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The Breaking Dawn

By Marcus Coles

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Chapter I

Rome
AD 24

Varius eased himself into the hot water pool. It was just what he needed. The relaxing, gentle warmth of the water was enough to ease his aches and pains; it was a sanctuary fit for a weary, battle-worn soldier.
He was a soldier indeed and his body ached, not from the ravages of war, but from the pursuit of pleasure. The party he had attended the previous night had been held in the opulent home of a prominent senator. As the senator was away from home for the weekend, his son Gaius, a friend of Varius, had seized the opportunity to host an impromptu gathering. This had continued long into the night and had seen the consumption of much of his father’s cherished wine collection.
Waking early in the afternoon Varius had slipped away from the stranger he found in the bed next to him. She was pretty in an unconventional sort of way, plump and voluptuous. He had a vague recollection of talking to her last night. She’d had a keen interest in the military history of Rome. She was particularly interested in General Mark Antony’s dalliance with the Egyptian queen Cleopatra, who had died almost sixty years ago but her reputation lived on. When the girl had learned he was the son of a Legate, she’d been all over him like a bear with a honeycomb. How they’d ended up in bed together, he couldn’t recall. Creeping out of the house he had headed for the Baths, of which he was a regular attendee.
Bathhouses could be found all over Rome, catering to a vast array of the city’s eclectic clientele. The one in which Varius now relaxed was very select; only the most honoured and distinguished of Rome’s upper class were allowed across the threshold - it had been rumoured that Emperor Tiberius himself had been here on a number of occasions. Varius, as the son of a well-known and respected former Legate, was welcome here and he came often.
The bathhouse was the size of a small mansion, with red roof tiles and white walls. Just within the entrance was the changing room. After disrobing, some clients would head for the gymnasium, where they could be seen running, lifting weights or wrestling their fellow guests. Those with more sedentary predilections would instead make for the tepidarium where they could sit and quietly relax or chat. The ingenious Hypocaust system heated the walls and floors. Even in Rome’s colder months, the bathhouse was a warm and welcoming haven from the biting winter air. Slaves worked tirelessly stoking the underground fires so that an endless stream of hot air would flow beneath the floor of the bathhouse and up the walls. This provided the heat that the patrons craved, and the luxurious environment of which they were all so fond.
After the warm room, the best and the brightest of Rome would sashay into the steamy caldarium where they would relax in the hot water pools, and slaves would bring them snacks and attend to their every need. Some were known to remain there for hours and even, for the particularly indolent, all day.
A dip in the frigidarium to close the pores and refresh the senses was next, often followed by a massage. A visit to the bathhouse would soothe an individual’s soul, but the place was also a social hub where people would meet to converse with their friends and business acquaintances.
A small Cypriot slave with long dark hair and a luscious figure began to massage his neck, running her hands through his thick dark hair. He was of medium height but had a stocky frame; she had to work hard to knead the knots from his muscular shoulders. He groaned contentedly as the combination of the hot water and the firm kneading of the slave’s fingers resulted in a euphoric sensation of bliss. He was born for this. He could spend hours here every day. The massages offered by the slaves were exquisite, and chatting with friends and acquaintances in the warm room could last for hours. He could even tolerate the gymnasium or a dip in the cold room on occasion, but he got the most pleasure from the warm water pool in which he now sat. He had no plans to leave.
From what he could remember, the party last night had been well-attended and at times raucous. There was a large set of young men in Rome, the sons of wealthy Senators, Tribunes and Legates either making their way through the military academy or recently graduated. Their lives were a constant succession of dinners, banquets and parties in the largest and most ostentatious villas of Rome. Their carefree attitude to life was born out of the luxury of never having fought in any battles. Their fathers had ensured that their favoured offspring were given assignments of a benign nature until they were old enough to really achieve something great and make their fathers proud. This life of comfort and ease produced immature young men with no purpose other than to enjoy life, not contemplating the difficulties and responsibilities of the adult world. With rich fathers to fund their extravagances and an endless supply of doting young women, these young men had at their beck and call all the pleasures Rome could afford.
As the slave’s hands worked the tiredness and tension from his body, his mind wandered onto the inevitable confrontation he would soon have to endure with his father. He knew that the Roman Legate had high aspirations for him and hoped Varius would rise to the higher echelons of Tiberius’ army, as he himself had done for the great Emperor Augustus. He was bound to tell Varius how disappointed he was and how, when he was his age, he never stayed out all night cavorting with young women and drinking too much. He would drone on: ‘Discipline and character are the hallmarks of a soldier and leader; Young men need to demonstrate self-control; One will only win the respect of his subordinates by remaining above reproach.’
Why couldn’t he just leave Varius alone and let him enjoy himself for a while? He had plenty of time still to perform heroics in battle and rise through the ranks. Lands to conquer weren’t going to go away; he would have bountiful opportunity to make his father proud. Just not yet. There was fun to be had, wine to be drunk and women - oh the women!
A smile crept across his face as more of last night’s exploits returned to him. There had been entertainers, musicians and acrobats, a banquet of the choicest food and a never-ending flow of wine. The pleasant memories and the rhythmic movements of the slave’s soft hands lulled Varius into a blissful state of relaxation.
Just as this lethargy was about to seduce him into unconsciousness he sensed a large presence enter the room. Before he opened his eyes, he felt the waters of the pool cascade toward him, destroying the serene ambiance.
‘Hello, Varius, my young friend. Fancy seeing you in here!’ The man’s words were dripping with sarcasm. He continued in a similar vein, ‘Your morning’s back-breaking labours were no doubt exhausting, so you’ve retreated here to recuperate?’ he smiled.
Varius raised his head slowly so his heavy eyes could make out the offensive form of his antagonist. ‘You mock me, Albanus?’
The man laughed heartily so that his gargantuan belly sent huge ripples convulsing through the pool. His head was large and he had no neck. Rolls of fat spilled from his face and rested lazily upon his flabby chest. Globules of sweat were already running down his corpulent frame and huge swags of fat hung from his outstretched arms. The man was the embodiment of the disgusting excesses of the Roman upper class. The son of a wealthy senator, he had increased his wealth by a succession of shrewd business deals and an ability to take advantage of the army’s conquest of foreign lands. Now in the twilight of his life, he had much time for the pleasures of the bathhouse and little inclination to spend his remaining years on anything which didn’t afford him the maximum amount of enjoyment.
‘Relax, my young friend. When I was your age I was fond of the kind of revelry you were obviously engaged in last night. I do not begrudge you. I envy you.’ He cast a lecherous eye over the slave massaging Varius’ neck.
‘So you heard of the small gathering last night? It was nothing out of the ordinary. I have attended a hundred such events this year alone.’
‘Quite so, quite so, though one wonders if Gaius’ father will be willing to so easily overlook his son’s wild indiscretions. An esteemed senator such as he has a reputation to uphold. One cannot be seen to have unruly offspring. It doesn’t reflect well on the patriarch.’
‘There is nothing for Senator Rusticus to get perturbed about. Nothing was broken and, as far as I am aware, nobody was killed.’
‘Nobody was killed?’ Albanus laughed and shook his head. ‘Your generation don’t know what it means to really have fun! Nobody was killed?’ he repeated. ‘It is true that youth is wasted on the young!’
Varius allowed himself a smile. Albanus was an old fool but quite harmless. On another occasion he would have been quite happy to sit and chinwag with the old man but today he was nursing a sore head and an aching body. He was in no mood for conversation with anyone.
‘So, tell me, young Varius. What is your current position in the army of our Lord Tiberius? Have you as yet been commissioned to the far reaches of the Empire?’
‘I am quite content for the moment, Albanus, to be stationed here in Rome. To guard the Forum, the very heart of the Empire, is a privilege one should not so easily dismiss. No doubt one day I will see the extent of the Empire but, for the moment, my heart is in Rome.’
It was a question he’d been forced to answer many times and one he used to dread. The truth was he had no desire to see anything beyond the great city of Rome. He had implored his father to ensure that on completion of his training he would be stationed somewhere far from any action. He was no coward, but why risk life and limb in service of the Empire when one had no burning desire to do so? There were scores of eager young recruits desperate to travel into Africa, Europe and farther afield in the service of their beloved Emperor. Let them be the ones to fight and die for the Empire. As far as he was concerned, they were welcome to it. He would be the one to garrison Rome and, while so doing, sample the delights of the young women, and the fruits of the vine. Both were plentiful around the Seven Hills of Rome. He was young and determined to enjoy the privileges life had bestowed upon him. It would be dishonourable to the gods to do otherwise.
‘You have no desire to be the hero of the battle? Win the adulation of your men and the grateful praise of an indebted Emperor?’ Albanus sniped.
‘One does not seize honour for oneself, Albanus. It is bestowed by the gods.’
‘Be careful, my dear Varius. The one who flees from battle like a beaten dog from its owner is liable to be branded a coward,’ Albanus demurred.
The barb from the lips of the old aristocrat spiked Varius’ attention. He sat up quickly, knocking a bowl of olives into the pool, which the slave scrambled to retrieve. ‘Did you just call me a coward, Albanus?’ His words were calm and quiet. He hated confrontation but was willing to stand up for himself if called upon. In his experience, a confident rejoinder was enough to quell any rising tide of aggression.
Albanus raised his hands in mock deference, ‘Relax, my young friend,’ he said smiling. ‘I would never dream of calling your honour into question. It was merely a friendly warning that young men in your position are expected to wage war. One will never discover if he has the heart of a lion if all he does is tend sheep.’
Even had he wanted, there was to be no more opportunity to continue the uncomfortable conversation. At that moment Varius observed another man waddle into the hot room. He was a pigmy version of Albanus: small, fat and disgusting. Had he bumped into them in the street, Varius thought, he would have felt no such repugnance. However, in here, without clothes, their obese bodies were on display. Plopping himself into the water next to his friend, the two immediately engaged in conversation. So far as Albanus was concerned, Varius no longer existed.
Thankful he no longer had to converse, Varius watched Albanus and his friend talking and laughing while they shovelled handfuls of olives into their mouths. Slaves stood nearby ready to replace the snack as it rapidly disappeared.
Friends who’d returned from Egyptian campaigns had told Varius of the gargantuan monster that could be found in the Nile River: The Hippopotamus. These creatures had been described to him as huge fat beasts that wallowed around in deep waters. ‘Much like the two men sitting before me now,’ he mused to himself.
Closing his eyes and tilting his head back, Varius managed to block out the cacophony of the Hippopotami and concentrate instead on the shoulder massage he was receiving from the Cypriot slave. The hot water continued to act as a soothing balm so that after only a few moments he’d drifted off to sleep.
When he awoke, the same slave was still working her magic, though her touch was not as firm and purposeful as it had been. The poor girl was probably exhausted. She had done a terrific job for he now felt refreshed and hungry. He had the definite impression that several hours had passed, so he leapt from the water and headed for the frigidarium where a pool of cold water awaited him. He normally had to steel himself for the traumatic experience of the plunge pool but on this occasion, he leapt right in. After hyperventilating for a few moments, he exited the pool and returned to the changing room where two male slaves helped him dress. Having donned his toga and sandals he left his favourite haunt, noticing that there was nobody left inside other than slaves. ‘I must have been here for some time’, he thought.
As he walked out into the street, the sun was retreating over the western sky, though it was still strong enough to bathe the city in a rich, warm glow. The streets were packed with people, as was the norm. The eternal city never slept and there were nearly half a million people within its walls. Large concrete buildings, four and five storeys high, lined each side of the busy thoroughfares. The ubiquitous red roof tiles gave the buildings a look of sophistication and the evening sun had lent them a dark and rich complexion.
Temples built to honour the gods were everywhere, mingled in with ornate columns, open spaces and decorative fountains. Marble shipped in from across the Empire spoke of enormous wealth and prestige, reminding the people that they were in the greatest city on earth, the beating heart of the Empire. Paved roads, gigantic aqueducts and flamboyant mansions reminded all-comers that the Romans were the first race in the world, superior to all others. Visitors found themselves in awe of Roman architecture and the incomparable beauty of the great city. The streets were wide and the buildings tall. Those unaccustomed to Rome could easily find themselves lost and without their bearings. The unfortunate ones would stumble into the more run-down areas of the city and its more unsavoury denizens.
The welcome smell of freshly baked bread greeted Varius as he crossed the street, being careful to use the stepping-stones so as to keep his feet free from the filth which accumulated on the pavement. These elevated stones were carefully measured so that the merchants’ wagons could pass by. As he approached the counter of one of the numerous purveyors of food and wine, the other patrons scattered, as expected. These dives were usually only frequented by the poorer inhabitants of Rome who often ate on the go. The proprietor ignored them all when he saw Varius approach. Varius ordered a small loaf and a few smoked herrings before placing a couple of assarions on the counter and leaving.
He was fortunate to have been born into an affluent family and constantly thankful that he didn’t have to strive and toil like these people did, simply to feed themselves and their children. They had not the security of a rich father and a good name. They were destined to work all the days of their miserable lives, desperately hoping to provide a good service for men like him who were always ready to make fresh demands of them. Still, they were human beings who deserved a modicum of respect. He had never subscribed to the beliefs of many of his peers and elders, who would thrash a servant as soon as look at him. Some of his kind treated their slaves worse than animals. That was immoral and an offence to the gods. He might not go out of his way to improve their lot, but neither would he actively make it more difficult.
The energy of the city was intoxicating, as men and women of every social stratum carried on their busy lives around him. Some laughed as they took a quick break from their work, men struck bargains and closed deals with fellow businessmen, others argued over the deception of a faulty set of scales or haggled aggressively over the price of a prized animal.
The rich who had no desire to walk, lazed in carriages called lecticas that were hoisted upon two poles and carried by up to eight slaves. Sometimes the curtains were drawn so that the upper class didn’t have to look upon the plebs, or alternatively left open so everyone could see they were wealthy enough to be carried about the city. Donkeys laden with baskets of grain, fruit or other culinary necessities trod disconsolately on their way, beaten by small boys keen to get them moving. Market stalls lined the streets with goods from all over the Empire and the sweet-smelling aromas of various herbs and spices tantalised and tempted the senses.
Varius had grown up in this city and was comfortable walking its streets and watching its people. He never tired of the sights and smells that greeted him as he walked the crowded alleyways and boulevards. Even when on duty in full army regalia he never found it a chore. Patrolling the city’s streets was easy, especially when he knew it as well as his own father’s house. It never got more dangerous than breaking up the odd fight, chasing the occasional thief, or solving a dispute in the marketplace, which was just how he liked it. Would he ever tire of it and long for some action, as Albanus had suggested? Should he ask to be posted somewhere else - maybe not the far reaches of the Empire but somewhere new and different? That would mean the unknown, the unfamiliar; it would mean discomfort and danger. No thank you. Someone needed to do this job. Someone needed to patrol the streets of Rome, guard the temples and police the Forum. Why shouldn’t it be him? He might tire of it one day, but that day had not yet arrived. Until it did, or until he was formally ordered to go somewhere else, he would enjoy the position he had.
He turned a corner and entered The Forum. It was his favourite part of Rome, the majestic centrepiece of the eternal city. He loved to amble up the Via Sacra, the towering temple of Julius Caesar dominating the wide public thoroughfare. Homage to the greatest of Rome’s leaders could be found all over the city. He would often stop and listen to the Senators making their speeches in the public square. They were usually intolerably boring, so he never stopped for long. Gone were the days when great orators such as Cicero held crowds spellbound by the eloquence of their prose. Towering over him to his left was the Basilica Aemilia where the businessmen of Rome plied their trade. This held no interest for him. He was quite content to leave the business of Rome to those who revelled in the corruption and deception that it naturally entailed. Across The Forum was the Basilica of Julius Caesar, with its high arches and numerous statues to the gods. It had only recently been restored after a fire had destroyed much of it. There were marble arches and columns everywhere, courtesy of Augustus who’d once boasted, ‘I found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble.’ The ostentatious proclivities of Rome’s ruling class were there for all to see. It impressed Varius because he was part of it; he was one of them. He belonged here among the Empire’s elite.
As he reached the end of The Forum near to where the Temple of Vesta stood, he spied a friend of his, a young senator surrounded by sycophants and strolling arrogantly in his direction. He was young and ferociously ambitious. Varius could understand the pull of the Senate for these men. Because they already had, or would inherit, the riches of the earth, there was nothing left for them to pursue but power. They had no real desire to improve the lot of their fellow man, but what they did yearn for was the opportunity to shape the world around them. They longed to make decisions that would affect peoples and nations. They sought the adoration and fawning reverence of their inferiors. Most of all they wanted to be remembered: to make their mark as their heroes Augustus and Cicero had done. They looked for the day when statues would be erected in their honour and ordinary people would walk past and marvel at their great deeds. Varius pitied them. It was all an elaborate mask to hide their deeply held fears and insecurities. Their need to be praised showed their own lack of self-worth.
Varius was hoping that his friend would not see him. He really didn’t have the energy for a conversation with him and would rather have gone straight home to face the inevitable paternal confrontation. Just as he thought he was safe, his arrogant peer spotted him out of the corner of his eye,
‘Varius!’ he yelled, and marched over.
‘Good evening, Sabinus. How are you?’ he responded with faux geniality. They embraced.
‘I am quite well, thank you, although the burdens of my new position keep me somewhat distracted. I can’t always join in with the debauched escapades of my friends,’ he said with a knowing smile. ‘Speaking of which - how was the soiree last night?’
Varius knew that people like Sabinus always liked to talk about themselves and so if you could keep them on that topic you rarely had to say anything about yourself.
‘You should have joined us, Sabinus. Why didn’t you?’
‘Alas, there is a taxing issue going through the Senate at the moment, which requires much of my time and attention. I rarely have time these days for fun. How can I, when there are so many important decisions to be made and issues to be discussed?’
‘You’re an important man now.’
‘Rome doesn’t run itself, Varius. She requires men of energy and intellect at the helm who know what’s best for her and her people.’
‘I expect you’re doing a fantastic job,’ Varius said, keeping the egotist on topic. ‘What issues are currently vexing the Senate?’
Sabinus smiled the cocky smile of one who relishes his authority. ‘All the usual discussions over new building projects, grain shortages, what new temples are to be built and in honour of whom, how we can take advantage of Rome’s arenas to appease the people. All no doubt boring to someone like you, Varius.’
‘What would I know of such things? We lowly soldiers leave the complicated business of managing Rome to those who know what they’re doing,’ Varius mocked, glancing at the unwitting Sabinus.
‘There is something that might interest you, Varius.’
‘Oh yes? What’s that?’
‘There was a discussion this afternoon among the army leaders of increasing unrest in Palestine. It seems that rebel Jewish factions are causing trouble and the Prefect, Pilate I think his name is, is in somewhat of a flap. They discussed whether we ought to send more of our soldiers over there and station them about the place to show we mean business. Come to think of it, I’m sure I saw your father at the meeting.’
‘He doesn’t get involved in those sorts of decisions anymore.’
‘I’m almost certain I saw him, but maybe he was there for some other reason,’ he paused and a malevolent grin appeared on his face. ‘For example, seeing what can be done about an unruly son?’
Before Varius had a chance to reply Sabinus spotted an old Senator across The Forum. ‘Gratianus!’ he bellowed, and without another word to Varius he marched off to speak to his colleague, his followers hurrying to keep pace.
Sabinus wasn’t dangerous yet, but if such arrogance was allowed to flourish unchecked he soon would be. Maybe not for Varius, but for the unfortunate people over whose lives he held sway.
Varius climbed the Palatine Hill, once the site of many mansions and villas of Rome’s upper class, but now dominated by the Emperor’s quarters. In the dim light, a hive of activity could still be observed in The Forum. Fires had been lit in the various temples, causing a warm glow to emanate across Rome’s main public square. Varius turned his back on it all and kept walking until the imposing structure of the Circus Maximus could be seen in the distance. Many happy hours he’d spent there, as in many of the arenas of Rome. His favoured entertainment was watching the Gladiators prove their skill in this most pressured of atmospheres. Some of them were awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time. What would he do, if he ever came across their like on the battlefield? How would he fare against such opposition?
He was heading toward a conflict of an altogether different nature. He knew that his father didn’t approve of the way he lived currently even though he didn’t always voice his disapproval. Usually he was quiet and measured, hiding his disappointment well. Sometimes he expressed his concern with a disapproving look or complete silence. On a few occasions he had exploded, launching into an angry tirade about Varius’ indolence. It was his mother who was always the calming influence when it seemed like his father might erupt. He had the feeling that tonight might be one of those times where she would be needed to quench the flames of her husband’s ire.
What had his father been doing in the city today, anyway? Now that he was retired he was more likely to be involved in a discussion about what kind of tree to plant in the orchard rather than any pressing military dilemma. On occasion he would be invited, sometimes by Emperor Tiberius himself, to give some advice or offer an opinion. Usually it would be something to do with how a distant regiment was getting on in Africa or Northern Europe. That hadn’t happened for a while, although Sabinus had mentioned possible trouble brewing in the Jewish heartland of Palestine. Maybe he had been part of the discussion about whether to send more soldiers over there.
Varius could have employed the services of some slaves to carry him home in a lectica but on this particular evening he preferred to walk. Ordinarily it would have been because he wanted to delay the confrontation with his father, however this time he just wanted to amble along and enjoy the hustle and bustle of Rome’s streets after dark.
It was over an hour’s walk from the Palatine Hill in the centre of Rome to the outskirts where many of the wealthy Romans had their villas. Senators and Legates, old and new, as well as wealthy men of business, could be found there. It had been Varius’ home for as long as he could remember and though it was now dark he could find his way through the deserted streets with ease. Long before he reached his house he saw the firelight radiating from a number of windows.
The house was an imposing structure with two floors and an abundance of rooms. Colourful paintings adorned the walls, and intricate mosaics could be found in many parts of the house. The bedrooms for the family and the slaves were upstairs, the latter nearest the road. At the rear was a large courtyard with a central fountain. A covered walkway, supported by many pillars, surrounded the courtyard, which was green with vegetation. There were a number of guest rooms where the family and their friends could lounge in comfort, as well as the Legate’s office, which was rarely used but still housed numerous maps and documents from his army years.
Varius stepped through the front door and was immediately greeted by a huge floor mosaic of the goddess Vesta, symbolised by fire. Varius wondered whether he should pay homage in some way before the hostilities began; he might need divine assistance in order to emerge unscathed from the meeting of minds that would soon occur. Vesta was the goddess of the home and family. While precious to all the Romans, Varius’ mother felt a particular affinity with this deity, taking her responsibility as matriarch very seriously. Had she been allowed, she would have spent much time in the Temple of Vesta, near the centre of The Forum. As it was, this was only permitted for the Vestal Virgins. They alone could attend to the fire in the temple.
Varius saw that the fires were lit in the reception room immediately to his left. His parents had no doubt chosen to wait there on purpose in order to ensure he couldn’t slip in unnoticed. How typical of his father to have planned the whole thing out beforehand. An elegant table stood at one end of the room. There were two long sofas draped with rich crimson and gold fabrics and a multitude of soft cushions. He found his mother and father waiting for him.
‘Varius, at last!’ his mother leaped from the sofa and threw her arms around him. She was an elegant woman, tall and slender. She had long brown hair that fell over one shoulder in a plait, dark brown eyes and pale skin. She adored her eldest son.
Varius welcomed her embrace but his eyes were fixed firmly on his father.
‘He has not returned from the ends of the earth, Floriana. He has not really been anywhere at all. This is, of course, part of the problem.’
‘Oh stop it, Secundus! I haven’t seen my boy since yesterday afternoon. A mother is entitled to be worried.’
His father wasn’t a tall man, but he was lean and muscular. His grey hair was short, and he had a square jaw. His eyes were as blue as the sea and he had a fierce stare. He spoke with the confidence of someone who’d experienced the world and knew how to deal with every type of person in every environment. As a boy, Varius had been terrified of his father, but as he’d grown he’d come to respect more than fear him. They didn’t always see eye to eye but they could usually reason with one another, and if Varius had to begrudgingly submit to his father’s authority, it didn’t take him long to get over it.
‘I can’t keep saying it, Varius. We can’t keep going over the same ground over and over again. When are you going to heed my words and behave like a man?’ His father was firm, clearly trying to keep a lid on his anger.
‘I am a man, Father, and I fulfil an important role in this city. I do it well. What is it that concerns you so?’
‘You know very well what concerns me, boy! Another party, another late-night cavorting with women and drinking to excess. You spent most of the day in that bathhouse, I presume, recovering from another orgy of drunkenness and debauchery?’
‘You make it sound like I’ve committed a heinous crime! I am no different from scores of young men in my position,’ Varius pleaded.
‘So that’s all you want is it? That’s all you desire? To be like everyone else? To be one of the crowd? To waste your youth drinking and chasing women? You have potential, Varius. You could be someone. Why can you not see it? Why are you content to fritter away your talents in Rome where the citizens are like sheep? Don’t you want to achieve something? Don’t you want to be someone? Lift yourself above the crowd instead of being a nobody among it?’
‘I’m only twenty-five, Father, there’s plenty of time for all that.’
‘Nonsense!’ His father was failing to control his anger. ‘You need some urgency in your life, instead of just meandering along without any real purpose.’ He was out of his seat now and pacing around the room. Varius sat meekly next to his mother. ‘You’re immature and you need to grow up!’
‘Secundus, you’re making too much of it,’ his mother interjected. ‘He’s a good boy. He’s never given us any trouble. He worked hard at school; you were proud of his progress through the academy and now, as he says, he’s fulfilling an important role here in Rome.’
‘It’s not enough, Floriana!’ His father bellowed, ‘He should be leading armies into battle and making a name for himself in foreign lands. The Emperor should be receiving reports of how he’s bravely led conquests and subdued Rome’s enemies,’ he paused for breath. ‘Instead he’s breaking up fights in The Forum and arresting drunks.’
‘I’m proud of what he does and who he is,’ Floriana grabbed Varius’ face and pulled him toward her. ‘You’re a good boy, Varius, and I’m proud of you.’
Secundus sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, ‘He can’t stay here forever just because you’re scared, Floriana!’ He switched his gaze to Varius. ‘What about you, boy? Are you scared?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That’s it, isn’t it?’ he said calmly. ‘You’re scared of the battlefield.’
Varius was not easily riled but it got under his skin when someone questioned his courage. ‘I’m not a coward and you know that,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Then what? Explain to me where this apathy comes from? Why are you so reluctant to get out there and take hold of your destiny? By the time I was your age I’d commanded men in countless battles.’
‘This is what it all boils down to, isn’t it? I’m not like you! You want me to be just like you but I’m not and that’s what you can’t stand. I’m sorry I’m not more like you, Father. I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment!’ he spat out the last words bitterly, struggling to control the growing enmity between him and his father.
That was too much for his mother, who leapt to her feet in his defence. ‘Don’t say that, Varius. You are not a disappointment to either of us. We both love you and are proud of you. Aren’t we, Secundus?’ she glared at her husband.
Secundus sighed deeply, crossed the room and sat down again. It was a few moments before he spoke. When he did he looked squarely at his wife; there was steel in his voice and disappointment in his eyes,
‘No,’ he said shaking his head. ‘No, Floriana. I’m not proud of him.’ He turned to Varius. ‘I will always be honest with my own family.’
A silence descended upon the room. Varius had been here many times before but had never heard his father say, in such stark terms, what he really felt. He felt wounded, like he’d just been stabbed in the stomach. Even more painful was the look on his mother’s face. She was heartbroken, tears welling up and looking at his father with a horrified expression. In truth, it was not a great shock that his father felt this way, but it mattered now that he’d said it. Now something had changed, something which couldn’t be undone and from which there was no turning back.
His father signalled to one of the slaves who’d been standing nearby throughout. The slave hurried over and poured him more wine. A few minutes elapsed during which nobody said anything, but his father drank slowly, looking at his son periodically. Eventually, he carried on as if there had been no awkward interlude,
‘Which is why I’ve done something about it,’ he announced.
Varius looked up, and his mother instantly became more alert. ‘What does that mean?’ she said.
‘What was coming now?’ Varius wondered. ‘What has he done?’
‘I went into Rome today and made some arrangements. Fortunately I still have some influence in the Senate and there are many men who are willing to do as I ask.’
‘What arrangements? What are you talking about?’ Varius could detect fear creeping into his mother’s voice.
So he was down in the Forum today as Sabinus had said. He’d obviously come down on account of Varius. But what had he done and what arrangements had he made? Varius’ mind was whirring. He could feel panic rising within him. ‘Arrangements’ could mean any number of things.
‘Varius’ job patrolling the city is over, effective immediately. I have managed to get him posted…’ he paused, ‘elsewhere.’
Varius was starting to get a headache. It was all starting to make sense. What was it Sabinus had mentioned about trouble in Palestine, and how his father had been part of a discussion about the feasibility of sending more soldiers? So that was it! His father was planning to have him posted to Judea, on the other side of the Empire. He would be expected to lead men into battle; he would encounter the real enemies of Rome, not just drunks and cutthroats. He may well be put in situations where his life would be in danger. What was it like in Palestine? He’d heard many of them were savages or mindless religious fanatics. He would be living among people who hated him and saw him as the enemy.
He’d never thought of himself a coward but now, as he silently contemplated what was in store for him, it sent a shiver down his spine. The horror of leaving home and going to strange places among strange people was debilitating. He thought he was going to be sick.
‘Secundus, you haven’t! You wouldn’t!’ his mother gasped.
‘I would and I have!’
The tide of panic which Varius had initially felt was beginning to ebb away, replaced now by utter dejection. ‘Where are you sending me?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sending you anywhere!’ his father calmly stated. ‘Your Emperor requires your service advancing the cause of the Empire. You are not being asked to do anything different from what is being asked of scores of young men your age.’
‘Though it is at your behest?’ Varius clarified.
‘Indeed. As I said earlier, it is high time you left Rome and proved your worth.’
‘He doesn’t need to prove his worth to me, Secundus! He is my son! What a pity you don’t feel the same,’ his mother hissed.
‘If I did feel the same, Floriana, the boy would never accomplish anything. He would waste his life and amount to nothing.’
‘Where am I being posted to?’ Varius rephrased the question, dreading his father would confirm his fears that he was being sent to Palestine.
His father paused for a long while, looking back and forth between his resentful son and heartbroken wife. He was trying to ascertain how they would react when he told them.
‘Egypt,’ he said sotto voce.
His mother gasped, collapsed on the sofa, and began sobbing.
For Varius the nauseous feeling returned with a vengeance. Egypt? It probably wasn’t, but it seemed much further than Palestine. Their destinies had been intertwined courtesy of Caesar, Antony and Cleopatra. There had been hostility between Rome and Egypt for many years. Now it provided much of the grain that found its way into Roman bakeries. Why was he being sent there and what would it be like? Who were Rome’s enemies in Africa and what would be required of him there? Having suspected he was being exiled to Palestine, the shock that it was Egypt instead, was all the more disturbing. In one short conversation with his father his whole world had come tumbling down around him, his life of comfort and ease mercilessly snatched away.
His father waited for a few minutes to let the news sink in. He knew his next statement would cause even more commotion.
Before he had a chance to say it, Floriana pre-empted his proclamation by asking, ‘When is he leaving?’
‘First thing in the morning. His boat leaves at first light.’
At first, she didn’t make a sound. She stared at her husband in disbelief and barely restrained fury. This time there were no tears. Seemingly unable to control her anger, she launched herself from the sofa and stormed out of the room.
Varius and his father remained in the guest room in silence, both of them contemplating that which was about to happen.
There was a feeling of nervous satisfaction written all over his father’s face. He had finally solved a problem that had irked him for years. Varius would now have the opportunity to make something of himself. He needed the input of a loving father, who could impress upon him the urgency and purpose he so obviously lacked. His mother would be devastated, of course, but she’d get over it and in time she’d come to realise that his father was right and that this was what Varius had so desperately needed.
As for Varius, he had never felt such utter dejection. He knew it would happen someday and that his cushy situation in Rome couldn’t last forever. But now that it had happened, he felt empty. Strangely, he didn’t resent his father; he’d always expected he’d do something like this. In fact, he wondered why his father hadn’t done this a long time ago. In what other way could a proud ex-Legate behave? His son must follow in his footsteps one way or another. He tried to think of Egypt but his mind was blank. In truth, he knew very little about the place and had only garnered snippets of information from those who’d returned from that distant land. He’d never been interested. Now he wished he’d paid more attention. All he could think of was the hippopotami that lived in the rivers. There was more to Egypt than that and he was about to discover it all first-hand.
Looking at his father, he found there was nothing to say. The deal was done. There was no use protesting, no use arguing and no use rebelling and running away. They weren’t serious options and he wouldn’t have done them even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t. This was something he was just going to have to do. After all, maybe his father was right. It might not be so bad; he might actually enjoy it. You couldn’t know what was around the corner, whom you would meet and what you might experience.
Forcing himself to think positively, he stood up from the sofa and looked at his father. Their eyes met but neither said a word. After a few moments Varius nodded, a gesture indicating he accepted his father’s authority. He was going to North Africa and that was all there was to it. He turned and left. His father watched silently as he walked away.
Having thrown a few belongings into a sack, he flung himself onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. His mind was racing with a mixture of so many emotions: fear of change, tinged with a hint of excitement; sadness at leaving his friends and family; regret at the parties he would be missing out on; and a morsel of pride that he would finally gain his father’s approval.
Several hours passed. Varius, unable to sleep, longed for the appointed hour to come. Before he retired, he had instructed one of the slaves to wake him earlier than necessary. Slipping out of the house early would mean he could avoid the awkward goodbyes. He felt guilty for leaving without saying goodbye to his mother. She would be crushed. Any pangs of regret he had were overshadowed by a desire to avoid the discomfort it would inevitably cause.
Leonidas woke Varius as arranged. It was pitch black outside, so the slave was careful to conceal a torch with a small flame. Grabbing his sack full of belongings, Varius crept along the hallway, pausing outside his sisters’ bedroom. He looked in and saw them sleeping peacefully. He longed to wake them and tell them that he was going, but he resisted. He whispered his apologies to the darkness and left.
As he walked away from the familial home, he paused and looked back. Would he ever see this place again? His parents and his sisters? If he did, how long would it be? A year? Five? Ten? Who knew what would happen in the meantime.
With a sigh, he turned and headed for the city. It was a long walk to the port. There he would find the boat that would take him to Egypt.

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