Empress & Soldier: Chapter 20, part 2
In which Druisius meets his nephews.
AFTER A WEEK I am given an afternoon’s leave. I collect my cithar from the commander. Then I walk across Casil to the house that is now my brother’s.
I think the square has not changed. Then I see the awning shading three shopfronts. The one that was ours, and the ones on both sides. All one striped fabric. Beneath it a man speaks to another. Oil is offered, to taste.
I watch from the shadows until the transaction is done. The buyer leaves. I stand, cross the square. Call my brother’s name.
He turns. “Yes?” Dressed in a tunic of good quality, a belt of soft leather.
“Marius,” I say again, and he hears and sees me this time.
“Druisius!” He stares for a moment. “What—where have you come from?”
“My barracks. I am a palace guard now, yes?” I step into the shade of the awning, put down the cithar. He offers his arms. I hesitate, then accept. We hug. He is taller than me, strong. I have missed him, it seems.
I glance around. “Three shopfronts? The business does well.”
“It does. I told you that, in my letters. But come.” He beckons me to the door that leads to the rooms above the shops. “Meet Vita and the boys. Can you stay to eat?”
The stairs are familiar. One still creaks as it always did. Marius is calling his wife’s name. I step into the main room, stop. New plaster, painted. New tiles on the floor. Carpets. They tell the same story as my brother’s tunic and belt. Being a trader has been no hardship for him.
A woman comes from another room. Olive skin, big dark eyes, her straight black hair clipped back. “Vita,” Marius says, “look who this is! My brother Druisius.” He is smiling, happy I am here. I am too.
Food is brought, and wine, and the two boys, my nephews. The young one, Tadius, is just past toddling; Valens, the older, four and a bit. Not babies. Valens reaches for my cithar. “No,” I say gently, and lift it from the floor. “Marius, keep these for me? The barracks are not a safe place.”
He laughs. “I’ll have to put it out of reach of the boys.” I hand it to him, and the glass bottle. I liked its shape, and its colour. No one asked where it went.
Marius runs a finger along the oiled wood of the cithar. “When did you learn to play?”
“Marcellus taught me. The officer from the docks, yes?”
He nods. “He was killed.”
“In Qipërta. The cithar was his. I will try to find his wife, give it to her for their son.”
“That shouldn’t be hard,” he says, “for a palace guard. Someone in the offices will know where she is. You can ask when you’re not working.”
“But I am not at the palace. Not yet. Too new, yes? So the streets and gates. For a while. Maybe our patron would know?”
“Varos? I could ask.” His face lights. “Did you know his daughter’s to be the Empress now? I’ve spoken to an Empress.”
“I met the Emperor,” I say. “When he was the prince. He thanked me for opening a door.” We grin at each other. Then talk about where I have been, the distant lands. About my younger sisters, married to traders. Both far away, across the sea. About the ships Marius owns now, the warehouses he leases. The markets for grain and oil and wine. I tell him of the carter with his amphorae of oil hidden among the wine vessels.
“There’s always those who will try to cheat,” he says. “Not worth it. By the way, there’s money put aside for you. Part of the profits, each year.”
This surprises me. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Our mother asked me to. After our father died. You’ve got—what?—another fifteen years to serve? What will you do after?”
I have no answer. “Maybe I am dead, yes?”
“And maybe not. You should think about it.”
Too soon. I tell Marius this. He shakes his head. “It isn’t. But I suppose, when it’s only you—no wife or children to worry about, it’s different.” He eyes me. “It is only you? No quincalum?”
I laugh. One man only? Not my way.
It is time to go. I am on duty in an hour. I thank Vita, praise the boys. She smiles. “Come any time.”
Marius walks down to the square with me. “Vita’s right,” he says. “Come any time.”
I look at my prosperous brother. A question to be asked. “Bernikë?”
He spreads his hands. “Still at the baths. Popular, I understand.”
I chew my lip. How to ask? “She hates me, yes?”
He nods. Slowly. “Won’t hear you spoken of. I talk to her, sometimes, at the baths. She won’t come here. Says she’ll disgrace us.”
Two answers. “I will come when I can,” I say. “The money that is mine? I will keep a little, maybe. The rest is hers.”
###
WEEKS PASS. I stay on night guard. I learn more of the city, and where to go on nights I am not on duty. To dice, to drink. To satisfy appetites. Sometimes the same places. Sometimes not. Never in the quarters I patrol.
The smell of baking bread tells me I am hungry. It is early, barely light. There is a taberna near. I ask for bread, olives. The yawning owner serves me. He recognizes me, I think. But not as a guard. I put down the usual coins.
“Half again,” he says. I have not been here for two weeks, maybe three.
“Why?”
“Price of flour,” he says over his shoulder.
The day grows warmer. I do not have to be at the barracks for some hours. I could go to Marius, ask him why. But I have not been to the harbour yet.
I walk through the city, past the last bridge. The tomb of the Emperor Adricius is across the river. Boats land here, both sides. I find one that will take me to the port.
Little has changed. One or two more warehouses. I walk the quays. Rigging swings in the breeze, clinking metal. Men shout, swear, sweat. I glance at the harbourmaster’s office, wondering. I know from my brother this man is new. The old one dropped dead one morning. Where his blue-eyed son went, Marius does not know.
Men are unloading sacks from a ship tied up just ahead of me. I recognize our stamp on the bags. The man supervising them is tall. From his dress and skin he is from across the Nivéan sea. I call to him.
“Yes, I’m the captain,” he says. Looks across at me, frowns. “Who are you?”
I tell him. He laughs. “I’m Zirin. Your brother-in-law.” He jumps down from the ship to offer his hand. Stands to talk, still watching the men.
He is married to my youngest sister. They have two children, another on the way. She is well, or was when he left.
I indicate the sacks of grain. “The price has gone up, yes?”
“Yes. Drought, two years running now. If we don’t get winter rains this year, next year will be even worse.” We talk some more. But he has work to do, and I must return to the city.
“I’ll be staying with Marius and Vita for a night or two,” he says. “Will I see you there?”
I shake my head. “On duty. Tell my sister you saw me, yes?”
“Of course. She’ll be happy.”
Going into the city it is faster to walk. The boats row against the current, or are towed by mules. I follow the towpath back to the first city gate. Outside it a few stalls are set up. Poor men and women, selling food, things they have made. They will be poorer now, and hungrier.
One stall catches my eye. Carved toys, boats and animals and dolls. I stop, pick up a boat. The oars can be moved, and the plank seats. It is well made, solid. I haggle for two. I begin to turn away, stop. My little sister is three times a mother soon, across the sea. I choose another boat, a duck, a rattle.
At the barracks I lock two of the boats in my chest. For Valens and Tadius, later. The others I parcel up, write a note. Send them with a boy to Marius’s house. Then I get ready for my work, still thinking about the harbour.
###
THE TABERNAE I FREQUENT on my own time are in corners of the city not much visited. I use my own name. It is not uncommon. But if asked, I come from the boats. One of the coastal traders that make quick trips in and out. No one questions. No one cares.
The owner waters the beer, to keep prices down. Grain shortages affect beer as well as bread. Anger does more than simmer here.
“What do you know of the warehouses?” the man I am drinking with asks. I shrug.
“Not much. Fish goes straight to market.”
He grunts. Leans forward. “Why don’t you smell of fish?”
“The baths are free,” I say. Underneath the table I touch his thigh. He is a street sweeper, night work. He will need to leave soon. I want to distract him from this conversation.
He ignores my hand. “Can you find out?”
I swallow some thin beer. “What do you want to know?”
“Guards, to begin with. How many?”
“For all the warehouses?”
He leans towards me again, drops his voice. “Just the granaries.”
“Maybe. For a price.” My hand moves again, higher. The taberna has a room upstairs. Straw on the floor, a few hanging cloths to make small spaces. Nothing more. Men are expected to be quick. It serves.
When we are done I keep my weight on him. Holding him down. Whisper in his ear. “I’ll get what you want. Here, in five nights, yes?”
~
My commander listens. “The warehouses?”
“Private guards only, paid by the merchants, yes?”
He chews his cheek. “You’re sure of this?”
“It is being planned. Maybe only talk. Maybe not.”
He leans back. “You said you were good at listening. Well done.” He stands. “I must take this to the palace.”
He does not mean the Emperor. The offices of the men who run Casil are there too, on lower floors. The palace guard falls under the fiscarius’s responsibility, because the city pays us. From the taxes paid to them.
“When?” he says suddenly. “Do you know?”
“No.”
“Can you plant an idea?” He looks at me shrewdly. “I am guessing here, of course, but you have done more than just listen, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
He grins. “Which question are you answering?”
“Both,” I say.
“See me tomorrow,” he orders.
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