by R. W. Peake
“Yes,” he answered immediately, and to me, he seemed surprised that Alex was asking, “of course I did! I wouldn’t do that to Mama. Which,” his tone turned sullen, and challenging, “you would know if you’d spent any time with the family, and me.”
There it is, I thought, the boil that needs to be lanced, and a glance at Alex told me what I needed to know; Gaius’ words had struck home with his older brother.
Nevertheless, I was still surprised when Alex, without hesitating, replied, “You’re right, Gaius. I didn’t spend much time with you when we were all together, and all I can do is apologize for that. But that doesn’t matter right now. You said,” I could tell he was trying to remain patient, “you let Mama know. How did you let her know?”
“I wrote her a letter,” Gaius answered immediately. “But I couldn’t risk her finding it before the ship left, so I put it somewhere where I know she’d look, but not until it was the last place.”
Septimus and Alex exchanged a questioning glance at each other, but all Septimus could offer was a slight shrug, so Alex asked, “And where would that be, Gaius?”
Rather than answer directly, Gaius replied challengingly, “You should know. You’re the one who showed it to me.”
It took perhaps four or five normal heartbeats before the answer came to Alex, although he sounded hesitant as he offered, “The spot in the stable?”
“Yes.” Gaius nodded. “There. I left the letter there.”
“Actually,” Septimus spoke up, but with a grin, “as I recall, I’m the one who found it first. And,” he turned to Alex, giving him a playful shove, “I showed it to you and made you swear on the black stone it would be a secret.”
“I only told him,” Alex protested, and I could tell they had fallen back into their old relationship that had been formed long before I even knew the Pullus name, and I confess I felt a stab of envy.
“No, you didn’t,” Gaius interjected. “You told Scribonia and Gisela too. They were there when you showed me.”
“By the gods,” Septimus almost shouted, in mock frustration, “is there nothing sacred anymore?”
The three of them were laughing now, Bronwen was giggling, and even Demeter and Marcellus were grinning, obviously understanding this was all in good humor, but the only one who was not smiling or enjoying this was me, and I regret that it made me behave the way it did.
“I’m glad to see this touching scene,” I said, or snarled, sarcastically, “but it has fuck all to do with what we do with Gaius.”
The three of them did look somewhat sheepish, but it was Alex who spoke first, and he did not match my tone, a good thing, given how I was feeling in the moment.
“Now that I know my mother at least knows where he is, Gnaeus,” he said quietly, “I think that Septimus’ points were good ones. What do you think?”
As Alex usually does, he said the right thing at the right time, soothing my hurt feelings and sending the subtle signal that I was in command of this endeavor. Most importantly, he made me feel slightly foolish for my rancor about something that was not their fault, and really had nothing to do with the moment at hand.
Still, the words came grudgingly. “I think it’s not the worst idea I’ve heard. But,” for the first time, I addressed Gaius Gallienus, not as a family member, but the way I would a tirone, “if you ever disobey an order from me, or,” I indicated Alex and Septimus, “from them, you’re going to wish you had never crawled aboard this ship. Do you understand me?”
I was pleased to see that he obviously did, because the color drained from his face, and even more gratifying, he began to shake visibly as he swore that he did and would abide by whatever he was told, without question. One thing I had learned from my father is how the twin pillars of respect work, one being out of love or regard for one’s superior, and for the system under which we operate, one based in fear.
“Whenever possible,” he told me on more than one occasion, “you want your men to follow you because the respect they hold for you is based in their trust that you’re doing the best thing for them under the circumstances. But sometimes,” his voice would always harden, “you’re going to find a stubborn cunnus, or more likely, be in a situation where the quickest path to obedience is because they’re more scared of you than they are of whatever they’re about to face.”
This was what I had in mind when I spoke to Gaius, and it was also to give him a taste of the kind of life he had told me he wanted when we spoke the year before, but I also knew that only time would tell if he liked that taste or not. This was how we added one more to our party.
Fairly quickly, we fell into the routine of shipboard life, although Bronwen had a bit more difficulty, mainly because once past Massillia, land is nowhere to be seen, so there is not even that distraction. She has an intense curiosity, and frankly, it proved to be almost exhausting trying to keep up with her mind as she asked question after question, but no matter what lies in our future, I believe we will both think back to this voyage as one of the best times of our lives. Naturally, on a ship full of men, she was the most popular person aboard, yet she handled even the clumsiest attempts by one of the crew to engage her in some sort of conversation with the kind of grace that left them grinning, even after she had evaded spending time around them. On the fourth day, we reached Elba, where we only put in for a watch to refill water barrels, but we spent the rest of the day along the coast, and she passed part of the time watching the land sliding past. It was two days later when we had our first crisis, although it was a small one, and it was totally my fault.
As we approached Ostia, which, next to Alexandria, is the busiest port in the known world, Bronwen and I were standing together, leaning on the railing, and I casually pointed in that direction, saying, “You know, Rome is only about fifteen miles from here.”
I heard her gasp, and she spun about to face me, her eyes wide as she looked up at me.
“Rome? We are close to Rome?”
I was getting the first sense that I may have made a mistake, but I answered honestly, “Yes, we’re not far away. But,” I tried not to sound desperate, “we’re trying to get to Alexandria as quickly as possible, and we’d lose at least a day.”
“But it is Rome!” she countered, and I was struck in the moment by the fact that here I was arguing with a Parisii girl against going to the city for whom I march that I had never visited myself.
Nevertheless, I managed to at least attempt to sound firm. “Yes, I understand that, Bronwen. But we can’t afford to waste time.”
“How can you waste time going to Rome?” She snorted, tossing her head in a manner that reminded me of Latobius when he did not want to accept the bit, which I wisely did not mention. Suddenly, she regarded me with narrowed eyes as she asked, “Have you been to Rome?”
I confess I was a bit ashamed to admit, “No, I haven’t. And,” I put my hands on both her shoulders, “I truly want to visit it. But,” I struggled not to communicate to her the depth of my concern, “it’s very important that we get to Alexandria as quickly as possible.”
“Why?” she asked, and her eyes were searching my face, which made it even more difficult to try and maintain at least a semblance of unconcern about my situation.
I decided to be partially honest.
“According to our rules,” I began carefully, “instead of going to Arelate, I should have reported to Ubiorum first. And then, I should have requested permission from my Primus Pilus for an extended leave to travel to Arelate, then Alexandria.”
I decided to leave out any mention that such a request would be beyond the authority of Primus Pilus Sacrovir, which meant it would go to the Legate, and unless things had changed, Germanicus was filling the roles of both Legate and Propraetor.
She listened, but when I was finished, it easy to see she did not accept it, which was confirmed when she argued, “But this is for your family! Surely they would understand!”
How, I wondered, can I tell her what it means to be a
Roman, and even more importantly, what it means to be a Roman Legionary, and a Pilus Prior at that? For a long moment, I considered broaching this topic, letting her know what she could expect being the woman of a Centurion of Rome. Oh, I had told her some of it; specifically, that we are forbidden from being legally married, yet this had not seemed to bother her. However, if the tribes of Britannia were anything like the tribes of Germania, she would have to become accustomed to her man being on duty around the year, and in some ways, we are busier in the winter than we are during campaign season. I did not, taking the coward’s way out by convincing myself that I was doing it for her, not wanting to be stuck on a ship, far from home, and now that her eyes had been opened, wanting nothing more than to return home.
Instead, I said, “They might have understood. But,” I shrugged as if I was a helpless bystander, “now it’s too late. There’s no way for me to explain why I didn’t return immediately. So we need to get to Alexandria, as quickly as we can, so that we can get back to Ubiorum before the campaign season begins.”
While I had ducked the subject of our future together, in the moment, I was satisfied that this settled the Ostia question, Bronwen agreeing somewhat reluctantly, although this time, we did put in for the night, whereupon Bronwen prevailed upon me to escort her around Ostia before dark, which is not an inconsiderable size. She never said as much, but I believe that this voyage also opened her eyes to something that the Briton tribes are somewhat insulated from: the true, raw power of Rome. Not that I believe they will remain ignorant for much longer; at some point, Rome will turn its eyes to that island, and then they will learn firsthand what we’re capable of. Hopefully, this won’t happen during my time under the standard, since I cannot imagine that Bronwen would be happy that I was going off to slaughter her people. That, however, is a problem for the future.
One thing that the voyage did, not just for Bronwen, but for all of us, I believe, was to give us an idea of just how much of our world Rome rules. It took almost four days to get from Ostia to Messana, where we resupplied. To this point, the weather had held, although it was often gray for most of the day. At Alex’s suggestion, and with Bronwen’s prodding, I was reluctantly convinced to allow my beard to grow.
“When you set foot on the dock in Alexandria, if you look like you do now, you might as well wear your full uniform. And that,” he indicated the tablet containing Saloninus’ pass that we had used to such good effect, “won’t be worth an amphora of piss. You know how Divus Augustus guarded Egypt, and Tiberius will be no different. A man from the Legions who doesn’t belong there is going to draw immediate attention.”
It was impossible to argue with that, so I did not try, but I was not happy about it. Otherwise, the voyage to that point was largely uneventful, and neither I nor any of the others had any complaints about how we were treated by Demeter and his crew. In fact, somewhat to my surprise, I found that I liked the Rhodian a great deal, although I still did not trust him, and I took some steps to reinforce that his opinion of me was a wise choice. With help from one of the crew who was their woodworker, we fashioned a crude rudis, and I resumed my practice of training at the stake, using the main mast, stripping to the waist despite the weather, which, although it was cold, was nowhere near what I had become accustomed to in Germania. Demeter and I had a bit of a disagreement, for which I was at fault, because the first time I trained, when I struck the mast, it left scars in the wood.
“I don’t need you chopping down my mast, Centurion!”
I thought that was a bit of an exaggeration, but the marks were plainly visible, and keeping in mind the possible role Demeter might be playing, I at least tried to appear contrite, though he did not seem fooled. It was on the second day that I got the idea, and I prevailed on the crewman to make three more rudii.
“I want to see just how well you handle a rudis,” I told Septimus, but before he could respond, I turned to Alex and said sharply, “and you’re out of practice.”
The truth was that I was not concerned about them, at least, not deeply, but for once, my plan worked to perfection.
“What about me?” Gaius spoke up. “I might need to handle a gladius!”
Rather than betray my satisfaction, I rubbed my chin, looking at him doubtfully.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, partially to send a message to the other two, “I’m not sure you’re ready.”
“Why?” he asked, not in a belligerent manner, exactly, but it was certainly challenging.
“Because these two,” I jerked my thumb at Alex and Septimus, “have already done some training, so it’s a matter of just practicing and knocking the rust off.”
Rather than reply to me directly, Gaius looked instead to Septimus, who spoke up. “Actually, Gnaeus, we’ve been working a few times a week since you and Alex left last year.”
This surprised me, but it shocked Alex, who blurted out, “Mama let you work at the stakes? How did you manage that?”
It was plain to see that this pleased Gaius, but he tried his best to appear nonchalant as he shrugged and said, “I just told Mama that I’d make her life miserable if she didn’t let me do it. I,” his voice changed suddenly, as he declared, “am a Pullus too! And the Prefect’s blood is in my veins, just like you,” he indicated Septimus, then me, “and you!”
This was certainly the truth, but I still worried that this might hurt Alex, but his face registered nothing that might indicate that.
“Well,” I said, “that’s good. Because,” now I walked to the mast, where I had hidden his rudis, and in one motion, reached down, grabbed, and tossed it to him in a test of his reflexes, “I had this made for you.”
He was clearly surprised, but he was not the only one as he still managed to catch it deftly by the hilt, giving me a hint about his reflexes. I led them to the mast, placing them around it so they were far enough apart to practice their forms, then began barking out the position, the order to thrust, the recovery, over and over and over. Since I had solved the problem Demeter complained of by using sacking that was held in place by pieces of rope, under which were layers of thick cloth wound around the mast so that he did not have to worry about marring the wood, I barked at them to put their power into each of them. First position, over, and over, and over, while I circled around them, watching as they thrust, recovered, and thrust. I was determined not to show it, but before Jupiter Optimus Maximus, I was impressed by what I saw. Alex was the best, which I expected, but Septimus was not far behind him. It was young Gaius Gallienus, however, who astonished me, and it was more difficult to hide my true feelings, as he twisted his hips with a ferocious power, while completely extending his arm, despite knowing that the jolt he would receive up it is painful when striking something solid. More than anything, it was his concentration, where he barely noticed my presence, his face set in a mask of determination, reacting instantly to my barked command to thrust. And, after a few repetitions, I saw that his rudis was striking the mast more quickly than either Alex’s or Septimus’, although it was by less than an eyeblink. In battle, however, a fraction of an eyeblink is the difference between life and death, yet what I found most impressive was how, when I moved to stand behind him but in a position where I knew I could be seen, he did not flinch, nor did he behave as if he knew I was observing him. His entire concentration was on the mast, as the sweat ran down his nose to fall onto the deck, his eyes narrow slits as he struck his target with the kind of focus that comes from the ability to transfer the enemy in your mind into the inanimate object in front of you. Only when I barked at them to halt did he glance over, and when he did, I smacked him on the side of his head, growling at him to pay attention. The first thing I did was to demand that he show me his grip, but I was not surprised to see that he was holding it in the manner that is now called the Vinician grip, that anyone bearing the Pullus name, and the men that Pullus may command, uses.
“Show me your first position!” I barked then, and he immediately dropped his hips
while pulling his arm back and, I noted with approval, held the rudis with the plane of the blade parallel to the deck, pulling his arm back as far as it would reach, so the point was hovering just inches in front of his baltea. I circled around him, frowning whenever I was within his vision while trying to hide my approval in the event he glanced over his shoulder. It was not needed, but I reached down and grabbed his waist, twisting it a bit, then I kicked his right foot a bit closer in, although it was not necessary, before grunting, “That’s not the worst that I’ve seen.”
I ignored the broad grin that spread across his face.
We sailed across the expanse from Sicilia to Greece in less than four days, the weather cooperating again, although the sun did not shine often. When we were not under oar power, we were able to use the sails to make progress, although it was still maddeningly slow. When we pulled in to what the Greeks call Akritirio Tenaro, or the town of Tenaros, at the very tip of the Maina Peninsula, five days after Messana, Demeter requested I meet with him in his cabin.
“So far, the voyage has been easy,” he told me. “But that is about to change. We are sailing southeast to Crete, but we are going to be hugging the southern side of the island, and there are not many places where we can put in if we run into bad weather.” To illustrate the challenge, he pointed to a spot on the map that he had unrolled as he explained, “In fact, the only possible spot is called Kaudos, which is actually a small island about twenty-five miles south of the main island.” His finger actually covered the island, but I took his word for it. “If we are fortunate, if there is bad weather, it will be there. Because,” he moved his finger, sliding it into an expanse where there was nothing there, “this last stretch will be open sea, and if we are caught out there by a storm, and it is bad enough…” He looked up with a grim expression and shook his head. Before I could reply, he turned his attention back to the map. “Now,” his finger moved back to Crete, “there is another route we can take that significantly reduces our time in open water, where we sail almost due south from Kaudos to Chersenesos Akra, then follow the coast all the way to Alexandria.”