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J. Joseph

Etiam In Vetustatem


I looked up at the encampment. The camp followers had not caught up with the army proper, nor would it for days. No matter. I wasn’t in much of a mood for being quiet, in any case. I pulled on my heavy cloak and began to walk towards the camp. Horses drew too much attention, so I’d left my light grey mare down the road a ways. Old age made my bones creak, but that didn’t stop me. My body just needed to start moving, it would remember the rest. I walked slowly up to the front gates. I needed no stealth, not to take on this mess of a unit.

“Stop right there,” one of the two guards at the gate stated, “You approach the camp of…”

I cut him off with a raise of the hand. “Please,” I said, “I just would like some water.”

“We have none to spare,” the guard said as he approached me. He was still too far off to strike. “Now be off with you.”

“But what if I had valuable information?” I asked.

“What sort of information would that be?” the guard who was hanging back asked. Clearly, he was the cautious one of the pairing. Smart one, too.

I hobbled towards the nearer soldier. “I heard there was going to be an attack here, tonight,” I said, quietly. I was within striking distance.

“An attack?” the soldier standing just a single pace from me joked, “And who shall we tell our generals this information originated?”

“That explains it,” I said, “It’s been too long. I’m unrecognized.”

“What?” the further soldier asked.

I smiled grimly up at the further soldier. “I am Sextus,” then turning to the nearer, I finished, “Umbrianus.” Drawing his gladius out from its loop, I slid it up under his ribs and into his vital organs. The other gate guard turned to sound the alarm. Grabbing one of the dying soldier’s three tela, I hurled it across the distance, through the back of the man’s head and out his eye. Neither would be alerting anyone. Picking up the dying soldier’s leg, I dragged him off the road and into some nearby bushes. Walking over to the speared one, I yanked the telum through the rest of the way, discarding it into the grass. Then, I dragged this body to lie next to his compatriot. Anyone looking for a body would probably find them, but they would remain hidden from the casual observer. I frowned, a tight, displeased frown. It had been as I expected. Much like riding a horse, killing is not something that leaves your body, your instincts, even with time and age working against it. I continued my walk into the camp proper. I had an unscheduled meeting to make.

I walked unimpeded for most of the trip. The soldiers around probably thought me a spy, returning to camp to inform their leader of some occurrence. I was dressed the part, and I wasn’t going to dissuade them of this notion. As much as I could take on the camp as a whole, it would be a pain, tiring, and serve me nothing. It would help one group of my enemies win a fight with another group of my enemies without as many losses, and why would I want that. It wasn’t until I’d made it to the front of the command tent that I heard what I’d been expecting but hoping wouldn’t happen. A shout arose from the main gate. No guards were present, and there was blood on the ground. I quickly moved away from the command tent’s entrance, bowing my head to allow some of the centurions who had been in there with their commander to pass for an investigation. Now my target would be on alert. It was harder to get to people when they were frightened for their life. Things always turned violent when that was the case. Taking a deep breath and preparing myself, I hobbled into the tent.

Sitting at the command table was Marcus Iunius Brutus, looking pensive, rather than worried. He did not know what was coming for him, but he remained unafraid. As always, he remained a good but conflicted man. I walked in and stood in front of the table he stood over. His personal guards prepared to draw on me. Brutus, hearing his men’s blades begin to sound, looked up at me and held up a hand. “He’d kill you before you moved,” the senator stated, then to me asked, “Are you here to kill me?”

I shook my head. “Not yet, young Marcus.”

“Then sit, Sextus.” He gestured to the chair I was standing behind. His guards looked at their leader confused, and he shook his head to them. “Leave us, please. If he says he isn’t here to kill me, he won’t.”

I sat down in the chair as his men left. “I have questions.”

Brutus sighed. “I suppose you do. I guess you were behind my missing men.”

“They tried to stop me, and I’m in no mood for games.”

“Age has taken a toll on you,” Marcus said with a smile, pouring and mixing two cups of wine. “What do you want to ask? Why, I presume.” He handed me one glass, sitting on the edge of his battle map.

“No. Just who.” I knew why. As always, Marcus had been swayed into action by someone more clever and less principled than him. I would bet on Cassius, but that was from what little I’d heard from my isolated villa within my hidden valley.

“I had to. He was betraying everything. Betraying the republic.” He was pleading his case. He knew it didn’t matter to me. He was pleading it to himself.

“Tell me, who attacked him first?” My voice was cold and calculating.

He refused to answer. “He was becoming a dictator for life. I had to stop that.”

I shook my head. “He wasn’t the first dictator.”

“But he was too powerful. He was tyrannical.”

“Sulla did more as a dictator to fight for your republic than a thousand consuls.”

Brutus shook his head. “Sulla just delayed death. We saved it. One man defeating tyrants is a sign that one man can rule, but the people, the senate rising up together to defeat them, that sends a message.”

I looked behind me, towards his camp. “I see no people,” I stated, then I shook my head, “But I didn’t come here to discuss politics. We’ve had these debates before. Who was first?”

“Why do you care? Who’s hired you?”

I shook my head. “The answers are different, and multifaceted. As far as who’s hired me, do you want the real answer or the true one?”

Marcus looked up at me. “Both.”

“Technically that man, Marcus Vespasianus Agrippa hired me, but we both know he doesn’t sneeze without the tacit approval of one Gaius Octavius Thurinus,” I spoke with mild disapproval. Back in the day, Sulla had the common decency to talk to me himself, or through slaves. Then again, the adoptive son of Iulius was too cautious and clever to do that.

“His name is Gaius Iulius Caesar now, Sextus, whether you want it to be or not,” Marcus interrupted my chain of thought.

I shook my head. “And here I was just starting to tolerate you. As far as the true answer, you know as well as I that I’m just doing it for him. Your turn. Who was the first?”

“Casca struck the first blow, but Cimber was the first to attack. You still haven’t told me why you care about that. And why I’m not dead.”

I smiled. “Because you will die in the order that you struck.” I turned on my heel to leave, then over my shoulder added, “Besides, killing you would be counter productive. There is a line of thought that the enemy of my enemy is my friend. This line of thought is foolish but does hint at the truth.” I began to walk towards the entrance. “You see, killing the enemy of your enemy helps your enemy succeed. Helping them also helps an enemy succeed. But putting fear in them, that makes them more dangerous.”

Brutus sighed. “You’re hoping that we will kill each other in some horribly violent way, aren’t you?”

At the exit to the tent, I turned to face him once again. “Of course. Let the Gods decide who wins and who loses. I’ll just clean up their mess once it’s said and done.” And with a bow, I turned to the flap as it was opened from the outside.

Three centurions, in full armor, looked shocked upon seeing an old man in a private meeting with their commander. One brandished his gladius at me. I smiled. “Marcus, dear,” I said calmly, “If you don’t tell your centurions to move their blades from my face, I will be forced into action.”

“Who are you, and why are you meeting with Commander Brutus?” the offending centurion asked.

Marcus held up his hand. “I don’t need to lose anymore men tonight. Let him pass.”

“We can take him, if you desire,” the centurion currently holding open the tent’s flap stated.

I smiled at him. Marcus added, “No, you really can’t.”

Slowly, the centurion with his blade drawn put it away. I patted him on the cheek. “Consider yourself blessed, dear friend. Normally when my enemies see me, they don’t live to tell the tale.”

“Who are you?” he asked me, a confused look on his face.

I turned back to Marcus, shaking my head. “Have I really been retired so long?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Some of the men weren’t born the last time you went on a slaughter. These three were youths, like me.”

I sighed. “And unlike you, they didn’t have a Caius to tell them stories about the Umbrian demon.” I walked slowly past them, and before they managed to turn in confusion, I darted to the shadows that lingered beside the tent. From there, I listened as the centurions fumbled around in shock.

“That was the fabled Umbrianus?” one said.

Another added, “Where did he disappear to?”

Marcus laughed at them. “Yes, and he is either right next to us, or a thousand paces away by now. You never really can tell.”

The one whose cheek I’d patted asked Marcus, “Why was he here? How do you know him?”

Another asked, “And why didn’t he kill us all?”

Marcus answered them, “Those three have the same answer at their hearts. He was friends with Caesar.”

“How close friends?” one asked.

“That depends on who you ask, but from the stories I heard as a boy, very.”

“So, you killed him. Why isn’t there a hole where your heart is supposed to be?” the one I’d touched asked.

Marcus sighed. “There is. But I’ve not died yet because Agrippa knows who he is.”

“Why does that mean anything?”

Marcus elaborated. “I think he’s hoping that our war will kill both all of us and all of them.”

I nodded as I walked away. The honorable Brutus, worried as ever about the future, without consideration of much else. It mattered little. He’d die soon enough. The so-called liberators stood no chance, not with Thurinus having the Caesar name, and the strategic minds of both Antonius and Agrippa helping him. I needed to make sure Cimber died first.

I walked out from the camp the way I came. The crowds of soldiers didn’t bother me. They didn’t even see me until I’d reached the gate. At the gate, they let me pass. After all, the walls were for keeping people out, not holding them in. And, I assumed, they had been given orders by Marcus to let me pass. Marcus wanted to keep his men alive as much as I did, though for differing reasons. I walked down the road to my horse and mounted her. It was time to head for port, before the battle camps here in Macedonia were established in earnest. Cimber should be out on sea, providing support. He would never return from his voyage.

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