FORTY-SIX: THE OFFER

  “What exactly are you offering, sir?” Cassius asked, narrowing his eyes as he tried to figure just what angle the general was playing.

  “I am offering you patronage. This will include physical, mental, and emotional training. Academic tutelage, study in tactics, strategy, and logistics. What little power I have politically as well. I am rather poor for my position, but I would even offer you coin when the situation calls for it,” Invictam explained.

  “I understood,sir. I even understood what you said about me, but I see no reason you can not gather more trusted subordinates and raise them up,” Cassius said. Invictam leaned back and laughed, a full belly laugh as tears welled in his eyes. Cassius felt his cheeks heat as the general shook his head, the veneer of icy coldness gone.

  “Think about what I told you and what I assumed you were. Now tell me why I offered you this,” Invictam finally said, using a finger to wipe away a tear.

  Cassius set his jaw to stop from snapping at the man. He had asked for a reason, but even with the general relaxing, he would not risk breaching decorum so far. Instead he bent his mind to think through what had been said.

  Generals were transferred often, but the legion centurions and tribunes were left behind. Invictam had thought him a senatorial spy sent to infiltrate the legion, a long term asset to supply them with information.

  “There is none you can trust. Not truly. A random legionnaire plucked from the legions would be likely to be free of entanglements, but how could you find one who has what you want or see as beneficial traits.” Cassius felt that was true enough and the general nodded with him.

  “You are also educated. That is one blessing that is hard to find among the populi. It can be taught, but it is better if you already know your letters, numbers, and basic logic. A step up from the crowd,” Invictam said, nodding along to Cassius’ earlier thoughts.

  “Marcus and Valeria could take this as easily as I could,” Cassius argued.

  “They could, but I have my own plots for them. They will not be abandoned, I am not one to leave a tool to rust. But, they have a flaw to them that you do not. Age.”

  “They are too old?” Cassius said, thinking of the duo. With [Regenerate] they would likely live decades longer and pushing into tier two would extend that even further. Even if they were in their late thirties and had begun to gray, that was no reason to have left them to the side.

  “No, but yes. They are too rooted in who they are. They are legionnaires. Maybe an officer if I push them hard. Marcus could be a great centurion and possibly a good tribune. Things that are desperately needed. Valeria I am sure has her own talents that will be revealed. But they have a firm image of who they are. I could break it, but again, it would take time and effort I do not have.”

  “What plots do you have that require me and have such a time constraint?” Cassius asked.

  “Now you ask correct questions. I will not tell you until you truly earn my trust. I will give you tasks, some mundane, some martial, and more academic. You will socialize more with the strata, with the officers here, and with the soldiers. There will be fights, battles, and death. It is not an easy path I offer, but it is one that will eventually leave you in a position to dictate what happens to you.”

  Cassius didn’t do something as obvious as chew on his lip as he looked at the general, but the nervousness was in his stomach. He could understand the general’s offered reasoning, but he still couldn’t see what it was that the man was planning. There was a sharp intelligence in the general’s eyes, a ruthlessness that warned Cassius to avoid this trap, that it would see him used and discarded to the side when his usefulness was extracted.

  Then he thought of having to constantly bow his head to the strata. Of the orders he received and the feeling of powerlessness as he was moved around. Why couldn’t he be the one to rise up and claim a hint of that same power? It was an intoxicating thought, one that eroded his distrustful nature.

  “I am willing to accept your patronage,” Cassius finally said.

  “Good, I had thought you would. I have a good eye for talent,” Invictam said and it confirmed to Cassius the man had some type of sight skill like his own.

  “Now, first thing first. You shall crush Hostus in the ring. You will not be allowed to use skills, but I have no doubt that you will not require them. Break that braggart where the entire legion can see you.”

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  “I can do that,” Cassius agreed, thinking of the smug man with a flush of anticipation of meeting him in a ring.

  “I will not be able to meet you everyday, but Attia shall find you if I have instructions. In the meantime, you shall be with Marcus and under his command, but I will let him know that I will be pulling you to the side now and then. Try not to die. Oh, and leave that barrel, I shall reward you for it later,” Invactam’s dismissal was obvious. Cassius saluted with a fist to his heart and spun on his heel to walk out of the bubble of silenced air.

  Sounds came to him instantly, a cheerful cry and hue, men and women shouting in joy. Cassius left the tent and saw what it was that had all of the legionnaires so excited. Ropes had been stretched around barrels of water, forming a rough ring while a tribune and a [Praetorian] watched with blank faces. Hostus was to the side, his snide face filled back with arrogance as he stalked back and forth with more of the senatorial guard. They sneered and jeered back at the legionnaires around them with frequency while their officers hardly could be stirred to care.

  “There you are. Heard you will be upholding the Thirteenth’s honor,” Pius said as he rose from a squat and clapped Cassius’ shoulder in greeting.

  “It is good to see you, Pius,” Cassius said and found himself telling the truth. The dour man’s face was good to see, a touchstone in the wild craziness his life had become.

  “It must have been a horror of a trip if you are glad to see me. Come, let us get you ready for your bout,” Pius said, dragging him away from the general’s tent and into the mass of legion tents.

  “You can share with me, I have been lonely of late,” Pius said as they reached the small two man tent.

  “Was that a joke?” Cassius asked, turning to look at the older man who kept a straight face as they made it to the camp.

  “I do not jest lightly. You can share a tent with me and I have been lonely of late. Marcus has been busy with his new promotion and learning with the other centurions, Valeria has been gone, and the rest of my friends have been laid into the mother’s soil.”

  Cassius felt his mood somber at the remembrance of their file. Ten of them turned to four and Pius left by himself as everyone else took upon themselves responsibilities. The older man looked at him and Cassius could see the age in the man’s eyes, the lines on his face, the sorrow etched across his craggy face.

  “Ha. Look at your face!” Pius barked with a shake of his head as they stopped at a tent identical to every other tent in the area.

  “You have a strange sense of humor,” Cassius grumbled, shaking his head as he stripped his pack off and pulling his gear off to store it.

  “It grows on you,” Pius promised as he waited for Cassius to stow away his gear. Taking the dungeon sword off was hard, theft was low in a legion camp, the punishments brutal, but there were plenty of non-legion folk walking around. Even if one of the strata wouldn’t stoop to steal from a legionnaire, it was possible one of their attendants would walk off with the precious blade.

  “Place the superbia in front of the tent. No one will dare touch your gear,” Pius said, nodding his chin toward the reclaimed superbia that Cassius was still carrying around. Cassius took his advice, planting the superbia in front of their tent to see dozens of eyes locked onto it, but no one spoke.

  “It has been a busy few weeks for you, I forget you are still green. A standard bearer carries the pride of the legion. Even if that superbia is not ours, it will still protect our gear as our brothers and sisters will die before they let one of those weak-willed bastards come by with wandering hands,” Pius said as they started back toward the ring that was being built.

  “Too much has happened,” Cassius said, shaking his head in disbelief. If it wasn’t for [Unyielding Spirit] running, he feared for his mind. The stress of the trip through the Wilds only compounding on everything else that had happened the last several weeks. There was a weariness in him that went beyond his skin and muscle, leaked into his very soul.

  “Come, if you do this well the entire legion will know your name. Praise on every lip and pride in everyone’s heart,” Pius said as he slung his arm around Cassius’ shoulder and shook him as they reached the corner of the ring.

  “I had thought you would run!” Hostus yelled as he sprang over the side of the ring, already barechested, face shiny with grease. The man stretched out in front of the crowds, basking in the jeers and cheers as he flaunted his body. Cassius had to admit the man was in good shape, clean of limb and well-muscled; he was likely the pinnacle of his tier.

  “You know the rules?” Pius asked as he started to help Cassius take his armor off. Criers ran through the camp, yelling that the fight would begin and drawing forth those who had no duties. A crowd was starting to form with one side of the square left open for a few moments before the strata started to fill it. Not the high ladies themselves, but their cousins, the second and third strata that formed the core of their fighting forces.

  “I have been told. How badly should I beat him?” Cassius said the last part loudly so his brothers and sisters would hear. A roar filled the air, metal rattling as they pounded on their armor.

  “Cursed gates, have you gotten bigger?” Pius whispered as Cassius bent and let the armor slide off of him. He tugged his ruined shift over his head and tossed it to the side as a series of appreciative whistles shrieked through the air. Bawdy words of encouragement and promises came thick and fast as Cassius ducked beneath the ropes, not bothering with the grease that Hostus had smeared over himself.

  “I would say this is not personal, but I dislike your ilk,” Hostus said, words nearly drowned out by the chanting and cheers of the crowd as more people gathered around the hardpacked arena.

  “SILENCE!” A voice boomed out and the chanting fell away as a woman stepped to the front, dressed in [Praetorian] armor with golden highlights across her cloak. She lifted her hand and every eye turned to her as she started to speak.