Читать книгу Journey of the Pearl - A. E. Smith - Страница 18

The next morning, Adas stiffly sat up. Slowly, the events of the previous day started to come back to him, but in a jumbled order. The room seemed to rotate. He groaned and sank back on the bed. Much more slowly, he sat up again, but had to wait for the room to stop moving. Carefully, he nudged his feet to the floor. His vision corrected and he stood. Without thinking, he opened the door and picked up his water pitcher.

Adas took the copper mirror off the wall. Turning it over, he read the inscription on the back. “Never Relinquish Your Dream.” He thought of the day his mother gave him the mirror, many years ago.

“Adas, I have something I’d like to give you,” said Marsetina as she gestured for her young son to follow her.

“What is it?” Adas was excited that she had a gift for him.

“It is a speculum cuprinus, and I’m giving it you.” She handed him the polished copper mirror. “For generations my family has passed this mirror from father to daughter, and mother to son. Some say the first owner gave the mirror to her eldest son because he was very handsome, but he had a mole on the side of his face. She wanted him to remember he was not perfect and to embrace humility. With humility comes wisdom.”

“What does humility mean, Mother?”

Marsetina knelt on her knees and re-laced his sandals. “Even though this is a job for a slave, I do this for you out of humility, Adas. There is no love more powerful than to put the needs of others before your own, even if the task is lowly.”

“Is this why Misha is my nanny? Because she has humility?”

“Yes, Misha loves humility, but she loves you more.”

“Why does she love me?”

“Because Misha has a pure heart. She loves you and me more than she loves herself. She gave up everything to be with me. More than once, she would have sacrificed her life to protect me. Only the purest of heart are willing to die for someone.”

“Did she almost die?” The thought scared Adas. “Who saved her?”

“Your Father saved both of us at great risk to himself. Your Father is the bravest man I have ever known. Never forget that, Adas. He loves both of us very much.”

“Does Father have humility, too?”

Marsetina’s eyes twinkled. “Not as much.”

“Does he have wisdom?”

“Yes, he has wisdom because he has courage. Not only did your father rescue me, he rescued my heart. If your father had not saved me, you would never have been born.” She showed him the back of the mirror. “What does it say, Adas?”

“Never relinquish your dream. What does it mean?”

“Never accept less than your goals. Don’t settle for something because it is easy.”

“What is your dream, Mother?”

“My dream now is for you to love and be loved. There is no greater treasure than those we love.”

“Is Father your treasure? Are you his treasure?”

Marsetina smiled. “You do understand.”

Adas jumped to his feet to run from the room. “I’m going to show Father my beautiful mirror.”

Marsetina’s smile vanished. “No, Adas. Don’t ever tell your father about the mirror. He won’t understand why I kept it. This is our secret. Not even Misha knows I kept it.”

Adas put the mirror back on the wall. He longed for the day his mother would meet Dulcibella and know her dream had come true. Adas studied his reflection and frowned. His four-day-old beard could not hide the evidence of violence. Under his left eye was the beginning of a purple bruise which extended across his entire cheekbone. The cut along the underside of his jaw was long and surrounded with bruising. The bandage across his forehead revealed the wound had bled in his sleep. Tentatively, he pulled the bandaging off. There was a gash above the left end of his eyebrow and across his temple. Dark purple bruising fanned away from the injury and disappeared into his hairline. He tossed the bandage in the fireplace.

Adas remembered that Valentius wanted an apology before the third hour, but it was close to noon, judging by the shadows from the window lattice. Adas pulled his ruined tunic off and threw it on the floor. He put on a fresh tunic. He found papyrus, a pen, and a clay inkpot, which was almost empty. It would have to be a short “apology.”

Five minutes later he left his quarters and crossed the quad to Valentius’s office. He knocked and Valentius called out to enter. Adas stood at attention while Valentius stamped documents with his seal ring, carefully placing each one in a neat line across the top of his desk. He would adjust a sheet, study it, and re-adjust it. Finally he blew out the sealing wax and put his ring on his hand. He scowled at Adas. “What did I tell you last night?”

“Sir, you told me you wanted a written apology on your desk before the third hour.”

“Yet here you are after the fifth, with an excuse I’m sure.”

“I have none, Sir.”

Valentius circled around his desk. “You don’t offer an excuse when I know you have a perfectly good one. Why don’t you say it? Afraid of getting my slave in trouble? How touching. Demitre told me he gave you a dose of his sleeping potion. A man will sleep through a battering ram at his door with that potion.” Valentius put his hand out for the scroll. “Go check the duty wall. You have today and tomorrow to recover. Report for duty Wednesday. Dismissed.”

Hiding his surprise at the leniency, Adas turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing, Longinus. You got a letter from your father.” Valentius reached into a set of shelves and pulled out a scroll. The wooden spool was damaged and the seal was broken. Adas took the letter without comment and turned to go.

“Aren’t you going to ask why it’s broken?”

“No, Sir. Will that be all, Sir?”

“No, it will not. I’ll tell you anyway. The tabellar swears he received the letter in that condition. Isn’t this your father’s personal seal?”

“Yes, Sir.” Aquila had never written to him before now. How did Valentius know what Consul Longinus’s personal seal looked like? His father had sent only one other letter to the Antonia, addressed to Tribune Salvitto, to request Adas be transferred to Jerusalem.

Do you wish to file a complaint against the tabellar?”

“No, Sir”

“Why not? Are you afraid of getting him in trouble?”

“No, Sir. It is not worth the effort. Sir.”

“Does your father know his letters are ‘not worth the effort,’ Longinus?”

“You would have to ask Consul Longinus, Sir. Would you like me to request his presence? Then he could answer your questions, in person. Sir.”

A red flush started up Valentius’s neck. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, Sir. Why would my father’s presence be a threat to you? Sir.”

“Go!” Valentius thrust a finger at the door. “Get out of my office!”

Once outside, Adas smiled to himself. Apparently, the commander was not unmindful of Consul Longinus’s authority, after all. He crossed the quad to the officers’ cafeteria. When he entered the building, most of the conversation stopped, but he was too hungry to care. Ignoring their stares, he sat at his favorite table. After seeing Adas, the men were growing suspicious of the report presented by Valentius. They certainly knew the difference between injuries from drunkenness and injuries from a fight.

Several men walked over to Adas. “Mind if we talk with you?” asked one of the decurions. Adas gestured to the empty table and they sat. “Valentius said you were drunk yesterday and hit your head. Hitting the ground didn’t make that cut under your jaw, and none of us have ever seen you drunk. What’s the real story?”

Adas took a slow breath. “I wish I knew the real story. Something hit me, and the next thing I knew, I came to alone.”

The men grumbled vague comments. They rejoined the others to add fuel to the rumor mill. A young slave approached and asked for instructions. The boy tried to ignore Adas’s injuries, but was forced to confront the eyes of a wolf.

“You must be new,” Adas addressed the child. “How old are you? What is your name?”

“I am nine, Sir. My name is Onesimus, Sir.”

“Onesimus, a fine name. Who is your master?” Adas noticed he had no obvious injuries or signs of starvation.

“My master is Tribune Salvitto. He assigned me to the officers’ cafeteria.” He kept his eyes downcast, but glanced up every three or four words.

“Have you ever worked with horses?”

“Yes, Sir. I helped with our horses before my father was forced to sell me.”

“Did you like working with the horses?”

The child’s eyes lit up. “Yes, Sir. Horses are magnificent creatures.”

“Bring me ale and whatever you can find. Find something that actually tastes good, and I’ll share with you.” Onesimus saw Cassius approaching, but hurried away.

“Why do you coddle them, Adas?” asked Cassius as he sat at the table.

“Can you think of a better way to insure a slave won’t spit in your food?”

“Precautionary lashes would do the same thing and cost less.”

“Yes, and you would have an enemy instead of an ally.”

Cassius shrugged. “They’re slaves. Who cares? By the way, you look terrible, but I have news that’ll make you feel better.”

Onesimus set a mug of ale, a bowl of stew and half a loaf of bread on the table. Adas tore off some bread and handed it to the child. Onesimus beamed and stuffed it in his mouth. The boy took Cassius’s order and left. Adas noticed he did not hurry this time.

Cassius watched as Adas devoured the stew. “When was the last time you ate? You even eat like a wolf.” Adas kept chewing. “Right, so you might want to go by the officers’ common room and check the duty wall. There’s a few interesting entries at the end of the list. Do you have any idea why Valentius is after you?”

Adas swallowed a mouthful of warm ale. “It must have something to do with my father.”

“Why?” Cassius asked.

“Everything in my life has to do with my father. But listen, in case you thought I forgot about Tigula, I’ll come to your quarters when you get off duty.”

“You can get my tool set then. Are you going to need a new bolt on your door?”

“Probably.” Adas raised his chin in the direction of the kitchen. “There’s your food.” The slave set the meal down and waited for further instructions. Cassius waved him off. Adas patted Cassius on the shoulder. “It was good eating with you.” He left the officers’ cafeteria and went to the common room.

When he entered, the conversation stopped. Adas walked over to the duty wall, a smooth white section of wall marked with charcoal. Every week, a slave whitewashed the writing, and the new duties were posted for each of the sixty centurions. Contrary to common practice, a specific assignment was posted for three legionaries. Lucius, Hektor, and Falto were assigned to latrinae duty. Water ran continually through the latrinae channels, but they had to be scrubbed with pumice stone, which left the hands raw. This was a backbreaking job reserved for rebellious slaves. It was an extremely humiliating punishment for a soldier.

At first, Adas thought this punishment would contradict the cover story Valentius presented at the morning briefing. Then he realized the punishment was appropriate for abandoning a ranking officer too drunk to defend himself.

Adas glanced around the room. The men had gone back to their previous activities, but now a few of them spoke in hushed tones. A group of soldiers was gambling with dice in a corner of the room. One of them cheered, elbowed the man next to him and gathered his winnings off the floor. Several men were exercising on the pull-up bars set in the walls. Other men talked as they exercised with free weights. A few men sat on benches talking and, occasionally, looking at Adas. Two men had a chess board between them. The man playing with red pebbles was beating the man using the white pebbles. A group playing Twelve Lines had neglected to put the board and dice back in the game shelves.

A decurion named Corvus walked over to Adas. “You look terrible, my friend.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.”

“We’re playing soccer Saturday and could use you on the team if you’re up to it. Drusus had his slave make a new soccer ball with a pig bladder. They bounce better than goat bladders.”

“I doubt I will play, but I’ll be there. What time?”

“Ninth hour.”

The men working out seemed to be resting, and the dice sat idle in the corner. Every man in the room was watching him.

“Adas, we were wondering how you got the cut on your neck?”

Adas sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“Listen, if you were attacked by zealots, why haven’t they been arrested?”

“I didn’t see any zealots. I only saw my men—no one else.” Adas pointed to the last three names on the duty wall. “Those three.”

“Right, well, don’t forget the soccer game.” He excused himself and left.

The men went back to what they were doing. He left the common room and headed for his quarters. Hopefully, no one else would question him. His pride was making it difficult to keep the truth to himself, but if he didn’t, others would be in danger.

A voice sounded behind him and Adas turned to face the man. “Sir, may I speak with you?” It was Faustus Tertius Victorius, his optio, second in command.

“Of course, what do you need, Victorius?”

“Centurion, the men asked me to say that your centuria stands with you.”

“I deeply appreciate their loyalty and courage. Thank them for me, Victorius.” Adas gave his optio an approving nod and continued toward his quarters. When he turned to go down the lane, a group of men blocked his way. They were centurions from different cohorts. The scowls on their faces were not encouraging. Centurion Plinius from the 3rd Cohors stepped forward.

“Not so fast, Longinus! We want to talk to you,” said Plinius. “Some of us actually survived sixteen years of warfare. None of us were handed our titles on a silver platter like you.” The other centurions muttered in agreement. “You were a veterinarius in Caesarea. Ohe, such terrible dangers you must have endured! Horses can be quite deadly when they’re eating grass.” The other men laughed contemptuously.

“You are incorrect. I still am a veterinarius. And you are centurions who have earned your titles honorably.” Adas looked each man in the eye. “I have seen your courage and skill as true leaders, men who stand their ground.”

“You dare mock us?” Plinius stepped closer as he squared his shoulders.

“No, I agree with you. I do not deserve the title of centurion, nor did I want it. I wish it could be taken from me and be left as I was.”

“You won’t even defend yourself. You’re not worth our disgust.” Plinius pushed past Adas. The other men glanced at each other, confused at his humility, but walked away without comment.

Adas reached his quarters and went inside. He closed the door, leaned his back against it and sighed. When he tried to lock the door, the antiquated bolt resisted his efforts. He had to force the lock. He pulled the scroll from under his belt and sat down. Even though the seal was ripped open, he could still see it was his father’s personal stamp in the wax. Again, he wondered why Valentius recognized it.

To: Centurion Clovius Longinus

10th Legio, Jerusalem, 10th Cohors, 6th Centuria

Greetings Adas,

It gives me terrible grief to tell you a tragic thing has happened. Your mother became very ill. The doctors could do nothing. She wasted away before my eyes. It distresses me to have to tell you she did not survive her illness. This letter will not get to you in time for her funeral. There is no need for you to come home. Please do not worry about me. I hold on to my memories to survive. But take heart, Adas, for I plan to marry before the end of the season and you will have a step-mother. I am confident you will approve of this marriage. She is young, strong, and healthy, and will bear me children. You will finally have brothers and sisters, something your mother wished to give you. I will inform you of the wedding date as soon as we set it and I will hope for your arrival then.

Your father,

Consul Clovius Longinus