Honour and Glory, for Teresa

[aiseiri_47]

Title: Honour and Glory
Setting: The Roman Empire
Genre: Thriller
Rating: PG
Warnings: Violence, minor
Summary: Caius, a young member of the Praetorian Guard, overhears what may be a plot to assassinate the Emperor. Is he right? And if he is, can he stop it before the Empire collapses?
Author's Notes: I’m afraid I didn’t manage to get everything from your prompt in here, Teresa. It took an interesting turn near the end and rather got away from my plans. That said, I really hope you enjoy it! Merry Christmas!



Caius dropped onto a stool in the wineshop. The friendly proprietor handed him a full cup, taking the coins that Caius slid across. He drank gratefully, washing away the dust of the day.

This small, rather dark shop was not well-known to the Praetorian Guard, of which Caius was a relatively new addition, but it had always been a favourite haunt of his. It was not fashionable, but the wine was cheap, good, and watered in honest proportions. As he drank, he let his mind wander, allowing the murmur of quiet talk to float around him.

“…new horse sure to win the nightly races…” “…fine-looking girl. Should make a good match for our boy…” “…poison in his cup…” “…wrestling at the Campus…”

Caius, whose eyes had slid comfortably shut, sat up and looked around him. The shop was full of the usual mix of lower- and middle-class citizens, wearing togas of varying quality. He scanned the patrons, wondering which one had mentioned poison.

No one wore a sign advertising that they were about to commit murder, so Caius turned back to his wine. It was probably just some drunken plan that they wouldn’t remember in the morning.
He finished and made his way out the door. As he turned into the street, he heard someone turning the other way say, “Ten years’ wages. There’s good money to be made from an Emperor!”

It didn’t register until Caius was halfway down the street. Then it hit him: Emperor. Poison. Ten years’ wages. He whirled and took off the other way, where the voice had come from. Caius scanned the bobbing heads in front of him, but there were no indications that the speaker was even on the same street anymore.

He turned again and walked quickly back to the Castra Praetoria, just outside Rome proper. The emperor was away on a military campaign (with two of the Guard’s nine cohorts-a sizeable portion of its men), so he couldn’t be poisoned immediately-at least, if he was, there was nothing Caius could do about it-but he was expected back shortly. A great festival was planned to celebrate the final conquering of the land of Dacia, and Caius was not about to let Rome’s greatest ruler be murdered on his day of victory.

By the time he reached the barracks, he was slightly calmer, but no less preoccupied. Turning a corner, he collided with his best friend.

Gustavus let out a loud oath. “Caius, where are you going in such a hurry?”

Caius, rubbing his head, answered, “I need to find the centurion. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

“No, I wouldn’t. What’s the matter?”

Caius glanced around; the hallway was deserted but for the two of them. In a swift whisper, he answered, “There’s a plot to murder the Emperor.”

Panic flickered in his friend’s eyes. “What?”

“I overheard it just now, in a wine shop.”

“What did you hear?” Gustavus asked urgently.

“Not much,” Caius admitted, “but they mentioned poison, and the Emperor, and getting paid a lot-”

“Is that all?” Gustavus looked relieved. “Caius, that doesn’t prove anything! It was probably just talk, fuelled by too much unwatered wine.”

“They were serious, Gustavus! I’ve got to find Valerian.”

“He’ll probably laugh at you,” Gustavus warned.

“I don’t care.” Ignoring his friend, Caius plunged around him and dove into the nearest corridor.

He found the centurion half an hour later, exiting the stables. Caius pulled up right in front of him and bowed hastily. “Sir, I need to tell you something.”

Marcus Clodius Valerian was highly regarded by both his peers and those serving under him, in part because he took care to get to know each of them personally. “Go ahead, Caius.”

Caius quickly spilled everything that he had heard, which took all of half a minute and allowed Caius to realise how little he had to go on. Valerian heard him out, then asked gravely, “Would you recognise these men if you saw them again?”

“I doubt it,” Caius answered reluctantly. “I’m not sure of who they were-I heard them inside, and then they walked in the opposite direction when we left.”

Valerian nodded. “Caius, let me tell you something. You were an excellent choice for the Guard, but you’ve only been with us for less than six months. There are plots everywhere. There are also things that sound like plots but are not. This was probably one of them. Probably just a couple of disgruntled workmen, letting unwatered wine loosen their tongues.”

“That’s what Gustavus said,” Caius muttered.

His centurion frowned. “Did you tell anyone besides Gustavus?”

“No, I ran into Gustavus coming in, but he’s the only one I told.”

“I’d prefer that you keep it that way, Caius. No sense bothering people for idle talk. The emperor is returning within a few weeks. We’ve got enough to do without turning over rocks looking for two people who probably didn’t mean anything by their talk.”

“But sir, what if they did?”

Valerian regarded him with just a touch of irritation. “Then there will two slaves to taste his wine instead of the usual one. It is not your place to worry about this, Caius. Dismissed.”

Caius bowed, cheeks flushed, and set back off to the barracks. He had to admit, he had forgotten that there was almost always a food taster, and he told Gustavus so as he got ready for bed.

His friend, who had the next bed, was already mostly asleep. “Good. You worry like an old woman. Go to bed.”

Disgruntled, Caius did so, and fell asleep contemplating poisons.

He went back to his wineshop the next evening, unsure if he was hoping to hear more of the plot or not. He did not, however, and returned home tired and rather disgruntled. He decided to visit other shops over the next days, in case the assassins had taken their thirst elsewhere. He also admitted privately that he was probably jumping at shadows, but he felt that he had to make sure before he gave up the chase.

He had forgotten about the increased training. As Valerian had mentioned, Emperor Trajan was due back from a long military campaign. He had finally conquered the land of Dacia, which had stubbornly resisted being conquered for the last thirty years. It would now become a part of the Empire, open to Roman settlement, and its mines-it was reputed that each mine contained wealth to make ten men Senators-would bring great prosperity to the realm. His welcoming feast was to be of similarly epic proportions, and the Praetorian Guard would need to be ready for his return.

Caius had joined the Guard only months before, seventeen years of age, coming from the region known as Umbria. He had known no one in the Guard before entering, so the friendship and advice of the slightly older Gustavus had helped him settle in.

It was to each other that they complained as they trudged back from the third day of rigorous training. Gustavus stretched, wincing. “Ow. We’d better look pretty good by the time Trajan arrives.”

“We’re either going to look good or we’re going to be dead of exhaustion,” Caius said wearily. They dragged themselves to the baths, sinking gratefully into the heated water. Despite the high number of Guardsmen in the baths, there was much less talk than usual; most were too tired to bother carrying on a coherent conversation.

Caius dragged himself reluctantly out long before he wanted to leave. Gustavus opened a reluctant eye. “You going already?”

“Looking for a drink,” Caius answered evasively. Gustavus seemed to read his mind. “You’re not still thinking about that, are you?”

“Nothing serious. I’ll be back later.”

Gustavus sank back into the pool as Caius left.

Caius visited a different wineshop every evening. All he gained was an appreciation for properly watered wine and a good mental map of every shop within walking distance of the barracks. After a week, he announced to Gustavus, “I’m done. Valerian was right, I was wrong, and I’m tired of bad wine.”

“Good.” Gustavus was cleaning his ceremonial armour. “Hand me that rag, will you? I told you that you worry like an old woman.”

“I do not. I was just wondering…an assassin would have to know about the food tasters…what if-Gustavus, what if they used a really slow poison? Something that wouldn’t act right away? So that the slaves would die, but the emperor would too, maybe a day or two later? You could blame his illness on the campaign or the food…or you wouldn’t need an explanation-what if you were to take over the Empire?”

Gustavus paused and looked at his friend. “What if all I want is to get this armour cleaned before inspection tomorrow?”

Caius let out an exasperated grunt. “Fine! I’ll figure it out myself.”

Gustavus laid down the cloth. “Caius-if-if there really is some kind of plot, be careful, all right? People who’d kill an Emperor …”

Caius stared at him. “You keep telling me there isn’t a plot.”

“There isn’t. But if there is, watch your back, won’t you?”

He nodded. “I’ll be back; Valerian wanted to see me.”

“There you are, Caius. One of the men who’s supposed to be on duty in the palace this week is ill. It’s unusual, but I’m asking you to take his place. Since the Emperor isn’t there, it should be an easy way for you to get a look at palace life.”

Caius felt his chest swell with pride. The only reason for someone to “get a look” at different tasks of the Guard was to prepare him for future diverse assignments-meaning that Valerian saw in Caius potential for eventual promotion. “Yes, sir!”

Valerian smiled approvingly. “Good. Report here early tomorrow morning; someone will be here to show you your duties.”

The next morning, a yawning Caius was escorted through the palace by an older Guardsman, who kept up a rapid stream of important things for Caius to remember. Caius tried, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he would not, in fact, have the layout of the entire palace memorised the next day. He did, however, come away with a general idea of where things were, and an awe of the enormous scale of the place. That was before a hasty breakfast, followed by the actual duty.

Duty lasted all day and, while easy-consisting mostly of standing to attention by one of the many important doors in the palace-was also extremely tedious, and Caius found himself trying not to fidget as the day wore on. To distract himself, he listened to the important people walking about him. The least pleasant of these appeared near the end of his shift. Caius couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but the number of slaves scurrying around the man gave Caius the impression that he was well-known, as well as intimidating. At that moment, the man swivelled around and caught Caius looking at him.

“You there! Soldier!”

Caius stiffened. He was a member of the Praetorian Guard and no mere soldier, but he was also unsure of how to address a man of political influence. He answered, therefore, with reserve. “Sir?”

The man, slightly taller than Caius and at least thirty years older, cast him a cold glance. “I am Titus Pompeius Fabianus, a Senator.”

Caius bowed very slightly. “I am honoured, Senator.”

The other’s eyes narrowed. “I was under the impression that you were staring, soldier.”

“I am a milite of the Praetorian Guard, Senator. I was not staring, sir; I had looked to see who had entered. If I have offended, I apologise.”

The Senator did not deign to answer, but stalked on. Caius winced as the man disappeared from view. He was lucky that the Senator had done nothing more than be rude. The Guards were less vulnerable to political backstabbing-at least from outside forces-but it was not unheard of. A Senator could easily destroy a young footsoldier’s career.

A man on the other side of the room looked around at hearing Caius’s sigh of relief, but looked quickly away again. Caius stared. “Gustavus!”

At that, the figure turned and walked over. “Caius, what are you doing here?”

“I’m filling in for someone who’s ill. What are you doing here?” It struck him now that his friend looked faintly embarrassed, a look which increased at Caius’s question.

“I…uh…well…I’m not supposed to be here, but…” Gustavus glanced rather wildly around. A bemused Caius, following his gaze, found his eyes landing on a rather pretty slave girl, standing respectfully behind an important-looking woman.

Caius looked incredulously at his friend. “You don’t mean…?”

Gustavus shrugged self-consciously. Caius slapped his friend’s shoulder. “I didn’t see you here.”

His friend smiled in relief. “Thanks. I’ve got to go now.” He slipped out before Caius could say good bye.

A weary Caius exited the palace at the end of the day, crossing the stableyards on the way to the Castra Praetoria. To his chagrin, he heard an imperious voice and recognised the cold Senator from earlier in the day. Caius quickly turned to walk behind the nearest stable, hoping to avoid the man, who appeared to be having some trouble with a horse. He was cursing at the groom.

“Idiot! If you can’t do it right, I’ll have someone else take care of it.” The groom muttered back, bowing repeatedly, as Caius got around the stables and made good his escape.

Caius was drained by the end of the day, but still had to report to Valerian. The older man greeted him with, “You seem to have survived palace life. How did you find it?”

“In all honesty, sir, rather dull.”

Valerian laughed. “It is that. Wait until Emperor Trajan returns. Then there will be ceremony aplenty, and feasts and celebrations. Of course, you won’t have much more to do, unless a fight breaks out. But you will, at least, have more to see.”

Caius hesitated, knowing that Valerian would not want to hear his question, but it burst out of him anyway. “Sir-are there-are there poisons that could work very slowly? That someone might take and die a day or two later?”

All congeniality gone, the centurion surveyed him, lips pressed into a thin line. “Would I be right in assuming that this pertains to the supposed plot that you overheard last week?”

Caius nodded, waiting unhappily for the lash to fall. Valerian shook his head. “There are such poisons, yes. I will not tell you what they are, but they do exist.

“Perhaps this will help. Each century is to be represented at the feast, so I will send you. You will be placed near the entry. If you see the man who spoke of poisons, you may report it to me. Understood?”

The young Guardsman found that his mouth was hanging most ungraciously open, and shut it quickly. “Yes, sir! Thank you-thank you.”

His leader smiled. “Report to the palace doors in the morning; you will be placed from there.”

Caius saluted and hurried away. Valerian had only been humouring him, placing in the palace for the feast, but Caius was grateful nonetheless. He flushed as he thought of the “supposed plot”-surely his thirst for respect was not exhibiting itself in paranoia.

He pushed that out of his mind. Either he was paranoid-in which case the feast would be a mere spectacle, and Caius would be embarrassed but wiser in the end-or he was not. In which case, he would need to be watchful. Despite the objections of his mentors, he could not shake the feeling that what he had overheard was serious.

Caius went back to his favourite wineshop, visiting others only occasionally, but he heard of no more plots. He had little time for dwelling on it, however; training only increased as the emperor drew closer to the capital. If he got fully undressed before falling into bed, it was the most he could do. Despite his constant weariness, he looked forward to the day of the Emperor’s return. It would be a greater celebration than ever Rome had seen. Caius himself had only come to Rome after the emperor’s departure to war, so this would also be his first chance to see Trajan, a great military hero who had gotten his own start in the Roman army.

He rose before dawn on that most important day, but Rome was already buzzing with excitement. Caius bolted down breakfast and rushed to the palace. He felt a momentary pang of regret-had he not spent the last weeks fearing an improbable assassination plot, he would have been with his friends in the century, currently on the parade ground-but then, he also had an extraordinary chance to see the emperor up close. And to make sure that “improbable” turned to “fictional”.

Dozens of men, representing every century, lined the path to the palace and filled the hallways and doorways inside it. Caius found himself inside, near the doorway of the main feasting chamber. He could see-as Valerian had promised-everyone who would pass in.

And there were many, all in the rich clothing and jewels of the upper classes. Some brought slaves, but even these were well-dressed and obviously highly trained. Caius watched with interest, but kept his eyes professionally peeled for weapons, as did the other Guards.

Suddenly, a great roar broke outside, and a number of people stampeded back out to its source. Caius peered through a door and realised that the Emperor was finally approaching at the head of a great parade. He hear the thunder of the horses, eight of which pulled the Emperor’s gilded chariot between the crowds of the cheering populace.

Caius found himself wishing that he had been outside to see the parade. Reluctantly, he turned his eyes back to the people inside and looked directly at the someone who shouldn’t have been there.

One of the slaves pouring drinks in the inner room looked strangely familiar to Caius’s eyes. Ignoring the surging mass of people directly in front of him, Caius stared into the main chamber, watching the man move about. As he straightened to take a fresh pitcher from another slave, Caius could faintly hear his words. “Someone should take another pitcher to that table by the wall.”

With that, everything clicked into place. The voice was the same that Caius had heard speaking of poison and the emperor. His face belonged to the same man who had been holding the Senator’s horse the other day.

Dashing into the chamber would have been the easiest, but Caius couldn’t exactly charge up to the “slave” and run him through. He needed someone to back him up-Valerian, by choice.
Caius looked wildly around and fled from his place. There were cries of “Hey, you!” “Where d’you think you’re going?” He ignored them, running until he was through the palace doors.

Halfway to the parade ground, Caius saw a welcome sight. “Gustavus!”

His friend kept hurrying towards the palace. Caius filled his lungs and tried again, bellowing across the ground, “Gustavus!” When he still didn’t turn, Caius ran across and caught his friend by the arm. “I need your help.”

The other pulled his arm free, looking agitated. “Caius, I can’t. I have to be in the palace before Trajan goes in.”

“Gustavus, listen! There is a plot. I saw the assassin. It’s the same man I saw in the wineshop and I know who’s funding him-he was helping a Senator with his horse-”

“Caius, you’re imagining things. Please, I can’t stay.” He turned to go, but Caius seized his arm again.

“Caius-!”

Caius snapped at him, “Gustavus, what is more important than keeping the Emperor safe?”

His best friend’s eyes flickered. Caius stared at him. “No.”

Gustavus tried to wrench himself away, but Caius had an iron grip on him. “You’re in on it, aren’t you? You weren’t in the palace to see a girl. You warned me to be careful that day because you knew I was right! You’ve been lying to me to get me to stop thinking about it!”

Gustavus whirled on him. “My family is going to lose their estate if they don’t get money and get it soon. My father had to borrow money to get me into the Guard, borrow against future crops, and they’ve harvested nothing these last two years. If I don’t get the money, they’re going to lose everything. It’ll break my father’s heart!”

“You would see Trajan dead? Trajan, the greatest military commander of all time?” Caius knew he was bellowing again and didn’t care. “No other way? Gods, Gustavus! You could have borrowed money-I’d have lent you some-Valerian would have! You are sacrificing your honour and your life and your entire career on a gamble! You’re going to ruin the Empire!”

Without warning, his friend punched Caius hard with his free hand. Caius let go with a grunt. Gustavus spat, “You don’t think I’ve thought of that? You think I want to plunge the Empire into turmoil? Do you think I’d be doing this if there was any other way? It’s the difference between life and death for my family! And if I am caught, my family will lose the farm anyway and maybe die as well!”

Caius, blood streaming from his nose, looked at the young man who had been his first and best friend and mentor in the Guard. “I don’t know about other ways, but for me, the farm wouldn’t be worth the shame.”

To his surprise, Gustavus shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to block out some sort of pain. Caius knew then that he had been on the right track. “Gustavus, come on. Help me stop them. You don’t have to do this.” He thought back to his first, difficult days with the Guard. “You wanted glory in battle. Where will you get that now?”

His friend answered, voice strained, “My honour is lost already. I will die, and maybe my family with me. I might as well hold to my word on this one thing.”

Caius, hearing the lack of conviction in his voice, shook his head, regretting it as his nose began to bleed again. “You could do this thing and lose your honour, the farm, and maybe your family. Or you could come with me and at least think better of yourself. It would be a valiant act…it would be glorious, in a way.” He did not add, “Though you die”, but both men heard it.

For a moment they stood in the balance. Caius held his breath. Finally Gustavus opened his eyes and looked at his friend. “I will come with you.”

Caius nodded. “What was your part in the plan?”

“I was to enter the chamber with a false message. I would watch the slave and make sure that Trajan drank from the cup.”

“Let’s get inside, then. We’ll take your false message, anything-just get inside and keep him from drinking that cup! And-” Caius caught his friend’s arm again, but not to hinder him. “You will do this?”

Gustavus raised his head proudly, answering, “I have decided. I give you my word, Caius. I will save our emperor, if I can.”

Caius nodded and the pair took off, running back to the palace. Caius caught his breath as they approached; the Emperor could already be seen entering. He remembered something else and stopped.

Gustavus looked at him. “What?”

“I ran out without explaining myself,” Caius answered, cursing inwardly. “I don’t think they’ll let me back in.”

Gustavus glanced at the palace. “I’ll go in, then. You find Valerian or something.” Caius nodded and raced back the other way. Gustavus plunged inside.

Caius did find Valerian, a heart-pounding five minutes later. He was almost incoherent, but the important parts got across. Caius fell in at the head of the century, and they pounded behind their leader, racing to save the Emperor.

Fifteen minutes after Caius had fled the palace for the first time, they arrived back. With a few authoritative shouts, Valerian cleared the way and picked up Guardsmen as they went. As they approached the main chamber, someone inside let out a terrible yell. Caius’s heart flew into his throat.

They burst inside. Trajan was on his feet, an ornate goblet spilling its contents on the floor. Gustavus stood with his back to his ruler, sword drawn, facing half a dozen other armed men. Caius wondered wildly how they had gotten their weapons inside as his century poured through the room.

Caius raced to be the first to his friend’s side, but not before he heard the “slave” snarl, “Double-crosser!” Caius lunged, but the other had moved first. Gustavus’s sword flashed, the other man fell dead, and Gustavus dropped to the ground, holding a hand to his chest. As another attacker swung at Gustavus, Caius blocked him, then skewered him neatly before slicing the legs from beneath another. Caius heard his own yells mingling with the voices of the Guard and the screams of the revellers-and then it was over. The attackers were bested, but the noise went on.

“Enough!” Caius turned around before realising that the powerful voice belonged to the Emperor himself. Two of the attackers were still, their arms grasped by Guardsmen and swords at their throats. The other four lay dead. Then Gustavus gasped, and Caius, unthinking, dropped to his knees beside him. The room had gone silent at Trajan’s command.

“Caius…” His best friend’s voice was so weak that Caius felt tears coming to his eyes. Softly, he pushed the hair out of the other’s eyes. “Don’t try to speak. I’ll…I’ll write your family.” A lump grew in his throat-it was entirely possible that, despite his last minute change of heart, Gustavus had cost his family their lives. A letter from Caius would change little.

Gustavus smiled slowly. “Go and get that glory, Caius.” He blinked, once, and his body relaxed.

He became aware of the hem of a rich toga by his side and looked up to discover the Emperor standing there. He was tall with grey hair, and had that same commanding air that Valerian possessed. Caius knew that he should bow, but everything seemed so far away. At last, with great effort, he pivoted to face his ruler and bowed to the floor.

The man had a powerful bass voice. “What is this about? Prefect?”

Caius dimly heard one of the two Prefects, the leaders of the Praetorian Guard, answer, though not to the Emperor’s satisfaction, for he turned to someone nearer. “Centurion?”

Caius listened dimly as Valerian related the overhearing and uncovering of the plot. It took surprisingly little time, and then the Caesar motioned to Caius. “Rise. Is what your centurion has said true?”

“It is, my lord.”

Trajan nodded. “And this man, this Guard? What part did he play?”

Caius swallowed. “He…he had planned to aid these assassins, my lord, but he admitted that he was in the wrong and changed his mind. Thus…thus it is that he has fallen in your defense.”

Murmurs grew around the room. The Emperor silenced them with a wave. “I see.” He shifted his gaze to the remaining attackers. “In whose employ are you?”

They both began to babble at once, but it came out, as Caius had known it would, that a particular Senator was at the bottom of it. The man was dragged from his seat, looking less cold, but no less arrogant.

Trajan smiled thinly. “Titus Pompeius Fabianus. I am not surprised.” The man sneered back at him, “Neither should you be, usurper!” He spat at the Imperator, who dismissed him with a glance.

“Enough. Guards! Put these men in the dungeons. I shall deal with them tomorrow.”

Caius shivered as the men were dragged away. Something in the former Senator’s face told Caius that the man had more than one poison-and that he would have used it the next day when the guards came. Glancing at the emperor, Caius knew that he had been right, and that Trajan would not be surprised.

The Emperor’s voice echoed through the still hall. “A few old bloodlines, and some men believe that makes them capable of ruling history’s greatest Empire.” Caius remembered, as the crowd murmured, that the last Caesar-Nerva-had adopted Trajan. The Senator, then, was probably a distant relation who believe himself cheated of a throne.

Trajan turned back to Caius, gesturing to Gustavus’s body. “You were his friend?”

Caius could not speak. He nodded.

“I see. What would you have done had he refused to turn from his course?”

Waves of pain for Gustavus, shock at having slain men for the first time, and awe at the Imperator’s presence made it difficult for Caius to answer. Finally, he managed to say quietly, “I would have prevented him from carrying out his plans.”

“What if that had required that you kill him?”

Caius closed his eyes briefly. “If I had to, I would have.”

“But you are glad that you did not have to.” The emperor studied him closely. “I see.” Caius felt as though he were being peeled apart, but he could do nothing but stand and wait. “I see,” said the Imperator again, gravely. “I am a military man, too.

“What is your name?”

Caius had to think for a moment before he remembered. “Quintus Marcius Caius, my lord.”

The ruler of the great Roman Empire turned to the crowd, his voice ringing through the enormous room. “Let it be known, then, that Quintus Marcius Caius is hereby appointed to the equites singulares augusti, my personal bodyguard.” He turned to Caius. “You shall start your duties next week.”

Cheers filled the room. Dazed, Caius felt Valerian clap him on the back. “Well done, Caius. Well done indeed.”

Two days later, Gustavus had been laid to rest; Caius was trying to write to his friend’s family. He rested his forehead in his hands; he had been as kind as he could, but the stain on the family honour would probably sting much, much more than anything Caius could say. Hopefully, they would not be labelled as having had a traitor for a son, but nothing could bring Gustavus back.

Caius flattened the sheet, dipped his pen, and wrote on the bottom, “He died well. At the last, he remembered his honour, and he thought of you.”

He signed the letter, sealed it, and sat for a long while, thinking of his best friend and of the choices he had made.

Four days later, Caius found himself seated in Valerian’s home, surrounded by those of his former century that he knew the best, empty food dishes scattered across the table. Caius would soon leave the barracks to learn firsthand about the life and duties of the equites singulares augusti. The hardest part about this was that Caius, once a foot soldier, now had to learn to ride and ride well.

He shifted uncomfortably; Valerian grinned. “The horses treating you well?”

Caius smiled ruefully. “They have not tried to throw me, sir, if that is what you mean. I don’t think they afflict saddle-sores on purpose.”

Valerian rose, a full goblet of wine in his hand. “To Caius, bane of assassins and the latest member of Emperor Trajan’s personal bodyguard!”

As his friends thumped him on the back, he thought of the one who was missing. Caius raised his cup and drained it, and said very quietly, “To a valiant man. To Gustavus.”

Caius spent many years in service with the emperor, winning many battles and becoming a respected hero in his own name. And when a grandson asked him, long after, how he had become so brave, Caius smiled. “I went out and I got that glory.”