by Peake, R. W.
“How long has this been going on?”
“Since they arrived in Nicopolis,” Gaius spoke up, but he was not through with the surprises. “But I’ve been in love with her since the night we met.”
“What?” I was flabbergasted, my jaw feeling like it would drop to the floor. “But the first night you met, she was trying to kill us!”
“Because she had to,” he said defensively, but my mind was still struggling to comprehend all that was happening.
“Love? Love?” I repeated the word, looking over to Iras, who nodded shyly.
Now that the secret was out, she only had eyes for Gaius, and when I turned my attention back to Gaius, I saw him gazing back at her like a moonstruck calf.
“Love,” I said disgustedly, shaking my head.
“Yes, love.” Miriam spoke, her voice firm. “You supposedly know the meaning of the word, Titus Pullus, since you tell me that you love me all the time.”
“But that's different,” I protested, knowing as the words came out of my mouth the reaction it would get.
“Why is it different?” Gaius demanded. “I love Iras, and she loves me. What more matters?”
“You mean, other than the fact that she's a slave? That you can’t be married?”
“I'm well aware of that, Uncle,” Gaius replied sharply. “But that doesn't mean we can’t be happy.”
“That's exactly what it means, boy,” I sighed, but I also knew a hopeless cause when I saw it. We stood there in awkward silence for several moments before I finally spoke. “Well,” I grumbled. “You might as well kiss her goodbye. Then we can all go back to bed and get some sleep before it’s time to get up. We’ll talk about this more in the morning.”
Gaius opened his mouth, looking like he wanted to protest, but he took a look at my face, and just gave an abrupt nod. Not waiting to see the young couple embrace, I turned to stalk back into the bedroom, feeling foolish now with a sword in my hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I asked Miriam the next morning, but if I was expecting her to act repentant in any way, she was not showing it.
“Because I knew you would not take it well,” she replied.
“How am I supposed to take it? The girl is my property, and he's my nephew.”
“What can it hurt? They are young, Titus Pullus, and they are in love.”
“What can it hurt?” I echoed. “It can hurt plenty, and it can hurt both of them. What end does Gaius see for this . . . distraction?”
“Distraction? It is no distraction! They say they are in love and I believe them. He is even talking of marriage.”
This was even worse than I thought. “He can't marry her! She's a slave, and he's in the army.” I made no attempt to hide my alarm at this development.
“It seems to me that he can marry whoever he wants,” she said mildly.
I shook my head in irritation. “You don't understand our ways. Gaius could only marry Iras if his father, as paterfamilias, gives his consent.”
“And you are not his father; you are his uncle. So I suggest that you let this be or you will just drive them together.”
It was only then that an idea that had been slowly forming in my mind became clear.
I blurted it out, as usual without thinking it through. “But I plan on adopting Gaius and making him my heir so that he will be an equites.”
Miriam looked like she had been slapped, which puzzled me, at least until she spoke. “And what of our children? If you have a son, then what of him?”
I had not been expecting that, although looking back I do not know why it should have been a surprise. I had given up on the idea of having children, simply because after Miriam’s loss of our baby, she had not become pregnant again, through no lack of trying. Even with all of my frequent absences, it seemed to me that if she could have gotten pregnant, she would have.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said slowly, and she looked even more hurt.
“You have given no thought to having children?”
“It’s not that,” I said hastily. “It’s just that, since you lost the baby . . .” My voice trailed off, since it was a painful memory, although not nearly as hurtful to me as it was to her.
Still, her voice was steady as she replied, “I plan on having children with you, Titus Pullus. I make offerings every day, not just to my gods, but to yours as well. So I have not given up hope. But,” she turned her mind back to the matter at hand. “You did not answer my question. If we have a son, and you have named Gaius your heir, what happens to our son?”
“I'll have to think about that,” I admitted.
“And what of Gaius’ father? Surely he would not consent to having his son taken away from him in such a manner.”
I started to explain the Roman view on adoption, how it is a very common thing, and how men were happy to allow sons to be adopted if it would advance the son’s status and fortunes, but there was no time. Promising to explain later, I made myself ready to go to camp.
We settled into the winter routine, checking gear back into stores, carefully greasing and wrapping the artillery pieces, exchanging unserviceable pieces of equipment, all of which had a wax tablet or scroll that had to accompany it. Little did I know that as much paperwork as there was in the army at that point, under Octavian’s reforms this was minuscule compared to what was to come. Speaking of Octavian, he had returned to Rome to a hero’s welcome, the accolades heaped upon his brow exceeding even his adopted father’s in number and accrued glory. The most important action he took was the closing of the doors to the temple of Janus, signaling the end of war, at long last. Those doors had been open for the last twenty-plus years, telling all of Rome’s citizens that the Republic was at war, and it must have been quite a moment for Octavian finally to be able to close the doors at long last. The members of the Senate fell all over themselves getting into line to see who could proclaim the most loudly and eloquently all of the great deeds of the man now known as Caesar, although in my mind he was always Octavian. I had at least learned not to slip up and refer to him in this manner, and I suppose that now he is secure enough that he will let an old man have his one small act of defiance in referring to him by the name under which he was born.
In his usual manner, he wasted no time in basking in the adoration of the people and the upper classes, instead starting on his reforms almost immediately. He announced his plans for the Legions, causing quite a stir throughout the ranks, and not a little fear among the citizens. At the height of the war, there were 59 Legions on both sides, with Octavian’s plan calling for that number to be reduced to less than half that number, 28 in all, but that reduction had already been taking place for some time. Some Legions would be allowed to finish their enlistments, while others, unsurprisingly most of Antony’s Eastern Legions, had either already been discharged or would be immediately. The last of Antonius’ loyal lieutenants were dealt with, and here Octavian’s policy of clemency was not quite so all encompassing. Sosius was forgiven; in fact, he was given a governorship, but Canidius was not, and was executed by Octavian. However, it was for the memory of Antonius himself that Octavian reserved his most vicious treatment. His name was stricken from the Fasti, where all events pertaining to the Republic are recorded, while all statues of Antonius were removed, his name stricken from all bronze tablets. Not content with that, Octavian also prompted the Senate to pass a resolution that made the naming of any member of the Antonii with the praenomen Marcus against the law, then had the date of his birth declared nefas. It was as if Marcus Antonius never existed, but removing the memory of the man from the minds of Romans everywhere was not as easily done; even today, people still talk of his exploits as if they witnessed them personally. Despite Octavian’s best efforts to erase all trace of Marcus Antonius, his memory still lives today, and I believe that it will only grow as time passes. For all his flaws, and all of his failures, Marcus Antonius walked like a giant among his fellow Romans, larger than life but fatally fl
awed, and most surprisingly to me, his relationship with Cleopatra has become as important to his story as anything else he did.
I had been giving much thought to what to do about Gaius, now that I had learned of his affair with Iras. He avoided me for a couple of days afterward, but soon enough the pull of whatever it was that he was feeling for Iras became too strong to overcome. I dealt with the situation by ignoring it for the most part, despite being concerned that he was seriously considering doing something stupid like making their arrangement permanent. While I had not completely made up my mind to do so, I was giving much thought to adopting Gaius and making him my sole heir, so that he would have the bulk of my estate and most importantly my status as equites when I died. I was so sure that his father, the elder Gaius Porcinus, would not object that it did not even occur to me to write to him or Valeria to tell him of my plans. There were sweeping changes taking place at all levels of the Republic, in both the army and in the civilian world, of which I planned on taking advantage, knowing that it was rare for such opportunities to present themselves. I also began spending time with some of the oldest men, men of my dilectus like Vellusius, trying to make sure that their affairs were in order, and to find out what plans they had made. The system of banking by the tesseraurius, while not started by Caesar, had been more stringently enforced under his command, so all of the men had something set aside, some more than others. I was most concerned about Vellusius, Herennius, and a few of the other old veterans who were essentially unfit for any other type of work. The toll of 32 years of marching, making camps, and fighting was severe, so that these men hobbled about, crippled by wounds, their hands gnarled from gripping spades and turfcutters. Their backs were bent from the weight of their furca, and even when they did not carry their packs, they leaned slightly to one side like they did. They were covered with scars, they cursed horribly, and they were more or less unfit for any other company besides themselves. If they did not have sufficient means to provide for themselves, they would end up begging in the streets of Rome, or worse, and I for one did not want to see any of my men resort to banditry. Most of them had accepted the idea that their days under the standard were coming to an end, but for a few the prospect of life as a civilian was more terrifying than any foe they ever faced. Vellusius was one of these, and when I called him to my office, I learned that he was harboring the idea that he would be allowed to continue marching.
“Vellusius,” I said as gently as I could. “What do you think the prospects are of you finishing another enlistment?”
He blinked rapidly, a habit of his that showed he was nervous. “I haven’t given it much thought, Primus Pilus. I just know that I can still outmarch and outfight any man in this Legion, I don’t care how much younger they are!”
That might have been true just two or three years before, but it was no longer the case.
I had no desire to hurt Vellusius by pointing out the truth, so I agreed with him. “You're one of the best in this Legion, Vellusius. But all of us old warriors have to hang up their sword at some point. I’m going to do it myself, you know that.”
“I know, Pullus, but you'll still be with the army. And I can’t be Evocatus, can I?”
“No,” I acknowledged, since the position of Evocatus was open only to those in the Centurionate, and Vellusius, while a good Legionary, was no Centurion.
“But haven’t you always wanted to open a wineshop, or farm?”
He looked confused by the question. “Why would I want to do that? It’s too much work.”
He gave me a grin that was almost completely toothless.
“Vellusius, do you really think that marching every day, then digging the ditches and chopping the wood for towers and building roads is less work than running a wineshop?”
That got him blinking even more rapidly while he considered the question.
At last, he just shrugged. “It’s not work that I’m used to, I guess. I never really wanted to do anything more than be under the standard. I’m happy here, Pullus. I just don’t see why I can’t keep doing what I like doing.”
How does one respond to that? I wondered. With all the complaining, the men trying to shirk their duties at every turn, or outright deserting their comrades, here was a man who loved all of it, and all he asked was to be allowed to continue. But I had to think of the Legion first, and the brutal truth was that Vellusius was not fit for full duty any longer. He had forgotten, or refused to accept the fact that he had struggled mightily on this last march, which had been one of the easiest we had ever done. He did not straggle, finishing with the Legion every day, yet had retired early, and as each day progressed, had looked worse for wear. It caused me great pain to tell Vellusius the truth, and I struggled to find the words. The gods chose that moment to give me an inspiration in the form of an idea popping into my head that caused the words to come tumbling out before I had a chance to think things through.
“That’s too bad,” I began, “because I was hoping that I could convince you to give up marching under the standard for a chance at some easy duty that will allow you to remain in the army.”
That got his attention, and he leaned forward, his face a picture of avid curiosity. As hard a worker as Vellusius was, and as willing as he was to do whatever job he was given, he was a Legionary through and through, and there are no more magic words to a man’s ears than “easy duty.”
I said nothing for a long moment, savoring Vellusius’ anticipation. “You know that I am assuming a new post, don’t you?”
Vellusius nodded.
“And with this new post of Camp Prefect, I'm authorized to have a bodyguard. I've given it a lot of thought, and there's no man I'd rather have watching my back than you, Vellusius.”
He stared at me for several heartbeats, his expression confused. This was not the reaction I was expecting, and my heart sank as it seemed that he would spurn my offer.
However, the source of his consternation became clear when he asked, “Why in Hades would you need a bodyguard, Pullus? You’re the best man with a sword that I ever saw, and you’re stronger than two men put together.”
I relaxed, knowing that this was an objection that I could handle with relative ease.
“But I don’t have eyes in the back of my head,” I explained. “And I don’t have ears everywhere. I won’t be leading a Legion, which means I won’t be as close to the men as I'd like, and I need someone who's respected by the rankers. That's you, Vellusius.”
His face flushed, clearly pleased by my words, as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “What does it pay?”
“Twice what you're making now,” I said instantly.
His eyes lit up at the prospect of making more than a thousand sesterces a year, along with all the wine and whores that would buy.
He stood up, offering his hand. “Primus Pilus Pullus,” he said formally. “I'm yours until death.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” I replied, taking his arm in return.
Vellusius left a happy man, while I sat down to try and figure out a way to make what I had just offered happen, since I made it all up on the spot.
The beginning of the year that was the occasion of the fifth Consulship of Octavian started auspiciously for me, when Miriam came to tell me that she was pregnant. Despite being extremely happy, there was a fair amount of nervousness because of what happened the last time she was pregnant. I immediately sent Iras to pay for a white kid goat to sacrifice to Bona Dea, and I was careful not to hug her too hard, which Miriam laughed about. Aside from my personal life, most of my time was devoted to the business of the retirement of this dilectus of the 10th. I decided that in my last weeks as Primus Pilus, I would take the opportunity to remove all of the dead wood from the ranks, culling those men of the replacement draft that had proven to be slackers, malingerers, or cowards. Despite this not being a particularly large number, it was enough that between the retiring veterans and them, the 10th as a Legion would essentially exist no more, at le
ast until the youths that would fill its ranks got some experience. Even more damaging to the prospects of the Legion would be the loss of Centurions, since more than two-thirds had announced that they would be retiring as well. From the First Cohort, only Laetus and Macrianus were staying on, and I knew that there was little chance of either of them being named Primus Pilus. Octavian would undoubtedly take this opportunity to put a Primus Pilus in place that was of his choosing, someone he could control and would be predictable in his actions. It was understandable, and if I had been in his place, I would have done the same, like I did when I became Primus Pilus with the Centurions under me. That did not mean it would be easy, and that those Centurions who were staying would like it, or even have a spot available for them. With the size of the entire army being reduced, there would be a glut of Centurions to fill the available slots, so the competition would be fierce. And lucrative, I thought, if whoever was making the choices was so inclined. As part of his reforms, Octavian was raising the pay of Centurions substantially, partly in an effort to curb many Centurions’ habit of squeezing their men by various means. I had serious doubts about how effective that would be, but I agreed that something needed to be done. There is nothing wrong with men paying their Centurions to switch guard shifts, or miss a fatigue, as long as it is not for punishment, but too many were going much, much farther.
Scribonius, Balbus, and I had resumed our evenings together, with Gaius a frequent guest, regardless of my mixed feelings about seeming to approve of his relationship with Iras. However, for once in my life I listened to Miriam and did not put any pressure on Gaius to break things off, accepting that it would only make matters worse. Most of the time we spent reminiscing, or discussing our respective plans for the future. Balbus had decided to try for status as Evocatus, with my patronage, while Scribonius seemed to be wavering in that direction, instead of returning to Rome. Balbus and I teamed up on Scribonius at every opportunity, working on him to make the decision to stay with the army. The idea of keeping Balbus and Scribonius nearby was incredibly appealing to me, for purely selfish reasons. Miriam was growing visibly larger, almost with every passing day, taking on that glow that pregnant women seem to have. Iras did everything she could to make her mistress’ life more comfortable, but I did not like the look of envy in her eyes whenever she thought I was not looking, watching Miriam walk by. I thought about warning Gaius to take precautions, but I quickly recognized that it would only make matters worse. He was an excellent Optio, at least according to Didius, his Princeps Posterior, and Nigidius, his Pilus Prior. Gaius had a bright future ahead of him, if he chose to stay in the army, but my hope was that I would be able to provide an option for him should he decide to leave the army. No matter how much I loved the army, and as well as Gaius was doing, it was never far from my mind that it is a dangerous profession. I had also never forgotten that I had been exceedingly blessed by the gods, and that what I had attained was available only to a very select few men. Gaius had many valuable and admirable attributes, but the one thing I had seen that he was missing was the gift of fury, that sense of rage that is unleashed when it is needed to win a fight, giving one the ability to do anything that is necessary to come out victorious. Because of that, I had great fear about what was in store for Gaius if he chose to remain in the army, and I wanted to give him another way to improve himself.