by R. W. Peake
When the Centurions of the Fourth Cohort responded to the command by Vespillo to meet in his quarters, the irascible Pilus Prior was sourly amused, saying simply, “I know this is a waste of time since you misbegotten cunni have already heard, but when the Primus Pilus tells us to waste time telling you something you already know, that’s what we do, no matter how stupid it might be.”
While most of the Centurions chuckled, Pullus was certain there was a nervous quality to it, and the thought that crossed his mind was whether or not this was the sort of thing that Sacrovir would want to know about. Despite his opinion on the matter, Vespillo matter-of-factly laid out what he had learned from the Primus Pilus.
Once he was finished, there was a brief silence before Cornutus broke it by saying bitterly, “It sounds to me like Germanicus is dangling us out like bait.” He gave a sudden shudder, as if he had taken a chill, “And he’s sending us into that fucking place to do it? That’s even worse.”
“I’ll be certain to relay the displeasure of one of my Centurions to the Propraetor,” Vespillo countered, with the kind of sneer that Pullus had come to think of as his Pilus Prior’s normal expression.
Cornutus reddened slightly, but somewhat surprisingly, he did not immediately capitulate, saying stubbornly, “You know I’m right, Pilus Prior. Having us working like that in that forest? The men aren’t going to be any happier than I am. Or,” he looked around at his counterparts, and Pullus heard the almost pleading tone as Cornutus continued, “any of us here.”
Vespillo surprised Pullus, and he could see Cornutus as well when, rather than making another lacerating retort, the Pilus Prior nodded his agreement, “You’re right about that, Cornutus, I won’t deny it. And,” he took a breath, “no, I don’t like it any more than any of you. But those are our orders, and we leave in the morning.”
Standing, he dismissed them with the command to inform the men, and they filed out, with Pullus making sure he was the first one to do so, worried that if he gave Vespillo the chance to make some sort of cutting remark, the Pilus Prior would not hesitate. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vespillo staring at him malevolently, and he was actually opening his mouth when Pullus pushed the flap aside and stepped out into the Cohort street. Only after he had gone a half-dozen paces did he feel certain that he had escaped…this time, and he heaved an audible sigh of relief.
He had no idea whether it was because of that, but Structus, who was just behind him, called out, “By the gods, Pullus, if looks could kill, we’d be dragging your body out of there.”
The ragged chorus of agreement from the others did not make Pullus feel much better, although he did take some solace from the fact that it was not his imagination. Stopping in the street, they briefly conferred on the best way to alert their men, deciding that sending their subordinate officers to the tents of their respective Centuries with the order to assemble was preferable to having each Cornicen sounding the call to bring them out of their tents. As they quickly learned, not every Cohort handled matters in this manner, as the entire area of the huge camp occupied by the four Legions under the command of Caecina alerted their rankers of something that the officers were certain their men already knew. This was confirmed to be the case for Pullus, just by the demeanor of the men as they assembled in formation on the street, who seemed to be evenly divided by being either sullen or clearly worried.
“I’m not going to waste time,” Pullus began, “since I can see you already know that we’re leaving this camp tomorrow. We’re being given an important task by the Propraetor…”
He was cut off by someone near the middle of the formation who muttered loudly enough to be heard, “To be used as bait.”
Resisting his first instinct to bellow a demand for the offending ranker to reveal himself, instead, with a calm he did not feel, Pullus replied, “That’s only partially right, actually. We’re also going to be building a roadway that will support our heavy baggage and wagons.” Then, he could not stop himself from saying with as much sarcasm as he could muster, “Does that meet with your approval? Does whoever said that care to argue with the Propraetor about it?”
As he expected, there was nothing but a heavy silence, during which they could all hear the other Centurions informing their Centuries, while none of the men would meet his gaze as he scanned the ranks with a cold, hard expression that sent as much of a signal as anything he could have shouted at them.
He gave a disgusted wave of dismissal, saying only, “You know what to do.”
It did please him to see how quickly the men broke from their intente and begin scrambling towards their respective tents to begin the process of packing all but what they would need that night, but it was how they gave him such a wide berth as they did so that made him the happiest.
Saloninus came and stood by his side, and the pair continued watching as the last of the Second vanished into their tents; only then did the Optio say, “I won’t lie, Centurion. I don’t blame the boys for being worried.”
Pullus eyed Saloninus as he countered, “And you don’t think I’m not? Worried, I mean?” Before the Optio could reply, he finished, “But I also trust that the Propraetor knows what he’s doing. Don’t you?”
Saloninus knew not just by the words but the tone that there was only one right answer, and he tried to sound as positive as he could, responding, “Absolutely, sir. He’s proven himself time and again, so I know he’s doing what’s best for the army.”
Without thinking, Pullus reached out and gave Saloninus’ shoulder a brief squeeze, applying just enough pressure that it made the Optio wince, but his tone was jovial enough as he said, “Good. I knew I could count on you to see the right of it.”
Then, there was nothing more to be said, and they parted, each of them with their own tasks to do.
The sun had set, and Pullus was largely satisfied that the men of the Second had made their preparations to depart the next morning, but he was consulting the tablet that Alex had given him when the clerk had begun his service with him. As Pullus perused it, he had to acknowledge that this was a very good idea, and he did wonder why nobody had thought of it before. It was a list of tasks, nothing more than that, but it contained the kind of things that had to be done every single time before a Century marched, and Alex had shown him the value of incising a line through each item on the list once he was certain it had been done to his satisfaction. Mundane but important things, like the Sergeants of each section sending men to the quaestorium to draw rations, or the Optio checking every man’s pair of javelins to ensure the wooden pins were still in place and intact and that the soft shaft had not been bent because a man had been careless in using it as a walking staff, which happened sometimes. He had just crossed the last item off the list and was looking forward to the evening meal, the smell of the freshly baked castra paneris making his mouth water, when he heard a rapping sound on the block of wood that was hung from the ridge pole outside the tent. Cocking his head, Pullus listened to the voices, the canvas muffling them to the point where he could only recognize by the tone that Alex was talking, but it was the sound of footfalls on the sectioned wooden flooring that gave him an instant’s warning.
Still, when Alex pushed through the inner flap, he was completely unprepared to hear his clerk inform him in a flat voice, “Centurion, you’re wanted in the praetorium immediately.”
Pullus stared at him, thinking that this was some sort of jest, although between Alex’s expression and the fact that he could not summon a reason why this would be the case, he could see that it was not, but when Alex opened his mouth, presumably to repeat himself, it served to rouse Pullus.
Standing, he said loudly enough that whoever was beyond the partition in the outer office waiting for him would hear, “Very well. Thank you, Alex.”
He grabbed his vitus, pausing just long enough for Alex to give him a quick inspection, grabbing his tunic to straighten a fold, and for Alex to whisper, “It’s Tribune Gaetulicus waiting for you.”
“A
Tribune?” Pullus almost blurted this out but managed to catch himself and keep his voice to the same level of whisper Alex was using. “Did he say anything about why?”
Alex shook his head but said nothing, and Pullus pushed past him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, although it felt false to him since he could not think of any good reason he would be called. Nevertheless, he stepped out into the outer office, where Demetrios was watching with open curiosity, which Gaetulicus was ignoring.
“If you’d come with me, Centurion.” The Tribune was already moving to the flap as he spoke, making it clear that he wanted to spend as little time within the confines of a ranker’s tent as possible, even if it was a Centurion’s.
“Of course, sir,” Pullus answered, but taking advantage of the Tribune’s back being turned to him, made a face that caused both Alex and Demetrios to grin as he left the tent.
The pair strode down the street, which was now lit by torches, while there were men moving quickly about as they finished whatever tasks their officers had given them to prepare to move. Pullus made only one attempt to engage Gaetulicus, but while the Tribune was affable enough, obviously remembering their previous contact, he refused to divulge anything, even the identity of the person who had summoned him, although he did manage to sound somewhat apologetic. Giving up, Pullus occupied himself with trying to think who might have an interest in talking with him, deciding that it was most likely Caecina, although he could not think of any reason why. Unless, he was struck by a thought that was perilously close to fear, what Sacrovir had told him about keeping an eye on Vespillo had not originated with the Primus Pilus, but even higher up. Before the mutiny, he would have dismissed this out of hand, except that it had become increasingly clear in the months since that noble Romans had been shaken to the point that, for the time being, they paid much closer attention to the mood of the men in the ranks. How long this would last Pullus had no idea, yet somehow, he still could not quite picture Caecina being involved in Sacrovir’s instructions. It was only after they entered the praetorium, the guards waving them through, and Gaetulicus headed straight for the far side of the outer office, that Pullus begin to realize from whom the mystery summons had come. This was confirmed when Gaetulicus stopped at the small desk where another Tribune—Pullus recognized him but did not know the man’s name—was serving as the duty.
“Tribunis Laticlavus Gaetulicus, bringing Quartus Pilus Posterior Pullus of the 1st as ordered,” Gaetulicus rapped out, but Pullus was too distracted to notice that the Tribune had referred to him by his new name, which might have given him a clue about the purpose for his summons; the fact that the duty Tribune immediately waved them through was even more unsettling, so that was what occupied his mind.
Following Gaetulicus, Pullus frantically looked down at himself, worried that Alex might have missed some crumbs, or that the varnish on his baltea was scratched to the point that it would be noticeable, but he was only slightly relieved to see this was not the case.
“Wait here,” Gaetulicus said shortly, then walked to where Germanicus was, as had been the case before, sitting behind his desk, although this time, one of his clerks was standing behind him, leaning over his shoulder and pointing at a scroll that the Propraetor was examining.
Pullus watched as the Tribune presented himself, but he could not hear what was said, then Germanicus leaned over slightly to look past Gaetulicus and give Pullus a slight nod, which Pullus returned, hoping that the fact that he was twisting his vitus in both hands so hard that the slight cracking sound it was making was inaudible that far away. Gaetulicus saluted, took a step back, then executed the about turn and marched past Pullus on his way out, but the Tribune did glance at him and give him a nod that actually made Pullus more anxious. Germanicus did not call him immediately, continuing to confer in voices just above a whisper with the clerk, who nodded once, then a second time before Germanicus dismissed him, sending the man on his way.
Waving to Pullus, Germanicus got up and moved from behind the desk, which slightly confused Pullus, so he stopped farther away than normal and offered his salute as he rapped out, “Quartus Pilus Post…” but he was cut off by a wave from Germanicus.
“No need for all that right now,” Germanicus assured him. “This isn’t an official matter.”
“Oh?” Pullus asked reflexively, feeling his tension ease somewhat, while his confusion deepened. “I…I didn’t realize that, sir.”
“No reason you should.” Germanicus laughed, then indicated a small table set against the wall of the tent a couple paces from Germanicus’ desk. “Let’s sit down here. Would you care for some refreshment?”
“Er, no, sir,” Pullus fumbled, but naturally moved to sit where Germanicus indicated.
“Well, I’m a bit parched,” Germanicus said cheerfully, and, although he made no overt signal, the clerk who had been talking to him was suddenly there, except that he was holding two cups, which he set on the table. Germanicus indicated the cup in front of Pullus. “In case you change your mind.”
After the cups, the clerk quickly returned with a pitcher, and he filled both cups while Germanicus continued to peruse the scroll he had brought from his desk, which Pullus assumed had something to do with him, but he decided that it would have to be the other man to open the conversation.
Germanicus clearly understood this, because he gave a chuckle, then took a sip from his cup before he commented, “So, you’re going to play Stupid Legionary, eh? That’s understandable.” His smile faded, and for the first time, he indicated the scroll, which was now on the table between them. “Do you have any idea what this is?”
“No, sir,” Pullus answered, being completely honest.
“I’m assuming you know that my duties as Propraetor aren’t just restricted to military matters?” Germanicus asked, and when Pullus nodded, he continued, “Which means that civil matters that one of my clerks deems worthy are brought to my attention. Such as,” now, he picked up the scroll, and it was only when he turned it so that Pullus could see the seal that the Centurion realized Germanicus had placed it on the table so it was not visible, “this document of adoption. Now,” the Propraetor’s tone turned almost gentle, “can I assume that you have an idea of what this is about…Centurion Pullus?”
Pullus had to swallow the lump that had instantly formed at the sight of his father’s seal before he could manage, “Yes, sir. I do.”
With this settled, Germanicus suddenly took another sip from his cup, his brow furrowed as he seemed to be thinking of the best way to proceed, which was exactly what he was doing, and unknown to Pullus, he decided to pretend at least partial ignorance, not wanting to betray that Titus Pullus had informed him in the form of the letter Alex had delivered the night of their return to Ubiorum after the Centurion’s death.
Finally, he began by simply asking softly, “Forgive me in advance, Centurion, but is it safe for me to assume that this adoption on the part of Titus Pullus isn’t a matter of de jure, but is because there is a…blood connection?”
Despite how delicately put it was, it still made Pullus shift uncomfortably, but he did not sense any duplicity on Germanicus’ part, and he was aware of how highly his father regarded the Propraetor, so it was without much of a delay that he responded simply, “Yes, sir, there is. He’s my father. My real father.”
Germanicus nodded, admitting, “I confess that as soon as I learned about the connection, I felt quite foolish about how I could have missed it. Although,” he did add, “I confess I had a suspicion.”
As awkward as this conversation was, Pullus managed a grin as he assured the other man, “Trust me, sir. If I had a denarius for every time I’ve heard that the last few weeks, I could retire.”
As he hoped, this made Germanicus laugh.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one then,” he replied, then once more the smile faded as he went on, “Please forgive me in advance for what I’m about to ask, Pullus, but I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t
.”
Deciding in that instant to take pity on the man, Pullus said, “You’re worried that I haven’t thought through what this adoption really means concerning my status as an Equestrian.”
Pullus was rewarded in the form of the clear relief on Germanicus’ handsome features, the Propraetor nodding as he replied simply, “Yes, exactly right.”
“I’ve given it some thought, sir,” Pullus admitted, “although it had to be brought up to me.” Pausing, he took a deep gulp from the cup, then wiped his mouth before continuing, “And I think the best way to describe it is to tell you what I told my father’s clerk.”
“Alexandros,” Germanicus interrupted, surprising Pullus a bit, which the other man saw, and explained, “He was with his uncle with the Legio Germanicus. He was very young then, but he was very able, and I could see he had a lot of potential.”
Reminding himself to tell Alex about this, Pullus agreed, “That’s certainly true. And what I told him was that, if this had happened even three or four years earlier, I wouldn’t have accepted it. But,” to his horror, he felt his eyes begin to burn, yet he somehow managed to keep his voice even, “I learned a lot from Titus Pullus, and from my time under the standard.” He picked up the cup, took a swallow to recover his composure, and he finished, “So, yes, sir, I thought about it and I’m happy with my decision.”
“Good,” Germanicus replied immediately, surprising Pullus a great deal. “I’m happy to hear you say that. And,” for the first time, the Propraetor seemed, if not uncertain, then at least hesitant, “while I can’t make any promises, what I want you to know is that, if it’s ever in my power to do so, I will be willing to use my influence to see that you’re returned to the rolls of the Equestrian Order. Provided,” he held up a cautioning hand, “that you meet the monetary requirements. Which,” Germanicus suddenly seemed interested in the contents of his cup, “if rumors are true, shouldn’t be a problem for the heir of Titus Pullus.”