“We’re not talking about little things, Marcus,” the agent said with dispassionate certainty. “We’re talking about Franks raiding from the Rhine to the Pillars of Hercules, while Goths and Herulians spill through the Bosphorus into the Aegean.”
“Well, I know that, of course, but – ”
“Do you know that we were damned near caught by those German pirates when we sailed from Sidon? That
they were this close – ” Perennius snapped his fingers – “before a little storm blew up and separated us?”
“I’ve said how much I appreciated your haste in returning, haven’t I?” the Director said. The spray in his hands was trembling so much that the bee retreated from its flower cup and hung an inch or two away in the air, buzzing querulously.
“Marcus, sir,” the agent went on, “everywhere I go, I see the big landowners shutting off their estates. They grow for themselves, they manufacture whatever they need in house, they’ve got their own armies . . . and the good gods help the tax gatherer who dares to set a foot on their lands.”
“Aulus, there are agents assigned to that duty – ” the Director began.
“Then they’re doing a piss-poor job!” his subordinate shouted. “Piss poor. And the coinage!” Perennius reached into his purse. “Have you tried to get someone to take a recent denarius, Marcus? Without feeding it to him at the point of your sword, I mean?” He found the coin he wanted, a freshly-minted piece with the bearded visage of Gallienus on the obverse. The stocky agent strode to the fountain in the center of the garden. A marble boy held a marble goose on his shoulder. Water spurted from the beak of the goose and the penis of the boy. Gesturing with the coin like a conjuror introducing a sleight, Perennius then rang it leadenly on the stone curb.
“No difference but shape between this and a sling bullet,” he asserted with bitter accuracy. “Even the goddam wash on it – ” his thumb kneaded the shiny surface – “is tin, not silver.”
Navigatus said nothing. Perennius took a deep breath. In a voice much quieter than that of his last diatribe, and without meeting the Director’s eyes, he said, “Marcus, you say ‘trust other people to do their duty.’ Nobody does their duty but you and me, and the Emperor. And when I see this – ” he spun the coin expertly off his thumb. It made a glittering arc over his head, then splashed down in the fountain where the two jets merged – “I swear if I don’t think I’m giving his Majesty too much credit.”
“You don’t want to say that,” Navigatus murmured, correct in a number of ways. The bee had left him, but the spray of blossoms was still again in his hand. “You know, Aulus,” he said to the flower, “I’ve never meant to be other than a friend to you – ”
The agent paced quickly to the older man’s side. “I know that, Marcus,” he said. “I didn’t mean – ”
” – but I sometimes regret what I’ve done,” the Director continued, quelling the interruption by raising his eyes. “If I hadn’t – pushed you, you might be much happier now, one of Postumus’ battalion commanders and married to that little girl of yours.”
“Nobody makes another person into something he wasn’t before,” said the younger man quietly.
“I often tell myself that, my friend,” said Navigatus. He let the gladiolas fall and took Perennius by the hand again.
The agent stared at something far distant from the clasped hands on which his eyes were focused. “Besides,” he said, “Julia ended it herself. Her – emotional state was causing conflict with her duties as a priestess.” As old as the phrase was in his memory, it still had edges that could tear. “That’s why I accepted the transfer to Numidia with you, Marcus. Not because of the promotion.” He smiled at their linked hands.
“Ah,” said Navigatus. “I, ah. … Well, of course, there’s still the matter that forced me to recall you from Palmyra, isn’t there?”
“Indeed there is,” agreed the agent as he led the other man to one of the stone benches against the back wall of the garden. “When all else fails, there’s always duty.”