease with which I could hear them
discussing me. I was very close to their table. "No, he should be taken in an
open cage to Londinium, to serve as an example, as I
have said. He is a rebel. His humiliation should be public, and spectacular
used to discourage others from emulating him. To hang him out of hand would
serve no useful purpose."
"I disagree." There was a note of petulance in the heavy voice now. "He would
be dead. Deserters are to be executed immediately upon apprehension."
"This is no deserter, Senator. At least, I do not think so. He is a veteran,
certainly, but I doubt that he deserted. The fellow is crippled. It is an old
wound and a grave one; it would have ended his service."
"Nonsense, Caius Britannicus! He could have taken a wound at any time."
"Not that one, Senator. Not if he were a deserter. It would have killed him.
He could not have recovered from a wound like that outside of a military
hospital."
There was a long silence after this when no one spoke at all, and I could feel
the eyes of all of them on me. Then that voice spoke again, sullen, like that
of a spoiled child speaking through an adult's mouth.
"By all the ancient gods, Caius Britannicus, you are a tedious man! My men
have travelled with me all across this land to draw some blood and you have
robbed them of their just satisfaction! How could you have done all you have
said, fought the engagement that you have described, and taken but one
prisoner?" He paused as though waiting for a reply, and when none came the
strangely whining, petulant, bass-voiced complaint continued. "You have no
answer? Then let me tell you what I think. I think you might be making more of
this than was the case. I think you would like us to believe that you have won
a major victory here, when all that happened was a minor squabble. I think
that tomorrow we will ride with you to view the ruins of this rebel's camp and
count the bodies of his slain companions, and I think that we had better "
"Claudius Seneca!" Caius's voice cracked like a whip. think I will be happy
to do as you suggest, but
"I
I
also think that when I have done so, you should be prepared to render me a
fair apology for any slur you might have thought to cast upon my honour!
Ialso think you might be slightly overtired after your long and exhausting
journey. I do not think, however, that you would wish me to think you are
questioning my truthfulness."
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There was no disguising the challenge carried in the emphasis of his words.
Seneca remained silent, and
Caius continued. "And while we are discussing thoughts so freely, think upon
this. My men are not
soldiers of Rome. They are farmers and artisans, solid and seldom impetuous.
When they are threatened, however, they retaliate. When they are injured, they
exact revenge. And when they have been angered thoroughly enough to seek
revenge, they do not think of taking prisoners! We do not have jails, nor
jailers here. I called for the rebel leader only. The man you see before you
is the only prisoner here. Their general, as you called him. Their limping,
crippled god their savage, grey-haired Vulcan! He will hang soon enough, but
in Londinium, and I will take him there myself. Take him away!" This last was
to my guards, who began to swing me around.
"Wait!" The voice almost squeaked. The bait was taken. I drew a deep, painful
breath. "What did you say, Britannicus? What did you call him?"
"Call him? Vulcan, I called him, after the crippled god."
"Is that his name? Vulcan?" The venomous, hissing voice now reminded me of a
serpent. "Hold up his head! Let me see his face!"
I felt fingers take hold of my hair and jerk my head back painfully. Through
the tears that instantly flooded my eyes, I saw the man approach me, gliding
almost sideways as though prepared to leap away again to safety at any sign of
threat. Closer he came, and closer, peering into my blood- and dirt-encrusted
face, seeking a memory.
"It could be," he whispered. "Stand away from him!" He was shrieking now at my
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