Liv

Deep down, in his heart of hearts, he knew there was a sliver of truth to what she accused him of. Yes, it was an ego boost to be acknowledged, respected even if it came from rank and hierarchy, listened to - important. But this, Titus felt, was far from being the main reason why he had been taunting her. Plainly and simply put, it was fun. She had come into his tent all haughty and arrogant, and forcing down her mood to a more appropriate level had turned out to be its own little kind of gladiator match, only they'd been been sparring with words and threats rather than swords or tridents. He would clarify things for her lest she labour under the illusion that his pride was as easy to deflate as hers. "You're mistaken," Titus countered mirthfully, unable to keep his mouth from widening into a grin. "I play these games because they amuse me." And the harder the struggle, the sweeter the victory. If she had cooperated right from the start, things would have come to a close a lot more quickly, but they also would not have been nearly as entertaining. She raised a good point, though. Nothing like parading the chief captives in chains and shackles to make the other captives understand what awaited them - and whilst he very much would have liked to make this woman and that dog Diegis do like Vercingetorix with a little procession through the camp while his men jeered and booed (and might still do), there was another punishment he could think of that would gain favour among soldiers and officers alike. He wanted to rile her up a bit more before handing her over. "In case you have forgotten - as you seem to have -, you don't get to dictate anything around here anymore," Titus stated in a soft, patronising tone as if he were dealing with a particularly thick person or a spooked beast. "I can put him back with your kind, as you suggest, absent tongue, eyes or both arms. Or you can bite your tongue and suffocate in your own blood for all I care, and never know if your son lives or dies. It's all the same to me," he explained, illustrating just how little he thought of them all with a carefree, sweeping hand gesture. "I already gave you my word he will be safe. It hardly surprises me that for you barbarians that means nothing, but we Romans take these promises very seriously." Until said promises stopped being convenient, but that was neither here nor there. Patience finally wearing thin, he slid off the desk and stood up straight, eyeing the woman with finality. He was done arguing with her; the more time he allotted her, the more she would think she had a say in what would happen, and he thought she was already delusional enough as it was. "Out. In front of me." Titus motioned to the entrance to the tent with his head and the stark look on his face told her this was not a suggestion or a request. If she dallied or refused, he would manhandle her out of there and humiliate her even further in front of the many eyes that would doubtlessly turn their way when they went outside. Her choice, really. @Sara

Titus nodded sheepishly at the barber's amused inquiry, not really understanding why the man seemed to be amused by the whole talk of fustuarium. "Yes, well, if you were to dish out capital punishment for every minor thing, it would lose its effectiveness. If a man doesn't fear death, then what does he fear? And how do you control him?" A disciplined legionary was a good legionary; a fearless legionary was an idiot. "Gods, definitely not orange!" Titus exclaimed with a look of mild revulsion. "Don't want people to think I've been rubbing chins with that one." He stared straight at Longinus and smirked, daring the other to say something back, before turning his attention back to Barbatius. "Frankincense would be nice though, if you've got that...?" An earthier fragrance was more to his taste than citrusy perfumes. He was all but ready to close his eyes and abandon himself to the simple earthly pleasure of a scalp massage, but of course Longinus had to pipe up and require his opinion on, of all things, the barber's slaves. Had one of them suddenly caught his friend's eye, for him to be so intrigued? Titus arched an inquiring brow, but admitted to himself that Longinus did have a point. The slaves were extremely well-behaved, almost unnaturally so. They nearly resembled statues in their stillness. "No, me neither," he agreed, his gaze flitting from the quiet girl with the wine pitcher to the one who had mixed the oils, to yet another one standing by. Thinking back to that macabre story about the slave who had slit his own throat, Titus began to suspect that their silent devotion to their master was indeed owing to visceral fear. A fear so great that it shocked them into lifelessness. He was no charitable, egalitarian soul, but he would take a too-feisty slave like that Dacian wench of his any day over one of these poor shells of a servant. Since he wouldn't be able to fully relax under Barbatius' ministrations anyway thanks to all the chatting, Titus thought they'd might as well get to the bottom of it, or as close to it as social affectations permitted. "Yes, do tell. How do you train them?" @Atrice @Sara

They were going nowhere fast at this rate. Between the natural, human limitations of finding all Gaii on page after page of blurry names and the fact that they didn't even know which particular Gaius they were looking for, it would be a good few hours before they collected all the information they needed. And frustrated though he was, Titus could not fault his friend for not being able to remember just who was it they wanted: five thousand men was a very tall order, even more so when Longinus probably interacted with only a fiftieth of them or so on a daily basis. From his half-hearted musings and Aulus' chiding of one of the slaves came what he thought was a rather decent idea. Looking up, he saw two men tasked with keeping proper lighting, but he saw also two idle pairs of eyes. Titus had the impression Felix was literate, at least from what he could remember during their shared flight to the East years prior; when it came to Longinus' slave he thought it also to be the case, though he did not know for sure. With the slaves, they wouldn't have to worry about word getting out, and competent body slaves could be trusted to retain many details that completely escaped their masters in the course of their daily business. "What if they help us?" Titus ventured, gesturing with his chin to one slave and then the other. "That's four more eyes to go over all these," he waved the scroll he was perusing up and down as if batting away a fly with it, then tossed it carelessly to the side. No Gaii of interest in that one. Resolving to leave that one namehunt to the others, Titus set about searching for the hopefully-less-elusive Mantius Tuccius amongst the lower-level commanders. He found the name on the second try, a smug smile appearing on his face. "Got one! Marcus Mantius Tuccius, tesserarius of the third cohort, fifth century." Now it would be up to Longinus to decide what to do: have the man apprehended right away, interrogated, or left alone until all participants in the scheme were accounted for. Titus held the scroll out to him in case the legate wanted to check for himself; crestfallen as he looked, he might just assume Titus was playing him. @Sara @Sharpie

He could almost see the cogs and wheels turning inside her head, weighing the pros and cons of his demand. On one side of the scale, the life and well-being of her son; on the other, the very identity of her people and her own as chieftain's wife. From what he had seen thus far, Titus reckoned she had made up her mind quickly, only pretending to be stalling in an attempt to annoy him. Titus debated reminding the woman that she was in no position to make demands, that he could have her little family torn apart and crucified within minutes with only a few words... but that would have been playing into her hand, confirming her ideas of the eagle legions' brutality. Best to keep her guessing - if she used her brain to try and see ahead of his next move, it would be too busy to plot some useless but bothersome uprising. "Good. I'm glad we could come to an agreement," Titus replied dispassionately, choosing to disregard the outwardly signs of the storm that brewed inside her as she pushed herself up to face him at her full height. How much of it was pain and how much of it was pride, he frankly did not care. "Your people dispel your silly notions of resistance once and for all, and Luto will be safe. You'll have to take my word for it, though," he taunted, a sardonic smile dancing on his lips. She would indisputably like nothing less than to put her trust in a filthy Roman, but she had no other viable choice when her son's life depended on it. He nodded faintly, more to himself than at the woman, and stepped back to lean his lower back against his desk, not letting the captive out of his visual field. She might think him appeased and try to do something reckless, and that was not an option. Another line of thought was already running parallel to this inside his head: what to do with the boy. In Dacia he would be too great a liability, far too close to his parents' sphere of influence. No, he would be sent to Rome, where he could be taught all the makings of a civilised man and have any remaining sense of barbarian pride stripped from him; he was just at the perfect age for that, too. An educated slave, perhaps? From what little Titus had seen, Luto had been curious but trusting and well-behaved; he would adapt quickly to his new circumstances, whatever they ended up being. Even if the boy's fate was more or less decided, his mother's was a different story, and Titus had a couple of ideas in mind - but he would let her reactions sway his judgement like some morbid game of cat and mouse. He bit a fingernail, pretending to be deep in thought, and eyed her with a predatory smirk. "Should we go and tell your husband the good news now? Or would you rather wait until I've figured out what to do with you?" @Sara

Things had just taken a turn for the bizarre, Titus thought to himself as he too raised a brow, not quite knowing what to make of Barbatius's apparent curiosity. The man knew of the punishment but not when it was called upon or its consequences? The brief suggestion that he might have served in an auxiliary attachment was quickly dispelled, for his questions made no sense if that had been the case. He tried his best to keep his expression neutral as he answered, but a hint of apprehension might have seeped through. "Uh, he did die, so that was the end of his duties for him." Titus still wasn't sure how capital punishment related to the defence of the empire for a civilian, and his confusion was starting to show, but at the same time it wasn't like the topic was a military secret, so he had no good reason to suddenly grow shy. "But they can attempt to escape. If they succeed, they won't be chased, but then it's like they're exiled. Can't go back home, can't stay with their legion... I suppose it's a bit like being a fugitive slave." Subconsciously he glanced at Barbatius' slaves, the quiet young woman and the equally silent assistant. "It's a serious punishment," he added gravely, "it's not like we dish it out every time someone dallies at breakfast." Longinus was at last done looking more presentable. It was rather amazing how much more respectable he looked with a clean-shaven face and hair of an acceptable length - now the wife hunt could proceed in earnest. "A job well done, as usual," he praised the barber, at the same time giving his friend a thumbs-up. And now it was his turn, though it was more maintenance than anything as neither facial nor head hair required as much attention as Longinus' had. He abandoned his post by the doorway and went to occupy the seat the other senator had just vacated, secretly looking forward to a bit of pampering, fresh-smelling oils and all. "The usual for me," he told Barbatius, looking up. By that Titus meant getting rid of a 5 o'clock shadow and a regular haircut. @Atrice @Sara

The woman's reaction was what he had hoped for, but not quite dared to expect. Only when her son cried for her and vanished out of sight did she crack, and violently. The strength behind her blows came from desperation, and though Titus barely flinched, he felt them wherever she managed to land them: arm, upper chest, jaw. In a few hours a purple bruise or two might make an appearance. Had he known it would turn out like this, he would have kept his armour on just for the petty pleasure of hearing her hands smash against the hard metal. Titus said nothing as the woman gave up leaving the tent and started taking out her anger on his possessions. He didn't understand that last question - 'monstrous' had never made to his mental compendium of the Dacian language -, but her tone belied what she thought of him. Yes, he did have children. He had a son, too. And that was why he had suddenly changed his mind, bluffed his hand; if the same results could be achieved by simply hiding the little boy away for a while, saving him for later use as a bargaining chip if needed... a four-year-old posed no threat and could still be easily moulded into a fine slave. But the woman had no need to know that just yet. More sadistic men might have felt the urge to kick the woman while she was down or pull her roughly by the hair and force her to stand. Stepping closer to her and stopping about two feet away, Titus had no such inclination; given the level of her despair, that sort of physical punishment would probably not have registered with her. He stared at her impassively, eyes searching for any further signs of defeat as she knelt on the dusty floor. If looks could kill, Titus would have been painfully murdered a thousand times over in those few seconds. "The same as I want from your man and the rest of your kin. Complete and utter submission." A stop to the skirmishes, to the raids, to the furtive attacks, to the traps laid by newly-built Roman roads, to the fight for domination of the land. The woman looked broken and defeated - either that or she was an awfully good actress -, but was she really ready to surrender? "Do I have that from you now?" @Sara

Liv ~ staying~ keeping: Clio, Titus Sulpicius Rufus, Lucia Safinia dropping: n/a

It looked like work was finally about to get done, in no small part thanks to Aulus and his fortunately low tolerance for petty squabbling. Titus pretended not to hear the little taunt Longinus shot at him, instead looking at the man with the same look of disapproval he gave his daughter when she dawdled on her cursive practice. When the scrolls had been more or less evenly distributed, he found a seat by an oil lamp, dropped the scrolls on his lap and picked up one, unrolling it. "Do you know what century would that be, Longinus?" If they could narrow it down to the number of Gaii in a specific group of eighty men, that should leave them with some ten to fifteen suspects, providing the trend was followed. "Or that of Mantius Tuccius?" That should be a lot easier to find even if this scheme turned out to be a trans-cohort operation, but plucking records at random would waste precious time. The apprehending of the slave trader he'd leave to the two officers; Titus doubted the Syrian was the mastermind behind it all, but a scapegoat always came in handy. He started to skim the scroll, keeping his eyes peeled for anything that looked like one of the names they had been discussing. "He's mostly upset that this wasn't caught before," Titus replied offhandedly, eyes moving up and down the scroll, "and that we now have to waste time getting to the bottom of this." He piously left out the part where the proconsul had make a few irate comments about being cheated of his spoils and riches, thinking it better not to besmirch the man's authority with the stain of greed in public. "Gaius Verus... Gaius Crispus... Gaius Largennius - where does this guy come from? - ... Gaius Montanus... Any of these sound familiar?" @Sara @Sharpie

By all appearances Varus had grown fond of his Briton slave all right, even if he was not infatuated to the point of ignoring her poor tisane-making skills. If this was his most able slave, Titus dreaded to think how the Quinctilii-Vari survived illness as well as its treatment. At any rate, it was good the wife shopping seemed to be progressing well, despite Titus' own ill-timed contributions, if they could even be called that. He really should have stayed home, sleeping this fever off... ... But then he wouldn't have been able to practically confirm that this precious slave of Varus and Nymphias were sisters, thanks to good old Longinus and his inability to pass up an opportunity to show off. "Parisii, of course," he nodded offhandedly before taking a very cautious sip of the concoction. The more it cooled down, the less difficult it was to bear, thank Jupiter. The boatload of pepper had been bad enough without the boiling heat burning off the few parts of his tongue that had survived the spicy onslaught. He wasn't shivering as much anymore, either, which was a good thing. Now he had new information, but he didn't need to decide just yet what to do with it. Satisfied, Titus diverted as much of his attention as he could to the reason for this visit. "Should you require a chaperone, just say the word. I'm sure my wife would love to get acquainted with your niece," he suggested (hopefully helpfully). And do some underhanded digging on your behalf, Longinus. "Is there anything she takes a particular interest in? Literature, philosophy, theatre... Perhaps she and Senator Longinus have common interests." Titus nodded conspiratorially at his friend, knowing fully well he cared for none of the topics he had mentioned. Still, Longinus could do his homework and try to impress the young lady if they did end up meeting. @Atrice @Sara

Titus rose from his seat, taking leisurely steps towards the duo with his hands behind his back. She had guts, he would admit it, and her stubborn refusal to switch to Latin both amused and irritated him. He, on the other hand, was done stopping down to her level. "Have you ever heard of Fulvia or the deified Livia Augusta? Cleopatra?" History itself had proven three times in the last two centuries that women could and did have such influence. It would be foolish to discard the possibility simply because she was a barbarian. Yet a barbarian would likely have no knowledge of the events Titus was referring to; their education was focused on the practical and essential, and that lack of worldliness was also why all of them would inevitably fall under the eagle standards. "Oh, I know who he is. Diegis of the Ratacenses, son of Oroles, and now nothing but a powerless prisoner like so many others. Quick to rise, but quicker to fall." He stopped by the pair, smiling benevolently down on the boy before grabbing the arm the woman was caressing the child's head with by the wrist. "And I also know that if it hadn't been for your wheedling he would have seen the futility of your tribe's resistance a long time ago." He squeezed tighter, forcing her arm upwards until it was several inches above the child's head. Titus put his free hand on the boy's shoulder and gently but firmly pulled him away from his mother and closer to him. The little boy, uncomprehending, let himself be steered and merely looked at the two adults in turn. So she was still playing innocent, despite having been made aware of how high the stakes were. "I had you brought here to see if we could come to a mutual understanding." Titus shrugged with one arm, finally letting go of hers. "You've had your chance. A shame you didn't take it." Still pushing the boy in front of him by the shoulders, he briefly stepped out of the tent, calling for his tribune Servilius as he did so. A whispered exchange saw the child delivered to Servilius, and it was only then that the poor thing realised something might be wrong. "Mama!" was his last desperate cry before the tribune yanked on his arm and dragged him off to somewhere else only the Gods knew. If that didn't elicit a reaction from the woman, nothing would. There was the small chance that the boy was not hers and had just been given to her to bring up for her husband, but very few people could feel nothing at seeing a child they'd raised from a young age being dragged away by whom they knew to be the enemy. On the other hand, she might very well try to take off after the boy and retrieve him, and for that very reason Titus stood blocking her path out of the feebly-lit tent, arms folded across his chest with finality. There was no more negotiating now. "You should go and tell your husband how you lost his son. Wonder how he'll take the news..." @Sara

For all her efforts at looking unbothered and unfazed, the alarm that flashed through the woman's face betrayed just how well she had understood him - yet another little piece of evidence to clinch his suspicions. A nobody of a Dacian matron with a dozen children and sagging tits would have just kept staring woodenly at him, but this one was too wise for that. The affectionate, protective gestures she lavished on the boy might under more favourable circumstances been endearing to witness, but in the there and then they displayed more helplessness than anything: like any good doting mother, she was trying to reassure her child when protection was no longer an option. "That's up to you," he said simply with a shrug. Children were more valuable alive as slaves than dead as food for vultures, but if there was a risk of them growing up with their heads and ears poisoned against Rome, ready to take up arms against it when they became men... well, children were also very vulnerable. Fell prey to all sorts of illnesses. Titus would not personally torture a little boy - much less one the same age as his youngest, a could-have-been playmate if the world had been a different place -, but he would give the order and make the parents watch if they didn't see reason first. "Contrary to what you may think, I don't take any sick pleasure from having him killed. What Rome wants is peace - on our terms, of course," he smirked again, wanting to rile her up to the point where she would raise her voice and call him names and shatter the pretence of the dignified royal matron. He crossed his arms, keeping his tone as unaffected as if he were discussing the weather. "So if having your boy gutted alive and pulled apart by oxen carts until his limbs tear from his body and he has no strength or tears left to cry anymore is what it will take for your little tribe to push aside your pathetic aspirations of dissuading Rome from expansion... well, what are we sitting here for?" Titus shook his head and made to stand, like a tutor fed up with a daft pupil. Would she take the bait? "I hope you can sleep at night, knowing his death is on you and your pride." @Sara

"Perfect, case closed. What a fantastic delator you are," Titus quipped sarcastically, fighting the urge to roll his eyes at Longinus and winning for the time being. "Too bad you didn't manage to solve it before my having to come here, it would have saved us all quite some time." He opened the wooden box again, contemplating how fast he would need to be in order to throw it at the legate's head without the man being able to dodge... but that would result in scrolls scattered all over the floor and the tent was messy enough as it was. He wanted to interject and confirm that yes, he had very much been judging Longinus' leadership skills when relating to attention to detail and no, this sort of thing hadn't been pulled under his nose for a while, only the past five days the case had been passed on to him for and of which one was spent on horseback to reach this Mars-forsaken camp, but military discipline being what it was, he said nothing and stared at the chest instead. When a superior dished out punishment, even if it was just scolding, you shut up and took it and did better next time, if there was one. How many Gaii could there be in a cohort? Far too many, it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. But it required finding, and he wanted revenge. Bureaucratic revenge. With the most innocent of smiles he turned to the other two. "I don't know your men, can't tell one Gaius from the next. But you do, so I'm sure the proconsul would be most pleased if you could jog your memory and put name to face." Now would be the time for Longinus to do something useful and go over enrolment lists if he couldn't remember on his own. Titus began to pluck scrolls at random out of the chest; when both hands were full, he went over to the officers and silently invited them to take a few. They'd only be skimming them in search of the names they had narrowed down - no need to waste time going over unsuspicious records in detail. "I believe it's just the three. The secretary who originally went through these only flagged these particular months as requiring further investigation." @Sara @Sharpie

Come to Dacia, they said. The wine is good and the weather mild, they said. The first part Titus could vouch for, the second - well, most of the time it was quite pleasant, but this annoying rain reminded him of dreary Britannia, and he longed for the spring sun to make an appearance again. It could be the handiwork of the natives, praying to their gods that the heavens would open up to drown their conquerors, but it took far, far more than a drizzle to stop the well-oiled destruction machine that was the XI Claudia. The Dacians were stubborn and hardy and had inflicted more than just a few casualties over the last years with their sabotage attempts and lightning-fast raids, but like so many other tribes before them, it was now the Ratacenses' turn to bow down and submit. With their leaders dead or captured, what was left of the tribe would suffer grim fates; slavery was probably the best they could hope for. After all the dead and injured on both sides were accounted for, some groundwork remained. Breaking the chain of command where it still existed was one of the tasks, best achieved by separating husbands from wives, fathers from sons, siblings from cousins. The man who was now the leader of those yet alive - Diegis, as Titus' tribune had helpfully informed him - had witnessed the violent deaths of his father and brother, and if he wasn't totally defeated yet, he would be very soon. In both flesh and spirit. Titus was pulled from his musings about the warrior's fate by the arrival of his disobliging guests: a tall, haughty-looking Dacian woman holding by the hand a small boy of three or four, whose attention was immediately captured by the crested helmet set aside, the metal gleaming in the dim candlelight. He gave the two a quick, dispassionate once-over and stood up from his seat, closing the distance to the pair with a few steps. "Not today. You like it?" he asked the little boy in Dacian as he crouched in front of him, smiling back and enjoying the look of wonder in the child's face and the glances he kept stealing at the helmet with those wide brown eyes. "Even a little kid is awed by the might of Rome, as he very well should. He'll grow up under it." He switched to Latin and raised himself to full height again, turning the smile into a smirk directed at the woman. She looked supremely displeased that he had had the nerve to have her brought into the tent. Still clinging to whatever strands of tribal pride remained within her, Titus presumed, but slavery would beat it out of her in time. He turned his back on mother and child and sat back down behind his desk, all hints of leniency gone as he examined them with steely eyes, chin resting on his hand. "Humour me," he continued. "You're the wife of the sod who's now theoretically chief and this is his son and heir. Correct?" The defeated Dacian chieftain had not said anything about who was left of his kin, but he did not need to: the desperate looks he had cast this pair when they'd been shepherded into the enclosure where women and children were originally kept and the subsequent relief and submission when he saw they were unharmed had spoken volumes. A wicked smile played on his lips. "So why should I spare you?" He would give her the chance to grovel and beg for their lives - at least the boy's, if not her own. Titus found that the humiliation of no longer being master of their fate broke these arrogant types better than any whip. @Sara

"It's cool now, but it gets really hot when we actually start cooking." With few windows and only a few tubes to draw out smoke and heat, the building was like a reverse greenhouse. On a hot summer day right before a meal would be served, it was like being inside a brazier, but Safinia had not experienced that yet since she had only joined the Whites in autumn. In winter, if only a few fires were going, it could be bitterly cold. Huh. Safinia never would have thought that an unimposing figure such as Bassus would have friends in high places and be rubbing his skinny shoulders with the elite of Rome. His explanation about the quote from earlier piqued her curiosity - she knew next to nothing about Jews, only that they had a reputation for being troublemakers. "They only have one god?" she asked with a slight hint of interest. He had said 'their god', not 'one of their gods'. "He must be very busy all the time if he has to do the work of all gods. What an odd people," she commented offhandedly as she exited the kitchen, holding the basin awkwardly in front of her. She'd seen some of the assistants carry them on their heads in a fantastic display of balance, but Safinia wasn't at that level yet, and she wasn't going to start practising with an object that big. Unsure if the charioteer was following her, Safinia raised her voice in case he was trailing behind by a few feet. "Do you know a lot about Jews, Bassus?" The distance to the fountain was covered in a matter of seconds. Safinia shoved the basin under one of the spouts and waited for it to fill with water. At least there were no thirsty horses to share the water supply with, not for the moment. A quick glance to the side told her Bassus had come with, possibly delighted to have an excuse to keep listening to the sound of his own voice. Sweeping an errant lock of her from her forehead with the back of her head, Safinia thought about his offer. It couldn't hurt to know who to steer clear of. She looked up at him, squinting because of the sun. "Have you been here long? Do people come and go all the time or is it steady employment? Who are the sorest losers?" The questions were fired off one after another like arrows with nary a pause for air between them. @Beauty

"There's not a lot to tell," he started, looking at Longinus with some confusion. He knew how that sort of thing was handled, why act like a whore pretending to be a virgin? Barbatius' curiosity was quite natural, and if any of the man's slaves were eager to know how the story ended, they hid it very well. "Anyway," he shrugged, "demotion to centurion for the prefect, for being stupid enough to get caught." In addition to having lost his rank and prestige, the man's pay had also gone down by an order of magnitude, but as a peregrinus, his punishment did not need to be especially severe. The legionary, on the other hand, had been a citizen - and, worst of all, on the receiving end of the act. "And fustuarium for the legionary." Titus had not particularly enjoyed giving the order, but lack of discipline was the mortal enemy of any legion and the gods be damned if he was going to let it settle in its midst. Fear kept men alert and fighting fit better than excess camaraderie. It occurred to him that Barbatius, being a civilian, would likely not know what that meant, so he felt the need to provide a succinct, matter-of-fact summary. "That means being beaten to death with sticks." Sure, they could try to escape, but most never managed to. That one hadn't. And now he had probably killed that easy-going mood they had managed to create, since everyone had gone as quiet as the barber's slaves. @Atrice @Sara

She still was not interested in what had transpired in the charioteer's life, but since he was trailing after her and there was nothing else to do, Safinia resolved to listen to his story. All his grinning was a bit bemusing, but maybe he just was one of those people who enjoyed smiling for no particular reason or simply to celebrate the fact that they were alive. So he came from a family of farmer scribes? That was original, yet not completely idiotic since they could make money by writing letters when whatever they planted wasn't bearing fruit. "Important people? Like Caesar?" It didn't occur to her pleb self that plenty of people all over the empire could be considered important without having to go quite as high as the Imperial family. Safinia keenly considered the quote Bassus had shared, racking her brains as she walked in an attempt to figure out if she had heard it before. It had sounded unfamiliar, and her memory wasn't helping to change that impression. In the end, she simply shook her head no. "Never. Where is it from?" As they entered the kitchen goosebumps appeared all over Safinia's arms. The cool building whose walls were darkened by smoke was a welcome change from the glaring sun outside, much hotter than any autumn day had the right to be. She dumped the leeks unceremoniously on a big table and glanced behind her, suggesting that Bassus do the same. Now she would have to fill a basin with water so the leeks could soak. As she picked up the big earthenware container, she wondered if Bassus would continue to follow her to the fountain right round the corner. If so, then she truly was stuck with him. @Beauty

While the slave was off preparing her concoction, Titus was trying to come up with a plan as fast as his overtired brain would let him whilst still paying a modicum of attention to the conversation between the other two senators. For the state he was in, he considered it a mighty fine plan: the slave would come and hand him a cup of that famous tisane, he would thank her out loud and right after that drop his voice to a murmur and ask her in Brittonic (or what his mind insisted passed for it) if she had a sister. Regrettably, it failed the moment she placed the cup on the table in front of him and immediately retreated back to her master's side. And it had been such a good spur-of-the-moment plan, too. Disappointed, Titus grabbed the steaming cup brought to him and gave it an experimental sniff. Minty. He took a careful gulp and not one second went by before he put the cup back down with haste, spluttering and coughing like there was no tomorrow. Now he knew that Tertius Quinctilius Varus was an immensely rich man, because only the fabulously wealthy would have an elephant-sized supply of pepper and allow his slave to use it all on one single cup. Was the bloody Briton trying to poison him? Feeling tears come to his eyes, Titus flushed in both embarrassment and effort. "My apologies, it's hotter than I expected it to be." Vapour was still emanating from the cup, so even though that wasn't the type of heat he was referring to, it provided a good excuse. He would have to let it cool down... and mentally prepare himself for a few more sips so as not to be impolite. Longinus may yet be of use, though. Perhaps he could be goaded to place the female slave's origin in a roundabout manner. "Senator Longinus has spent quite a lot of time in Britannia in command of our glorious legions, so he's grown used to their accents." He slowly turned his head to look at Longinus, willing him to play along. "Say, doesn't Senator Varus' slave sound a bit similar to mine? Where was she from again?" Now to redirect the conversation to the reason for their visit, hopefully in a sufficiently graceful way. To buy himself some time Titus brought the cursed peppery cup to his lips again, finding that it was a lot more bearable now that the infusion had cooled down a bit; the honey was finally coming through. "Of course, his dedication to service is why the pastimes of ladies like Sergia elude him," he added with a small amused smile. @Atrice @Sara

Until their mention by the barber, Titus had paid no mind to the slaves assisting their master. They were being quiet and unobtrusive, as they should, but just how much of that was loyalty and how much was fear was anyone's guess. Now that he peered at each of them, he found their expressions inscrutable. "You don't necessarily need lots of money," Titus countered. Sometimes a day off or the chance to earn a bit of coin for themselves was all it took. "But I do agree that time is a precious commodity for you." Barbatius certainly worked fast, though not at the expense of excellence. He was one of the few skilled workers who could manage both at the same time. As Longinus started yapping about Britannia for the umpteenth time Titus couldn't help but sigh audibly and roll his eyes. Even in his deathbed the man would be reminiscing fondly about that bloody land, and it wouldn't surprise Titus if he had arranged in his will for his ashes to be scattered there. The mention of Longinus' first stint as a legate, on the other hand, rolled right off his back - or so he tried to make it look like. Now that he had had his turn too, the thorn in his side didn't dig as deeply as before... and Titus liked to think he had grown not only older but wiser and more worldly. "Britannia, Britannia, Britannia. I know you're happy to have a fresh audience, but please, have mercy on me." He turned to Barbatius with a look halfway between amusement and annoyance. "This is the twenty-sixth time I've heard this story." In actuality it was only the third or fourth, but it would be a sin not to exaggerate. It was revenge for Longinus being right, because he did not have any strikingly juicy stories of his own nor was he a particularly gifted storyteller; that role fell to his better half. "It's probably not what you're looking to hear, but in Dacia I walked in on one of my auxiliary prefects getting fellated by a legionary." He didn't know if Barbatius would understand just what was outrageous about such a story, but Longinus should be as shocked as Titus had been at the time. "It did not end well for them," he added with a hint of mystery, although it would be the obvious conclusion to the tale to anyone in the know. @Atrice @Sara

These are my mental images for the Valerii-Flacci: Publius (Grumpius Maximus) Valerius Flaccus, aka Kevin J. Wilson in 'Spartacus' (the TV series). Valeria's mum Romilia Marcella, or Carrie-Anne Moss in 'Pompeii', and yes, she's much younger than her husband. Gaius Valerius Flaccus, Valeria's literal brother from another mother and lovingly nicknamed Porcus. Kiefer Sutherland in 'Pompeii'. And now for the kids, because no-one, absolutely no-one, not a single soul asked for them. Mackenzie Foy starring as Sulpicia Flacca. Gabriel Bateman or, in a previous life, Publius Sulpicius Rufus. And last but not least, Elle Fanning as Sulpicia Valeriana, scourge of teenage Briton nannies across the Empire. Recessive traits ended up converging in her because genetics are fickle and she turned out to resemble Uncle Porcus the most, but hey, that happens in RL too.

Titus easily caught the key Longinus threw at him and gave the other man a look of reproach. He had nothing to gain by messing with the records, and he was not enough of a masochist to make things needlessly difficult for himself just to tease Longinus. He inserted the key into the lock and carefully turned it until a small 'click' could be heard. "Oh, have your eyes become so bad that you wouldn't be able to notice little errand boy interfering with them if he were to do so?" He removed the key and set it aside along with his goblet before lifting the lid. The frown on his face as the contents of the box became visible was unavoidable; 'order' was apparently an optional concept in this camp, and instead of the neatly rolled-up scrolls he had expected, what greeted him was a mass of loose papyri and scrolls all tucked out of place. "Don't know, bloke didn't bother to sign with his full name so I assumed he's the only Mantius in here. But why should a simple errand boy know the name of your soldiers?" Titus drawled, knowing fully well he was riling Longinus up beyond safe levels. Payback came swiftly enough though, and whilst the legate had flushed under his jabs, blood drained from Titus' face as he processed the well-aimed insult. It had hit with surgical precision, and it hurt. It hurt worse than any other words flung at him today, and all the more because it was the truth. He closed the lid abruptly with a loud clack and rested his trembling hands on it, fingers twitching and itching to clench into fists to sock Longinus' smug face with. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It didn't quite work. He whipped round suddenly with balled-up fists and murder flashing in his eyes, and it was only Aulus' calm, steady order-request that stopped him from lunging at Longinus and punching every single tooth right out of his mouth. His shoulders heaved as he tried to regain his bearings and Titus focused on breathing through his nose for a few seconds, entirely unaware that it made him resemble an aggravated bull. At last he felt calm enough to reply, though his voice still shook with anger. "That would be appreciated, yes," he turned to Aulus, thanking him silently with a nod. Diverting the conversation - if it could still be called one - towards a suspicious slave trader had been a smart move. "You might have seen or heard something from your men when they go see the whores," he muttered in the guise of an explanation since Longinus was too busy fuelling most of his brain power towards being an arsehole and was not leaving enough for the few cells that actually did some work. But why would a hardened centurion be reluctant to punish another soldier? It came with the job and everybody knew that; not even friends or tent comrades were safe. "This flogging episode, how long ago was it? And when did this Tabnit fellow show up?" @Sara @Sharpie

Brilliant work, Sharpie! What a treasure trove of resources

If the only reason why Sergia had not found a husband yet was a busy or negligent paterfamilias, that could be worked around, eventually resorting to unsavoury actions if Longinus really was smitten with the young woman. However, if it was because the whole family were off their rockers, then Longinus had better run like a hare from a fox. With baggage like that, the poor girl would have a hard time finding a husband unless Varus knowing picked a fight with his brother. Good one, Longinus, Titus thought to himself with a hint of sarcasm from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Of course Sergia would be lauded as incarnate Minerva, Juno and Venus all in one, the perfect woman. They all were until you laid eyes on them or they opened their mouths. If Tertius had been favourably impressed by Longinus as prospective husband for his niece so far - and all appearances led to that being the case -, then he would proclaim the virtues of the young woman like the merchants at the Emporium did their wares. But at the end of the day he was only there for support, and it would be for his friend to decide what to do next. Tertius' female slave introduced herself to them and it was her accent that finally ignited the spark of recognition in Titus. Of course! It was his own slave Nymphias who she had reminded him so strongly of. One was blonde and the other brunette, but both had round faces with big clear eyes and the same small, feminine build. Hadn't Nymphias mentioned a sister in one of their early conversations? This woman could very well be her. But how could he make sure without alerting her owner? Her rattling off of herbs and honey distracted Titus from his findings and he found himself nodding at her suggestions. "That would be lovely, thank you," he croaked back, already daydreaming about the poppy. How grand it would be to conk out in the arms of Morpheus and sleep this fever off... if he were in his own home. If he did fall asleep at Varus' place, it would not look good on him or Longinus. "But will it still work if you leave out the poppy?" When he returned home he would have to ask Nymphias if she too was adept at preparing soporific tisanes. He could think about how to confirm his suspicions while the slave went and prepared the remedy. In the meantime, he made sure to thank their host for his solicitude. "It was most kind of you to send for your slave on my account, Senator Varus. I am in your debt." @Atrice @Sara

"I don't need to suggest anything, legate," Titus countered with gritted teeth. His grip on the wine cup was so tight that his knuckles had turned white, and had it been made of ceramic instead of metal it would have cracked into a dozen shards by now. "The facts speak for themselves." And the facts were that yes, over a hundred slaves had neatly been stricken from the records with no account of an epidemic that might explain it, and Longinus could take that as he would. Titus let the other two discuss possible culprits as he counted to ten in his head in an effort to regain his bearings. He needed to be going into this with a clear head, or as clear as possible. If everybody was on the defensive, himself included, it would only delay getting to the bottom of things. "For what it's worth, I've got two theories. One, your man has been successful at this sort of dealing for a while and has grown bold and careless. Two, your man has let somebody else in on the scheme and said partner is more careless." There was a third, more outlandish theory featuring blackmail and a convoluted cry for help based on the hope that such a brutal difference in numbers would be investigated, but Titus wouldn't pulling that one out of the hat unless the others led nowhere. This Appius bloke they talked about meant nothing to him; for all Titus knew, he could have been one of the gambling quartet he'd come across. Since he had no input to give there, he rose from his seat and walked over to the box Longinus had pointed out to examine it. It appeared to be locked, but that wasn't particularly reassuring. For a skilled army blacksmith, duplicating a key would have been a simple task. He drummed his fingers on it in a random rhythm, mentally reassembling what he knew. Aulus' question was a good one, and he had an answer to give. "Mind, this is confidential. The earliest records from four months ago were signed by two optios, a Macro and a Tiberius Calidius. Then a Pollio takes over, though he neglects to note down his rank. The newer records are signed by an Ennius, a Petronius and a Mantius, no ranks mentioned either." Going forward, Longinus might want to be a bit more strict on that, and request that they add their praenomina too for good measure. "Any of those ring a bell? What does that lanky centurion of yours have for a cognomen?" Titus gestured at Longinus to get his attention and then down at the box with the records. "Care to open this for me?" He had only had access to a sort of digest probably compiled by a scribe and sent over to the proconsul's office, whereas the original camp records should be much more helpful. Different handwritings, different signatures, numbers turned into other numbers, things crossed out or pages suspiciously missing - that's where the clues were, and by Mars he would find them, even if he had to study the scrolls by candlelight until his eyelashes fell off. It could very well be the case that names had been altered - it would not be the first time a dead man miraculously managed to write his name on a document. "By the way, have you happened to notice if any new slave traders have been following you lot about? Unfamiliar faces?" @Sara @Sharpie