by R. W. Peake
While this was certainly pleasing to hear, Pullus also felt compelled to be honest with Germanicus, but he worried that he was betraying a confidence, which made him hesitate.
He made his decision quickly, telling Germanicus, “I’m honored, sir. But there’s something that you should know. About those rumors, I mean.”
For the next few moments, and without much detail, mainly because he knew so little himself, Pullus explained to Germanicus of the financial setback the Pullus family had suffered, finishing, “I don’t know the details, but Alex told me that they lost more than half of their wealth, sir.”
Germanicus sat listening quietly, and when Pullus was finished, he thought for a moment before sighing, “Well, be that as it may, I still want you to know that if I am able to help, I’ll do so.”
Even as he said it, Pullus knew he was running a huge risk, but he could not help himself, asking, “May I ask why, sir? I mean,” he raised a muscular arm and waved it in the general direction of the camp, “you have more important things to worry about. Not,” he added hastily, “that I’m not appreciative, nor would I refuse any assistance. It’s just…” He shrugged but said nothing more.
Germanicus did not appear offended, and he did not hesitate to answer, “Because I owe your father that much, Pullus. It really isn’t any more complicated than that.” Suddenly, he frowned as if he had just remembered something, and he stood quickly, saying only, “Wait here.”
Naturally, Pullus complied, actually thankful for the chance to let his head clear somewhat as he tried to cope with what had just taken place. He did not have long, because Germanicus had crossed the room to hold a brief conversation with another of the clerks, who listened, then turned and rummaged through a box before withdrawing another scroll. Germanicus took it and strode back to the table, except this time, he did not sit, and Pullus, taking the signal, stood as the Propraetor extended the scroll.
Instinctively, Pullus took it as Germanicus explained, “I don’t know why, but I just remembered something. This,” he indicated the scroll, “arrived several weeks ago, but,” he gave Pullus a small smile, “I’ve been somewhat busy. It was addressed to your father, from a mutual…acquaintance, Tiberius Dolabella. Although,” a shadow seemed to flit across Germanicus’ face as he recalled, “I just remembered that Dolabella is dead as well, but it happened around Januarius as I recall. Anyway,” he pointed back to the scroll, “since you’re his heir, whatever’s in that is for you.”
While it was certainly noteworthy, Pullus supposed, he was not very interested in a letter from Dolabella, who he had met during the mutiny, despite being aware that the relationship between Dolabella and his father had been complicated. He tucked the scroll into his baltea, and Germanicus walked with him towards the partition; later, Pullus decided that it was the sight of the approaching flap and what it meant that prompted what came next.
Stopping, he turned and asked Germanicus, “May I ask a question, sir?” When Germanicus nodded, he said bluntly, “Most of my boys think that we’re being dangled out ahead of the rest of the army as bait, and I’m fairly certain the rest of the Legions leaving tomorrow feel that way. Is that the case?”
Germanicus regarded Pullus with a raised eyebrow, yet Pullus had the sense that the Propraetor was not altogether surprised, nor did he sound irritated, or even defensive, although he replied with a question of his own.
“What do you think, Pullus?”
With a fair amount of chagrin, Pullus recognized that Germanicus had put him on the back foot, neatly and without much effort, but he considered the question seriously before he answered, speaking slowly, “I think that we are, but I also know you wouldn’t be doing this without good reason. And,” he echoed Alex, silently asking forgiveness from his clerk since he had no intention of giving him credit, “you’re not Varus.” Saying as much gave him more time to think it through, and he continued, “Arminius has been really hard to bring to battle, so I suppose that this is the best way to bring him out so that we can fix the cun…the barbarian once and for all.”
Germanicus chuckled at Pullus’ clumsy attempt to correct himself, assuring the Centurion, “No, cunnus is a perfectly accurate way to describe that cunnus.” Pullus grinned, but Germanicus was serious as he went on, “But, you’re correct, Pullus. I believe that the only way we can bring Arminius out to fight us is to duplicate what he did with Varus by putting us in the Teutoberg. The difference,” he said grimly, “is that we’re going to be ready for it. And, as you said, I’m not Varus.”
There was nothing left to say then, and Pullus offered a salute, which Germanicus returned, and the Propraetor watched the broad-shouldered Centurion push the leather partition aside, a thoughtful expression on his face. He had not been entirely forthcoming with Pullus, which was against his usual nature, but when he had been informed by his most trusted clerk that, among the official messages from Rome, there was a scroll from Dolabella and addressed to Titus Pullus, he had called on one of the men of his personal bodyguard who, in his previous life, had skills in such matters, and lifted the seal on the scroll so that he could read the contents. Not, he thought with some frustration, that it had been all that helpful; it was a short note wherein Dolabella was informing Pullus that someone the Centurion had been searching for had been found, giving the location, which was in Alexandria, and the name under which this mysterious individual was living. Otherwise, it was essentially meaningless, but while Germanicus had never cared for Tiberius Dolabella, the man had proven not only useful, but loyal to his adoptive father Tiberius. Thinking along these lines made Germanicus wonder how much young Gnaeus Pullus knew about that part of his father’s life. Not, he thought as he turned and walked back to his desk, that it mattered in this moment.
Not surprisingly, Alex was sitting at his desk, clearly waiting for Pullus to return, and the moment the Centurion entered, he gave a meaningful glance at Demetrios, who returned the look with a scowl, then followed Pullus into his quarters.
“Well?” Alex demanded, but while he entertained the idea of teasing his clerk for a moment, Pullus decided it would just prolong matters, although he said, “Bring me something to eat first, and I’ll tell you.”
Alex disappeared, and when he returned with the bowl and loaf of bread, Pullus consoled himself with grumbling that the bread was no longer warm, although Alex had reheated the porridge. As he ate, he told Alex about all that Germanicus had said, while the clerk sat on a stool, listening intently, the only sign that he was pleased a slight smile.
Once Pullus was finished, Alex said only, “You’re blessed by Fortuna to have someone like Germanicus watching out for you.” Pullus nodded in agreement, though he could not say anything because his mouth was full, and Alex took the opportunity to point at the scroll, which Pullus had tossed onto the desk, “What’s that?”
“Germanicus gave it to me,” Pullus explained, still more interested in filling his belly than the possible meaning of a scroll from one dead man to another, even if one of them was his father. “It’s from Dolabella, apparently.”
He was surprised by Alex’s reaction, as the clerk leapt to his feet, snatching the scroll with a haste that might have been amusing, except that Pullus saw that Alex was anything but, examining the seal closely by turning it toward the lamplight.
“What is it?” Pullus asked, feeling the first stirring of interest. “Why are you looking at it like that?”
“To see,” Alex answered grimly, “if it’s been tampered with.”
Pullus sat up straight, asking sharply, “Why would anyone do that?”
“Because of who it’s from, Gnaeus,” Alex replied quietly. Setting the scroll down, he regarded Pullus for a long moment, and it was only when he expelled his breath in a sharp gust that Pullus realized he had been holding it, then said, “There’s something you should know about your father, Gnaeus, and it concerns Dolabella. Although,” he added this in a seeming afterthought, “now’s not the best time.” Whether it wa
s to change the subject or not, Alex pointed to the scroll and asked politely, “May I open this and read it?” Pullus nodded, mystified but alert that something potentially important was going on, and he watched as Alex broke the seal, noticing the slight tremor in the clerk’s hand. He watched as Alex’s eyes scanned the lines, but it was the manner in which the clerk suddenly sat up, his frown transforming into a smile, although to Pullus, it did not appear to be happy as much as satisfied, that Pullus understood was meaningful. Realizing that Pullus was waiting, Alex looked up and informed him, “It turns out that Tiberius Dolabella managed to do something for our family before he died. He found the man that cheated Gaius out of all that money, and this,” he waved the scroll, “contains the man’s name and where he’s living, down to the address.”
Pullus stared at Alex, yet he could not summon a reason why his clerk would lie about it, and he was also aware that he still did not have more than a bare knowledge of the Pullus family fortunes and all that involved, so it was with a fair amount of humor that he said, “I take it that’s a good thing.”
“Oh yes,” Alex assured him, and now Pullus recognized the smile as one of grim satisfaction, “it’s a very good thing.”
Chapter Two
Pullus was actually served by the requirements of the next morning, quickly forgetting all about everything but making sure that his Century was formed and ready to march at the designated time. The men who were being left behind, consisting of the rest of the army, turned out to watch as Caecina rode out of the Porta Praetoria at the head of the long column, but unlike other times, there was none of the jeering, hurling of insults, or any of the normal rivalry the men usually showed each other. For their part, Pullus saw that his men were clearly aware of this, and even men like Carbo simply replied quietly to those comrades of theirs who called out to wish them good fortune. Heading almost due west, the army covered less than two miles before the halt was sounded, and soon enough, it was learned that the vanguard had reached the beginning of the boggy ground that was such a feature of the Teutoberg. This marked the beginning of what would become a trying, tedious week and a few days, where each Legion alternated roles, between essentially forming a protective box around their comrades, or spending time in often knee-deep, oozing mud that was extremely hard to wash off, chopping trees, driving pilings, and laying down a road made entirely of trimmed and planed logs. It was filthy, tiring work, and Gnaeus Pullus felt not the least bit guilty that he did essentially nothing more than supervise his men, although it often meant he had to wade out into the bog, which took Demetrios a fair amount of effort to scrape off of his legs. The work was onerous enough that men far preferred the relatively clean task of standing motionless, staring out into the thick underbrush, watching for any sign of the enemy. There were certainly sightings of them; several times a day, a cornu would sound at some point along the hollow square because one or more men had spotted movement. Inevitably, there were false alarms; sometimes it was nothing more than a large deer, but there were enough incidents where there was no doubt that one or more barbarian warriors were keeping Caecina’s army under observation.
Foot by foot, then mile by mile, a sturdily constructed roadway was built, often suspended above murky water covered with a film of scum, and quickly enough, the days began to meld together; the only way for Pullus and most of his comrades in the ranks to keep track was by the days in which they were part of the guard Legion. The biggest hardship was in finding enough solid ground to construct a camp, so it was not unusual for the men who had become filthy during the day retire to find that their tent was pitched on a spot only marginally drier, and nights were punctuated by the sounds of men slapping at the hordes of bugs that filled their tents, followed by the muttered curses that seemed an integral part of the ordeal. Like the other Centurions, Pullus was thankful for the partitioned wooden floor in his tent, although he quickly learned to leave the carpets that helped insulate the floor on the Century wagon, but while it was better than walking in mud, there was little he could do about the vermin buzzing about his head and body every single moment. Consequently, it did not take long for tempers to grow short, so that added to their list of other duties; the officers found themselves hurrying from one spot to another, pulling men apart, almost always with swipes of the vitus. Perhaps the only positive thing that could be said about this duty was that, while they were responsible for constructing a camp every day as always, they were allowed to leave it intact for the rest of the army that, as they were informed the first day, was marching one day behind Caecina’s Legions.
As it happened, Fortuna saw to it that the 1st Legion was the vanguard Legion, and the Fourth Cohort was the advance guard when a shouted warning from the section leading the First Century stopped their slow progress. Aligned as they were behind the First, only Pullus could see a man come running back in their direction, emerging from a thick tangle of underbrush, prompting Vespillo to sound a halt.
“Any idea what that’s about, Centurion?” Tetarfenus asked, his view blocked by the men of the First Century.
Pullus shook his head, but he did tell his Signifer, “I don’t think they’ve spotted any Germans, but it’s something big. At least,” he added, keeping his eyes on the ranker addressing the Pilus Prior, “from the way he’s acting.”
He saw Vespillo nod, but he was unprepared for the Pilus Prior to turn about so quickly that Pullus had no chance to look away, or at least pretend that he was not paying keen attention. Vespillo did not seem to notice, simply raising his vitus in the gesture that told Pullus he was wanted.
“Let me find out what this is about,” he muttered to Tetarfenus, then trotted up to where Vespillo had walked several paces away and turned his back to the men.
Another sign that Vespillo was affected was in the lack of surly comment; in fact, to Pullus, he seemed shaken, and he quickly learned why when the Pilus Prior said barely above a whisper, “We found Varus’ camp.” Pullus jerked in surprise, but when he turned to look, Vespillo whispered harshly, “Don’t do that!” He softened his tone a fraction, “Not yet, anyway. We need to decide how to approach this.”
Sensing that Vespillo was not speaking literally, Pullus asked, “What are you thinking, Pilus Prior?”
Vespillo glanced sidelong up at Pullus, but apparently did not see anything in the Centurion’s face to give him cause for suspicion, answering, “I’m trying to decide if we stop here and tell the Legate that we’ve found the camp, then let him decide whether we press on, or if we wait for the rest of the army.”
At first, Pullus did not understand, but despite his personal feelings towards the man, he knew that Vespillo was no fool, so he forced himself to consider the matter for a heartbeat.
Then, thinking he might have an idea, he ventured, “Are you thinking that the Propraetor will want to be the first man into Varus’ camp?”
If anything, Vespillo looked relieved, nodding as he replied, “Exactly that. I think he should be the one to lead this army to that spot.”
“How far ahead of us is it?” Pullus asked, and for the first time, Vespillo turned, but it was just his head, indicating the thick line of underbrush, answering, “Just beyond that, about four hundred paces if Petronius is right.”
Pullus considered for a long moment, then suggested, “At the very least, I think we should send a man back to Caecina and let him know. Then he can make the decision.”
This seemed the obvious thing to do, and Pullus suspected that Vespillo knew that, and would chastise him for suggesting it, but Vespillo nodded absently, which was another potent sign that the Pilus Prior was distracted, and that was putting it mildly.
“Yes,” he finally said, then seemed to come out of a trance. Turning, he scanned the faces of his men, then called out, “Oy! Batius! Drop your pack and attend to your Centurion!”
Doing as he was ordered, the ranker, taller than average but with a lithe build that betrayed his role as a man used as a runner, Batius came to intente, l
istened to Vespillo’s orders, then repeated them back before turning to dash back down the column, heading for the command group.
“And now,” Vespillo said absently, “we wait.” Unsure what to do, Pullus stood there, and he was completely unprepared for the Pilus Prior to look up at him and ask anxiously, “How bad do you think it’s going to be, Pullus? I mean,” he jerked his head towards the underbrush, “Varus’ camp.” Before Pullus could respond, Vespillo added with a shudder, “I’m certain that it’s going to be worse than Caedicius’ camp, and that was horrible.”
Pullus had understood what Vespillo meant, but he was at something of a loss. He was not particularly religious, nor did he necessarily believe that the shades of slain men were destined to haunt the spot where they had fallen. Still, he was honest enough with himself to recognize that the shiver that ran up his spine at Vespillo’s question was one of dread, and while he had not been with the Fourth then, he had certainly heard quite a bit about the horrors that the Fourth stumbled on when they found the camp of the slain Camp Prefect Caedicius and the band of men who had held out against Arminius for several weeks before succumbing to the inevitable pressure put on them by the victorious Germans.
“I think,” he replied honestly, “that it’s going to be bad, Pilus Prior. But it’s also been almost seven years. When did you find Caedicius’ camp? Wasn’t it a year later?”
“About that.” Vespillo nodded. Then, with undisguised bitterness, he added, “And they knew we were coming then, so they made sure they…tidied the place up for us, sticking all the skulls back on the javelins they had stuck in the ground.” When he looked at Pullus again, the Centurion saw the haunted expression in the man’s face as he asked, “Did you hear about the skulls? How they were all around the camp? In a double row?”
“I heard,” Pullus confirmed, but before he could say anything more, they both turned at the sound of approaching riders to see the Legate, several Tribunes, and his bodyguards coming at the gallop.