by R. W. Peake
Once Alex finished his inspection, I needlessly reminded him, “You’re taking her to your apartment. If I’m able, I’ll come there. But if not,” I had to swallow the bile down, “I’ll be sure to send someone, probably Gemellus to let you know, or maybe Mus if he was allowed to remain Optio.”
We clasped arms, I gave Bronwen one last kiss, wiping away the tears as I assured her that everything would be all right, then I left the inn and began the walk down the street that leads directly to the main gate of the home of both my 1st and the 20th Legion. Despite it being early and still dark, I saw familiar faces, probably because they all seemed to be turning to watch me stride past, my sagum—the regulation sagum and not the fur-lined one—wrapped around me against the bitter cold. Clutching my vitus, I strode towards the gate, immediately recognizing that it was the turn of the 20th to mount the guard, but although I did not know the correct watchword, the Optio in command of this guard recognized me. In fact, if I was any judge, the look he gave me as he allowed me to pass was one very close to pity, but I simply nodded my thanks and continued on, heading for the building that is both the quarters of the Primus Pilus and the Legion office. I did not knock, entering immediately, but I did not recognize the clerk who was in the process of beginning the day; fortunately, Menander quickly emerged from Sacrovir’s personal quarters, where he came to a dead stop, his features going pale.
“P-Pilus Prior Pullus?” he stammered.
“Am I?” I asked, then amended, “The Pilus Prior, I mean?”
He did not say a word, instead spinning about and disappearing back into Sacrovir’s private quarters. What happened next, oddly enough, calmed my nerves, because I was left to stand there, with what I supposed was the clerk replacing the one whose name I never learned studiously ignoring me. This is not only not uncommon, it was a tactic that I had used myself, where I made a man under punishment sweat as he stood there, wondering what awaited him when I finally deigned to see him. However, whereas I normally always thought that time dragged more slowly than normal, at this moment, I knew that I stood there for a third part of a watch because the bucina sounded the change. Somehow, I managed to stand there, not moving, for the entire time, my helmet under my left arm, clutching my vitus, at the position of intente, staring at a spot above the door. Finally, I heard footsteps, then the door opened, and Menander reappeared, refusing to look me in the eye.
“Primus Pilus Sacrovir will see you now,” was all he said, and I marched past him into the private quarters of my Primus Pilus.
This time there was no invitation to sit at the table against the wall; Sacrovir was dressed in only his tunic, but he sat behind his desk, and I felt his eyes on me as I marched up to it, saluted, then rapped out, “Quartus Pilus Prior Gnaeus Pullus, reporting for duty, Primus Pilus.”
Using a trick I had learned from my father, I was staring at a spot just above Sacrovir’s head while concentrating my attention on the lower part of my vision, so I was able to see that he had a scroll, partially unrolled on the desk, which he seemed to be studying. Either he’s a slow reader, I thought, or he’s doing this to torment me, and I immediately opted for the latter. Finally, he let out a long breath, then dropped back against the back of his chair.
“I can’t do this,” he said in what sounded like a weary voice. “I can’t waste the time.”
Suddenly, he stood up, and to my utter shock, he actually indicated the table that I was certain would not be used. Of course I did as he commanded, but I still was unsure whether I was expected to sit; I got part of my answer by the manner in which he dropped into his own.
“If I had any discretion in the matter,” his tone was cold, which matched his words, “I would have you dismissed from the Centurionate for not reporting back here at your first opportunity. Yes,” he held up a hand, presumably to forestall what he thought I was going to say, “there were extraordinary circumstances. Saloninus went to great lengths to explain what you were facing. And,” he allowed, “if you had chosen to come directly to Ubiorum, I would have done everything in my power to approve you an extended leave for you to help your family.” For the first time, he actually looked me in the eye, “Pullus, I doubt you’ll believe this, but I’m not only very aware of what your father and great-grandfather’s name means to men under the standard, I respect the name a great deal.” His voice became softer as he said, “I would have done everything in my power to give you every opportunity to help the Pullus family, if not for you, then for your father’s memory. But,” he raised both hands in a helpless gesture, “when you didn’t return, you took that power out of my hands.”
Honestly, I was trying not to vomit on his desk, because I was almost certain that Primus Pilus Sacrovir was speaking honestly.
“I’m…sorry, Primus Pilus,” and it was my turn to stop him, holding up a hand, “and I know that doesn’t amount to an amphora of piss. It’s just that when I learned what the ransom cost my family, I…” all I could offer then was a shrug, “…decided they needed me more than the Legion at the time.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Sacrovir snapped, and I could not argue with this, so I did not try.
Instead, I simply asked, “If we don’t march for our families, then who do we march for?”
“The Imperator!” he shot back, but I was not going to back down, not about this.
“Who’s here to protect all of Rome’s citizens! My family are citizens, Primus Pilus, and I wanted to help them!”
I was certain this would anger him; if anything, it appeared to make him sad.
“I know you did, Gnaeus.” This was the first time I could remember that he ever used my praenomen. “But if every man under the standard ran off to help their families in their time of need, we’d be unable to field more than a Cohort of men.”
He was right, and I knew it. As Pilus Prior, I was responsible for approving or denying requests from the men of the Fourth Cohort when they asked for leave to rush home to help out with some emergency, and I could count on one hand the number of times I had granted it. I was unsure what was expected of me, so I was determined that I would keep my mouth shut, despite the fact that I was acutely aware it carried a substantial risk of angering him further.
Therefore, of course I blurted out, “You said that it was out of your hands, Primus Pilus. Does that mean that,” I had to swallow past the lump that materialized in my throats, “the Propraetor had already decided my fate before he returned to Rome?”
Sacrovir did not reply immediately, and I had the sense that he was tormenting me, so I did my best to keep my face a mask that, hopefully, portrayed how calm I was and ready to accept my fate.
Finally, he said tersely, “Only in a manner of speaking, Pullus. Wait here,” he said abruptly as he got up, crossed to his desk, where he picked up the scroll that he had been examining, but before returning, he opened a drawer and withdrew a second scroll that I could see was still sealed. Returning to the table, he dropped the unopened scroll in front of me and waved the other one in his hand as he informed me, “This came yesterday, and it’s from the Propraetor, and it concerns you.” Once again, he fell silent, his eyes on me, except this time, he seemed to be considering something. Suddenly, he pointed to the scroll in front of me, and said, “Before I tell you what this,” he waved his scroll, “says, I’m asking that you open that and read it first.”
This seemed unsettlingly odd to me, which was what prompted me to counter, “You said ‘ask,’ Primus Pilus, but is that an order?”
To my surprise, he shook his head as he replied, “No, it’s not an order; it’s a request, Pullus.”
It was difficult, but I managed to control the tremor in my hand when I broke the seal that I had instantly recognized as belonging to Germanicus, and I had to tilt it towards the nearest lamp to read it, which I had to do twice, and even then, it did not seem to make sense.
Sacrovir’s patience wore out, and he snapped, “Well? Are you going to tell me what it says?”<
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“That,” I found it hard to form the words, “I’m being detached from the 1st and ordered to report to the Propraetor in Rome for a new assignment.”
Sacrovir’s eyes narrowed, and I heard the suspicion there as he demanded, “Is that all it says? It doesn’t say what this new assignment is?”
Rather than answer him verbally, I simply handed him the scroll, which he scanned before he dropped back against his chair.
“So,” he said as if he was talking to himself, “he had already planned this before he heard about what you did.”
This, while informative, only deepened my confusion, and I felt that since I had let Sacrovir peek under my tunic, as we say, it was only fair that he do the same, so I held my hand out for his scroll and asked, “May I read that, Primus Pilus?”
His answer was immediate, and in the negative, actually pulling it away as if he expected me to try to snatch at it.
“No,” he answered coldly, “you may not. However,” he seemed to think about it, “I will tell you this much. You’re still reporting to Rome to Germanicus. And,” he hesitated slightly, and I could see that he was still thinking furiously about how much to disclose before he went on, “I can also tell you that this,” he waved the scroll, “while essentially the same, does add one thing I’m willing to tell you, and that your detachment from the 1st isn’t permanent.”
To my ears, this was good news, and I could not keep the smile from my lips.
“So, when I come back, I’m going to command the Fourth again?”
“No, that’s not what it means,” Sacrovir snapped. This time, he used his free hand to point at a spot on the scroll as he said, “Germanicus has made it very clear that, while you’re only going on a temporary duty and that once completed to his satisfaction, you’ll be returning to the 1st, he leaves it entirely up to me to determine what role you might fill. And,” he added ominously, “at what rank and post.”
I could not really think of an appropriate response, so I simply said, “I’ll be leaving at once, Primus Pilus. But,” I knew I was taking a risk, “I do have one request.”
“What is it?” he asked in a tone that did not bode well.
“I’d like to go talk to the boys of the Fourth,” I said. “I’d at least like to check and see how many of them made it back to Ubiorum and how many we lost at sea.”
To my surprise, Sacrovir actually looked embarrassed, which he confirmed by muttering, “Of course, and I should have thought about that, Pullus.” He looked directly in my eyes as he added, “I wasn’t lying, Pullus. I understand why you did what you did. And,” he shrugged, “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have done the same. I also know that your men have been extremely worried about you, and their morale has been for cac. So,” he stood up then and gestured to the door, “go see your Cohort. They should be in their huts.” I, of course, had gotten to my feet as well, and I saluted him, which he returned, then just as I reached the door, he called to me. When I turned, I saw a glimmer that might have been a smile, “And, Pullus? I think that since you owe your boys a few rounds of drink at the Dancing Faun, you might want to delay your departure a day. I suspect that your head will be too sore to leave tomorrow.”
My first surprise when I walked into the Fourth’s office and my former quarters was seeing Alex standing over Balio, who was seated at what should have been Alex’s desk. Both of them looked up, not only as surprised as I was, but Alex was the only one who looked guilty.
“What are you doing here? I told you to wait with Algaia and the baby. And,” I asked suspiciously, “where’s Bronwen?”
“She’s with Algaia and Iras,” he assured me, then admitted, “but I couldn’t stand the wait, and I figured this would be the first place you came once you got through with the Primus Pilus.” He paused, but when I said nothing, he asked impatiently, “Well? Has there been any decision made?”
“There has,” I felt a bit guilty that he had to ask, then I stepped past him as I headed for what I still thought of as my private quarters, “but we’ll talk in private.”
It was Balio who coughed and did so in a manner that I knew meant he wanted my attention. When I turned to look at him, he was plainly nervous.
“Pilus Prior, the Primus Pilus has made some…changes in your absence.”
Of course, I thought with some chagrin, and I intended to convey that I was not going to be holding Balio responsible for what he was about to tell me, but before I could ask, the inner door opened, and someone stepped out to demand irritably, or at least start to demand, “What’s all the talking out here? I was trying…”
Licinius stopped in mid-sentence, his jaw dropping, so I suppose that in one sense we were twins, but before I could stop myself, I gasped, “He made you Pilus Prior?” I had not meant it the way it came out, at least not completely, but Licinius’ face flushed before I could say, “I…apologize, Licinius. I know how that sounded. It’s just that I’m surprised.”
I could see this did not appease him that much, although his tone was polite as he explained, “With Structus dead, I am the most senior Centurion in the Cohort…Pullus.”
While I could not honestly begrudge him refusing to address me by a title that I no longer held, it still rankled, but before I could make matters worse, Alex spoke up.
“He did confirm Saloninus as Pilus Posterior and moved Gillo up to Princeps Prior.”
This did make me happy, and having a moment to think, I realized that this was not only appropriate, it made sense. My initial objection to the idea of Licinius being Pilus Prior was that his tenure with the Fourth was not all that long, but he had been the Hastatus Prior of the Third Cohort, one of the only Centuries of the dead Malugenensis’ Third that acquitted itself well when we had been ambushed in the battle where my father fell during our rescue of Segestes and his family. And, now that some time has passed, I also recognize this had colored my view of Licinius as well, but he was a competent Centurion. Besides, by rights, Saloninus’ promotion to the Centurionate had always been a source of worry for me because of his missing eye, so not only having it confirmed, but having him stay with the Second Century was something for which I could be grateful to Sacrovir for allowing, and Licinius too. Calpurnius was remaining as the Princeps Posterior, which was important as well, because I still did not trust the man, and I knew I was not alone among the other Centurions.
I cannot lie; it pained me to do so, but I thrust my arm out to Licinius, and with as much sincerity as I could muster, said, “I’m happy for you, Licinius, and I think the Cohort is in good hands.” The look of gratitude and relief on his face was quite rewarding, but I knew I was still treading on potentially dangerous ground, which was why I said, “I have a request to make.” Licinius agreed, albeit cautiously, but when I told him, “I’d like to go visit all of the boys and see how they’re doing,” he was clearly happy to comply. On an impulse, I added, “I’d also ask that you can join me so that you can tell me how badly we got hurt on the voyage back.”
“Let me grab my vitus,” he agreed, which gave me a moment to talk to Alex.
“You didn’t unpack, did you?” He shook his head. “Good. I also need you to get my personal items from storage, because we’re leaving again.”
His eyes searched my face, but when he asked, “Where to?” I shook my head and whispered, “Not here. Later when we go to your apartment.”
While he clearly did not like this, neither did he hesitate, already slipping out the door before Licinius reappeared.
“Now,” I said, as much to forestall him asking about Alex’s disappearance, “let’s go give these misbegotten bastards a surprise, shall we?”
The news about my Cohort, which is still how I think of them even now, was better than I dared hope, almost astonishingly so.
“It took about two months, but we got all but about two sections’ worth of men back,” Licinius explained as we headed for the quarters of the junior officers. “And, if the truth be known, I don’t think th
ey died; I think they all deserted.” When I glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, he simply rattled off the names and their respective Centuries, and with one exception, I believed he was right. Just before we got to their quarters, Licinius stopped me. “Pullus, I just wanted to let you know that, while I know you promoted Mus acting Optio of the First, I didn’t keep him.” I was opening my mouth to ask why when he apologized, “I’m sorry, I didn’t say that right. He’s still Optio, but I moved him to the Third to serve under Gillo and brought Clustuminus with me. I trust him, and he’s been with me since I came to the Fourth.”
This was something that I could not argue against and not be a hypocrite about it since I had done the same thing with Saloninus when I took over the Cohort, and I told him as much, which clearly relieved him. Then, in something of a petty move, I was the one who rapped on the door with my vitus before throwing the door open with even more vigor than I would do normally, the crashing of it against the wall making the four men who were sitting at their table leap up, startled.
“Just as I thought,” I growled in my best impersonation of my father as I could manage, “I leave for a few days, and here you all are, fucking about.”
The last part was drowned out by the shouts, and it was Gemellus who reached me first, my Signifer’s expression of happiness matched by my own. All formality was ignored as I clasped arms with each of them, then embraced, including Clustuminus, who I congratulated on his move up.
“We thought you had decided to stay there!” I believe Gemellus said this, but it was Poplicola who said jokingly, “If he stayed for that red-haired girl, who could blame him?”