Caius marched in lockstep behind the generals through the base; nobody said a word. The group arrived finally at Lucullus’ office, a squat, square building perched on a hill overlooking the entire camp. For a man so obsessed with appearances, this building must be a constant insult to the General. Caius stopped on the threshold with a salute, waiting until the generals noticed him; an enlisted man must never enter the lodgings of a superior without express permission.
Kaneshiro turned to Lucullus with a smirk. “You lost him,” he said gently with his almost indistinguishable Hakata accent, pointing back at the entrance. Caius maintained his salute. Lucullus turned back as if having forgotten that the young soldier was even with them. “Oh, of course. Enter, young man. Please,” the general said with a firm tone.
Lucullus plopped down on a plush red couch, put his boots up on the table in the center, and gestured silently to a chair across from him. Caius clanked awkwardly in his formal armor as he took a seat, sword banging against the polished wooden chair frame. General Kaneshiro remained standing silently in a corner, contemplating Caius through small circular glasses perched on the rim of his nose. Medals and awards of a hundred different color combinations decorated his shoulder patches and draped down his arms like an old tree covered in moss. They tinkled quietly every time the general moved. Instead of traditional golden formal armor with the emperor’s eagle emblazoned on the front, he wore plain steel armor stamped “SPQR,” the initialism of the civilian government.
“Can I get you anything, lad? I can have the servants whip up some dinner for you if you’re hungry,” Lucullus said, assessing Caius somewhat suspiciously with watery brown eyes peering over his prominent Roman nose. “Or perhaps some coffee? We’ve got the finest beans from Ethiopia; none of that powdered nonsense.” His voice carried a hint of pride, as though it spoke to his clout that he was able to get coffee beans.
Caius was tempted; it had been a long time since he’d had real coffee. But he declined politely. “No, sir. I’m fine, thank you.” No need to appear greedy in front of my superiors, he reasoned. A good soldier does without.
Kaneshiro gave him an almost unnoticeable nod of approval, but said “The boy isn’t going to ask you for anything, Lucullus. He’s not stupid.” Kaneshiro turned to a servant waiting just outside the doorway. “Three cups and a hot pot of coffee.” Caius silently thanked the old man, who was indeed famous for (among other things) knowing what his troops needed with almost clairvoyant accuracy. The servant dashed off to the kitchens. “And bring the boy some dinner,” Kaneshiro shouted after him.
“I suppose you’re wondering why you have been summoned,” Lucullus said, leaning back on the plump, luxurious cushions of the couch and examining a slightly worn sleeve cuff with extreme distaste. He stayed silent for a moment, letting the suspension build. “Well… so are we.” He stopped, studying Caius intently for any reaction, as though he suspected that Caius might know the reason.
Caius waited. Surely there was more. Lucullus sniffed, disappointed that Caius didn’t reveal the secret.
“We received a call this afternoon,” Lucullus continued, gesturing to the video monitor on his desk “From the Emperor himself, summoning you back to Europe. Only you,” the general added with emphasis. “Any reason you can think of why the leader of the civilized world might be interested in talk to you?” Lucullus could barely contain his disdain as he said ‘you,’ emphasizing that Caius was just a pitiful worm, one grunt in an army of millions.
The servant bustled in suddenly with a laden silver tray of cups, cream, and sugar. Caius exhaled, thankful for the momentary interruption. A second servant brought a bubbling pot of coffee spewing aromatic steam that filled the room. He poured it into the delicate silver mugs and scampered back out of sight. Lucullus loaded cream and spooned sugar into his mug, stirring it endlessly; Kaneshiro smacked his lips as he drank his coffee black. Caius only took a dash of cream and sipped quietly.
After savoring the flavor for a moment, Lucullus turned back to Caius, still awaiting an answer.
“I’m not sure, Sir.” Caius responded. The generals stared, waiting for a better explanation. “Perhaps something to do with this last mission? I don’t know how someone in Rome would have found out about it already, but sighting that Ming warship all the way up here by Japan is pretty important.”
“Ming ship?” Kaneshiro asked, narrowing his eyes. “Are you sure it wasn’t Japanese?” Caius recounted the story for him as quickly as possible, including dive-bombing the ship to get a view of the uniforms. “Interesting. This is definitely important…” he stroked his mustache. “Perhaps they are forming an alliance. We would need some confirmation from our intelligence inside the Foreign Ministry…”
Lucullus rolled his eyes as Kaneshiro started muttering plans to himself. “Regardless of how important your find, that’s not why you were summoned. The message was transmitted just after you took off; before the ship was even sighted. And besides; these are matters that he leaves to the War Council. He rarely takes interest in the day-to-day affairs of the war. What more could the Emperor need to know, and why bring you directly to Rome?” His tone was pretty clear: Lucullus did not appreciate being left out of the loop on these things. His role as middleman of that type of information was all he really had.
"There's nothing about the mission that you didn't tell us?" Lucullus asked, trying to hide the suspicious undertones of the question. “No other encounters with the enemy? Or maybe some previous mission where you saw something?”
He had no response, and the generals were silent. Caius looked down at the silver mug, emblazoned in red with the imperial eagle crest. “Do you know anyone in Rome, Caius? Is there anyone you correspond with? Anyone that you have talked to about the camp here?” Lucullus’ suspicious tone grew hard, almost threatened.
“No, sir. Nobody.” Caius responded firmly. No one that I could report your incompetence to, he wanted to blurt out.
Lucullus eyed him, trying to gauge his honesty.
“Well, that’s that, then.” Lucullus said at last, and once more leaned back and sipped from his coffee. “Let’s get the boy to the train station.”