XXXI: The Colloquies: First Arrivals

Dust gathers on the road as four black steeds trample into view. Their burden is a wooden carpentum with four iron-ringed wheels and the cross-swords of Mars painted upon both its window shutters.

A nod from the Servian Lord brings out the day’s groomsmen, a chatty pair of teenagers wearing their warmest best. The young men corral the panting beasts, promising them fresh water, plentiful lucerne, and a soothing brush—they deserve all of it and more after such a laborious journey from Bellagio.

The carpentum door swings open, liberating a bearded Planus Caesar who stinks of dandelion incense. His chestnut hair is too short for the wind to mislay, but his dark yellow tunica is fair game, whipping about harshly beneath a black bearskin toga.

“There she is,” Skipio teases. “Bellagio’s truest beauty,”

Planus bats his eyes playfully. “Have you missed me, Tribune?”

They embrace until Planus pulls away to study the taller man’s teal tunic.

“You know,” he says without humor, “that color went out with the warm weather,”

“Are you tired?” Skipio cocks his head. “You sound tired,”

“After a full day of sitting on what barely qualifies as a cushioned bench,” Planus gripes with both hands kneading his buttocks, “my best portions are desperate for a hot soak,”

Actus leaps out the opposite side door, clean-shaven and sun-kissed even in winter. The neck hole of his dull ochre tunic gathers around his throat thanks to the heavy duffle slung over his shoulder.

“My porter,” Planus announces. “Careful with my bag, or you get no tip!”

Actus flashes an angry stare before addressing Skipio as Servius Tribune.

“Stop calling me that,” Skipio scolds, gently shoving the man’s head.

Caeso and Optus relieve the newcomer of Planus’s burden. “I forgot how steep the road gets in these mountains,” says Actus, gazing at the majestic peak looming above them.

“Go inside,” Skipio orders fondly. “Get yourself something to eat,”

Actus gives a start before quickly jogging to the porch.

“Did you see that?” Skipio shakes his head. “You think he’s still chasing after Niko,”

“Our dear Actus has a rather full dance card these days.” Planus always knows more than he should.

“Did this Plinius fellow not ride with you?” Skipio asks, walking back to the carriage.

“Oh, he’s in there,” Planus explains. “And far wiser than me, having slept the entire trip on the baggage shelf,”

“A wise man? Good to hear.” Skipio notes his friend’s confusion. “My sister invited him without telling me, so I’m praying to Juno that she’s finally got marriage on her mind,”

“Marriage?” Planus laughs. “With little Pliny? I don’t think Juno’s listening, my friend,”

“Vita talks him up constantly, telling me he’s an excellent draftsman.” Skipio slaps away Planus’s effort to untie his summer tunic. “I couldn’t find his name on the guild list, though,”

“We’ve had him to the garrison with his uncle,” reveals Planus. “He’s made some excellent suggestions about the drains,”

“Solid designs?”

“Better than yours,”

“Excellent,” Skipio beams. “If he marries my sister, I’ll put him in the guild myself,”

“About that,” Planus warns. “Don’t get your hopes up,”

The carpentum door opens, and two boyish legs blindly seek the ground. Beneath a green toga and deep red tunic, yellow leggings gather above tiny sandaled feet.

“Surely you remember Plinius,” whispers Planus, watching the new arrival struggle with his arms full of scrolls. “He was born on this plantation,”

“Here?” Skipio asks.

Opiter Plinius faces his host, the mustache over his lacking upper lip too thin to be authentic. He removes his yellow hat, revealing a brownish bowl cut that rims the ears.

His airy voice comes on uncertain familiarity. “Servius Tribune, you’ve gotten taller.” He drops the scrolls and playfully taps his host’s brawny arm. “And thicker,”

Childhood memories seize Skipio. “Secunda Opita?”

The man wilts like a spring rose under the summer sun.

He clears his throat. “My name is Secundus Opiter Plinius,”

“I reacted the same way.” Planus puts an elbow on Skipio’s shoulder, then looks to Opiter. “Forgive us both our trespasses,”

“I haven’t seen you since you were,” Skipio lowers his voice. “Since you were a little girl, playing dress up with my sister,”

Opiter smiles politely. “That’s not me anymore,”

“Are you sure about that?” Skipio wonders in amusement. “I recall seeing you in my tunics, always playing legionnaire, husband, or king,”

Opiter smiles, his little teeth whiter than the clouds. “I didn’t know you were in the house when I visited, Skipio,”

“I got exiled to the village, but I saw you in my clothes and thought my sister had replaced me.” Skipio drapes his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and walks him to the porch. “You were the only girl willing to play the boy,”

Planus points to Opiter’s scrolls and bag, sending Caeso into action.

“This made him extremely popular with the other girls,” Skipio adds as Planus joins them.

“It was the same for me, Opiter,” boasts Planus.

“Yes,” says Skipio. “During drills, our Planus always played the damsel in distress,”

“The wig made me shine,” Planus muses.

“I required no wig,” Skipio brags, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“No,” Planus sighs. “Your face was always too pretty,”

“I assure you, Legate and Tribune,” Opiter laughs. “I no longer dress up for playing,”

Skipio gives him a silent inspection. “First, call me Skipio, and him, Planus,” he orders, arms folded. “Next, tell me, when did you leave the village?”

“About a year after your departure,” Opiter says. “My father had passed, and your mother wasn’t keen on paying mine his pension, so she took me to Bellagio to live with her family,”

“My mother was of poor character when it came to such things.” Embarrassment colors Skipio’s shorn head. “Your family deserved better. You will not leave here tomorrow without what you’re owed,”

“It’s in the past, Skipio,” Opiter assures, following him to the porch.

“Not for me. Your father taught me so much during my time in the village,” Skipio climbs the stairs. “I was sad to hear of his passing when I returned,”

The beautiful village triplets greet them, buckets of warm water at their feet and drying rags tied to their waists.

“This is Apollonia, Agata, and Aricia.” Skipio extends his arm to the benches, and when Planus and Opiter sit, two of the teenage women fall to their knees and begin removing their leather-capped sandals.

“There’s always an Apollonia,” says Planus, making the girl beside them smile.

“We grow apples,” Skipio says, crossing his arms. “It’s as predictable as rain,”

Opiter laughs. “Are they sisters?”

“No,” Planus says. “They look exactly alike because they have the same mother,”

After laughing, Opiter addresses his host.

“I was sorry to hear of Lady Scipia,” he says. “My condolences,”

Skipio nods. “Is your mother still in Bellagio?”

“She passed last summer,” says Opiter. “While I was still in Rome,”

His eyes widen. “Rome?”

“First, I went to Mediolanum but couldn’t be myself there, so I went to Rome.” Opiter giggles as the girl begins washing his feet. She smiles up at him, leaning over with her large breasts on display. “I became the man I always was,” he mumbles, looking away. “And after that, got my education,”

“Tell him where you studied,” Planus says, ignoring the girl washing his feet.

“I apprenticed under Apios,” says Opiter.

“The foreman for Gaius Pormer?” Skipio comes closer. “Did you get to meet Pormer?”

“Very briefly,” Opiter giggles again as the bosomy girl begins drying his feet with a warm, lemony rag. “He’s a strange man. Drinks his own piss,”

Planus and Skipio share a laugh before Planus tugs at Skipio’s toga.

“You need to get inside and change this,”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“It’s a bit out of season,” Opiter says after a look from Planus.

Skipio says, “I searched for you on the guild rolls, Plinius,”

“You’ll never find my name there.” Opiter stands and steps into the soft sandals set out for him. “The esteemed Tiberius Jeventius tells me there’s no place for a woman in any guild unless it’s for prostitutes,”

Skipio winces. “What?”

“He said that?” Planus gasps, his washed feet wiped dry.

“Not that he deserves a defense, but his words came from a righteous point of anger.” Opiter pulls a candied date from his toga and hands it to the girl. “He spent months trying to marry me to his daughter, Mucia the Younger,”

She takes the ripe round fruit, looks him in the eyes, and shoves it into her cleavage.

“Agata,” Welle appears on the porch, clothes draped over his arm. “Stop tarting,”

“Not tarting,” she mumbles, cleaning up her towels.

“Lord Skipio.” Welle offers pale brown pants and a dark blue tunica. “Lady Vita has asked that you wear this with your golden toga,”

“At least someone in this house is fashionable,” teases Planus.

“Your toga hangs in your office.” Welle lends a cordial smile to Planus before something makes him frown. “Get that thing out from between your tits, Agata, or they’ll be stuck together by nightfall,”

“Opiter,” Skipio says, changing out of his clothes on the porch, much to the triplets’ interest. “You could’ve told Jeventius that you preferred men,”

“It’s worked for Skipio and me thus far,” Planus nods.

“It’s worked better for Planus,” Skipio adds as Welle returns with the toga and drapes it over his shoulder. “No one seems to care about my tastes. I got at least ten invites from men looking to marry me off to their daughters, and I’ve only been home a week,”

“I had employed that strategy first, but Jeventius didn’t seem to care.” Opiter lowers his voice. “He told me to procure myself a Ganymede but never tell his daughter,”

Skipio’s eyes roll, and Welle sucks his tongue.

Planus’s mouth drops. “A true phallus with feet,”

Welle laughs, “I’ve missed your wit, Lord Planus,”

“And I’ve missed your smile,” he counters.

Welle turns serious. “You’re too familiar, Lord Planus,”

“I’m not your lord,” he says softly. “I’m your friend,”

A little serving girl emerges from the foyer carrying a silver tray of fruit and nuts.

“Are these mandarins from the east?” Skipio asks her.

“Mister Actus brought them for his uncle,” the girl lights up at his attention but then whispers. “But don’t ask me anything more because I’m to serve and stay quiet,”

Welle beams down at her and winks. “I must know, Lord Opiter,” he then asks. “What did this Juventius do when you told him his terms weren’t acceptable?”

“He didn’t quite believe me,” Opiter whispers. “Until I showed him.”

“Showed him what?” asks Welle.

Planus gently takes Welle’s arm. “Our dear Opiter was born with the wrong body,”

“Oh,” Welle says, glancing down to the man’s crotch. “Forgive my rudeness,”

“I am not offended,” says Opiter. “And please leave off the Lord when addressing me,”

“It’s a force of habit around Romans,” Welle says.

“There are no Romans,” Opiter grins. “Outside of Rome,”

“Don’t let that rumor get started,” Planus laughs.

“Opiter,” Skipio finishes the orange and begins sucking his fingers. “Surely you have something in your pants for when you’re out and about,”

Welle gives a start as Planus groans, “Why would you ask that?”

“I’ve met plenty of men with slits in the brothel,” Skipio defends. “And they’ve always got a phallus to call their own, somewhere nearby,”

“I showed old Tiberius mine,” Opiter lowers his voice, mindful of the child. “After he realized it couldn’t give him grandchildren, he had me physically tossed out of his house,”

“Tiberius?” Welle says. “Are we talking about Tiberius Jeventius?”

“Shit on a rope,” Skipio declares, and the little girl chuckles.

“Do not repeat that,” Welle whispers, sending her back inside with a gentle push.

“That bastard’s coming here tonight,” adds Skipio.

Opiter nods, “Vita warned me,”

“That old fart better mind himself,” Planus announces. “Or we’ll be tossing him out the door,”

“Not tonight,” Skipio advises. “I need that old fart for now, but once I’m done with him, we’ll get Opiter here some righteous justice,”

Planus joins him in some devious laughter. “We must make sure it happens in Comum,” he says, hands rubbing together. “When all the women are in the marketplace,”

“Oh yes, and I know just the thing,” Skipio says, taking his arm and walking him inside.

“Um, no,” Opiter follows them, mandarin in hand. “None of that is necessary at all…”