Vindonissa, fortified camp of the Legio XIII Gemina, the Via principalis, under the consul suffectus Lucius Naevius Surdinus [autumn of 30 CE]

A stray dog snoozed in a patch of pale afternoon sunlight filtering between two buildings alongside the main road. The animal lifted its shaggy head, sniffed the air, and scrambled to its feet when the clatter of hooves mixed with the squealing of harnesses approached from the direction of the Porta Principalis. A dust cloud raised by many feet dulled the bright afternoon sunlight, and the black-and-brown spotted dog pulled its tail between the hind legs and disappeared with a wince into the narrow opening of a sewer.

Marius shifted his grip on his large bundle of firewood and stepped aside to let the oncoming convoy pass, sorry he couldn't follow the dog into its hideout. He should have avoided this part of the camp—or at least the Via Principalis on the way back from the storehouse to the residence of his contubernium. But his load was heavy, and they needed the wood to cook dinner and keep their room warm since the nights turned frosty again and announced the first winter chills.

Pressed for time, he had taken his chance and hoped no officer would find fault with him for using the shortcut over the representative axis of the camp. It was his usual bad luck that right now, an important-looking delegation arrived at the headquarter of the Legio XIII Gemina. These riders wouldn't make room for a simple miles occupied with a mundane task like fetching firewood.

Marius pressed his back against the wall of the thermae to clear the road for the on-comers. Perhaps the lengthening evening shadows would allow him to slip away unseen. Or he could pretend he was carrying wood for the general bathhouse. No, on second thought, this wouldn't do. There were slaves assigned to the task and he would be called out for sure in his standard military uniform. Marius shrank further back into the shadows and watched the colourful delegation pass by. So far, no one had spent him a second glance.

The hard thumps of the horses' hooves and the rattling of the iron-rimmed wheels of a chariot resounded between the timber buildings lining the street in an ear-splitting cacophony. Armed guards, both on horseback and on foot, surrounded a single carriage. This wasn't a peasant's chart, but a transport made for a wealthy man with the woodwork painted in gaudy red and pitch black and decorated with polished bronze fittings.

The well-dressed civilian man riding in the carriage looked to the other side, talking to a lofty rider on a horse prancing alongside the wagon, so Marius couldn't see his face. But by the short-trimmed, curly hair and beard and the fine red fabric of his coat, he was sure this must be an important traveller, probably a provincial magistrate with his entourage calling on the emissaries of the Roman Empire here in Vindonissa.

His back against the building, the miles kept quiet and studied the equipment and attire of the strangers while the convoy moved on. Mud covered the horses' and footmen's legs, evidence of an arduous trek. With the heavy autumn rains of the past week, even the mighty Roman roads must have accumulated sludge in places. Perhaps they had been forced to cross a flooded river, to judge by the caked silt on cloth and skin.

Marius didn't envy the guards of the noble visitor, thankful he was better off as a legionary stationed here in the camp. He had a solid roof over his head, received a small but regular pay, and if he returned in reasonable time with the wood tonight, he and his comrades might even get a spicy pea soup into their stomachs before night guard duty.

The convoy slowed, nearing the principia. Probably an emissary of the visitor was calling on the Praefectus Castrorum now, the official leader of the camp. If the delegation was important enough, there might even be an adventus, an arrival ritual. Should this be the case, he would be blocked here for far too long and be late for his shift.

Marius sighed, pressed the load against his chest, and sneaked along the wall, carrying his head low and stealing glances at the guards bringing up the rear of the column. At the sight of a tired face in the last group, he dropped his burden and took a step forward, calling out his old friend's name. "Lucius Cornelius."

Several heads turned in his direction, and his heart skipped a beat when the keen gaze of his former centurion, Gaius Vitellius, fell on him. Marius realised too late these were members of the city guard of Aventicum, the unit he'd left in a hurry and without formal notice a few months back. He shrank back, afraid he was in serious trouble now.

"Stand." A sharp shout from the convoy's head saved him. The vigiles snapped their attention to the front, coming to a halt, planting their spears with a synchronous thump on the flagstones of the road.

Marius took his chance, snatched up his bundle of wood and rounded the corner of the bathhouse before anyone could call him out. He would try to contact Lucius later—or maybe better not, as Centurion Gaius Vitellius might well demand punishment for what he would see as a desertion by a former subordinate.

For once, Marius was glad his contubernium wouldn't spend the evening with the usual game of dice and amicable banter but on watch at the South Gate. He would be hard to find amongst the other legionaries, and duty here was more agreeable than his former job on the wind-beaten walls of Aventicum. Winter hadn't arrived yet, but already a brazier with glowing coals to warm their hands was at the gate guards' disposal. No, he had no plans or reasons to return to his old unit in the capital.

Still shaken by his encounter, he stumbled over the threshold of his quarters and dropped the load onto the wooden floor. Vitus looked up from patching a hole in his tunic. "Mario, have you seen a ghost? You're paler than a loaf of goat cheese."

The mention of food made Marius' stomach rumble despite his agitation. "Not a ghost, my former centurion of the Aventicum city guards. I fear he recognised me." He knelt and collected the firewood to stack it beside the hearth. "Seems he is part of the entourage of an important visitor of the Praefectus."

Vitus frowned. "Yes, I heard the rumours. But why are you bothered? He can't draw you back, not from the legion."

Marius placed the last log on the stack. "Are you sure? What if he tells the prefect that I'm a deserter?"

A chuckle made him turn around. Silvanus rested on his cot, his arms crossed behind his head. "As if a centurion of the guard would get to speak to the prefect. Forget it, Mario, and get that fire going. You're part of the legion now. No need to worry about complicated business of the past. What do you think drove me here?"

Only halfway convinced, Marius kindled the cooking fire while Vitus chopped vegetables and added them to the pot of soup.

Later that night, on guard, he recalled the dinner discussion. His comrades had reassured him that Gaius Vitellius wouldn't be able to punish a miles, a member of the proud Roman legion. A mere centurion of the guard had no power in the emperor's own army. With the relief came the itch to hear news from home. Should he try to contact Lucius? Would he be able to find him?

It was well after midnight when Marius was on his way from the privy to his bed, now sure it was better to keep his distance to his past. Lucius and the centurion would be gone tomorrow. He only had to retreat to his quarters and sit this situation out. Yes, that's what he would do.

The moment he passed the last back alley between the barracks, a hand grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the narrow space separating the buildings. Marius reached for his gladius, but before he could wrestle the sword from its sheath, a well-remembered voice whispered against his ears. "Shh, Mario, quiet."

"Lucio, what are you doing here?" He relaxed and slumped against the wall, his former determination to avoid a meeting evaporating like mist in the morning sun.

"The magistrate Quintus Otacilius Magnus has business with your Praefectus. Seems he is important enough to justify a quarter of the regular vigiles being sent with him to defend him on the road." He paused, leaning against the wall beside Marius. "I just wonder what they do if a Germanic horde pops up in the plains and raids the capital while the defence is thus weakened."

Marius shook his head. "There are no Germanic hordes for miles. The land of the Helvetii has been part of the empire for decades and the Rhine frontier is secured by our legions."

"I know." Lucius chuckled. "But I'm sure you remember the daily drill. 'Vigiles, keep vigilant. You never know when Germanic hordes will attack our beautiful town, destroy our temples, rob our life stock, and rape our women.'"

His friend's imitation of the centurion's voice was accurate, and Marius suppressed a nervous laugh. "Right, I almost forgot. How did he explain to you why they striped the walls of guards, then?"

"No explanation, but you know we are only simple guards, right? We do what our superior commands. Well, I volunteered when I found out where the trip was headed. I wanted to see you after I heard you joined the legion. How is it?"

"Not much difference from the city guard so far. More discipline. Better payment but worse food, as we have to cook our own. First thing I learned in the legion is I'm a terrible cook." At least Vitus knew the basics. Without him, their contubernium would starve.

"Huh, then I'll stick with the guards." Lucius nudged his arm. "The meals we got in the mansiones on the road were worth the trip, and what we eat back home these days is nice too. Even Centurion Vitellius isn't too bad, all considered."

"I'd never thought I'd say this one day, but you're right about the meals. That old crone Vitellius has engaged last year is an excellent cook. How is everyone in town?" Marius turned to watch his oldest friend's face. His silhouette was dark against the pale light of the crescent moon. Was this the sound of Lucius clenching his teeth?

"Everyone is fine, I guess. Except..." The visitor trailed off and bowed his head, searching for something in his belt pouch.

Icy fingers of dread clenched around Marius' stomach. "What—who?"

Lucius' hand found his and pressed a few hard objects into his palm. He held the pieces up to study them in the faint light. "What's this? Pieces of broken pottery?"

"The lamp she carried the night... that night Cinna went out to the sanctuary, the place dedicated to the memory of her parents."

"Yes, she used to go there to pray all the time. Why shouldn't she? It's her birthright." Despite his words, the dread intensified.

Lucius lowered his head. "No, you don't understand. We found her the next morning beside the great spire of the memoria. She was—Cinna was murdered, stabbed in the back with a dagger."

Marius closed his fist around the fragments of the lamp and pressed until his fingers hurt. "But she was married to the nephew of the magistrate. Why would she venture out without guards to protect her? It was their duty to protect her."

"How should I know? She seemed desperate the last time I saw her. And I talked to your sister the day after we found her."

"Lavinia?" He only had one sister, and he hadn't been aware Lucius knew her.

"Yes, her. I wanted to know how I could reach you, to tell you the news about the murder, so I went to your father's place. Lavinia was there and your father let her listening in, as she knew Cinna too. It seems the rumour goes the woman was pregnant, but not from her husband."

Darkness flooded Marius' heart and mind while his numb fingers pressed the shards of the lamp against his broken heart.