by R. W. Peake
My initial impulse was to make some sort of boastful comment about how the German who could best me had yet to be born; the image of my father, surrounded by Cherusci, falling to the ground covered in blood leapt into my mind before I could make more of a fool of myself than I already had, so instead, I promised, “I will be careful, Mama. And I won’t take any more risks than necessary. I promise.”
“Good,” she sniffed. Then, wiping her tears away, she favored Algaia with a smile, and said, “Now, Algaia, you must tell me all about yourself.”
The dinner we had that night was exceptional, especially given the late notice, while whatever had been bothering Algaia seemed to be a thing of the past, as she and my mother clearly had a wonderful time together, getting along quite well. That they both obviously took an extra delight in making fun of Alex and me meant that we were relegated to glaring at each other, both of us blaming the other for the woman to whom they were attached for being the instigator. Later, we both came to the conclusion that Algaia and my mother were equally culpable in this conspiracy to make fun of us, something that they both cheerfully confessed afterward. As much as I enjoyed the company, I also wanted time alone with my mother, which Alex implicitly understood, because shortly after the meal was done, with an elaborate yawn, he stood and stretched, announcing that he and Algaia were exhausted from the day’s journey. The girl seemed inclined to protest, but Alex caught her eye before she could say so, and she did attempt to feign that she was as tired as Alex. Once they retired to their rooms—I was certain that one of them would remain empty, something my mother immediately made clear she knew as well—we were left alone for the first time.
For a period, we were both content to sip from our cups. Then, deciding there was nothing to be gained by more delay, I cleared my throat, yet before I could speak, she gave a soft laugh.
“You know,” she said, looking at me over the rim of her cup, “your father had that habit as well, clearing his throat before he wanted to change the subject or bring something up he thought I might not like hearing.”
For a heartbeat, I was actually confused, because my first thought was of Quintus Volusenus, who did no such thing, but then I recalled that it was actually Alex who had made me aware of this habit with Titus Pullus.
“Ah…yes.” It was all I could think to say, and I knew how awkward I sounded as I continued, “Actually, this is about my father. My real father. The purpose of this trip is…”
“To take Titus’ ashes back to Arelate,” she finished, her voice even enough, but I thought I detected something there that was impossible for me to place.
“Yes.” I nodded, somewhat relieved. “That’s why. But I wanted to make sure that we stopped here first to let you know that I’d returned from campaign and that I was fine.”
“And,” she leaned forward to touch my cheek, “I do appreciate that, Gnaeus, I truly do. And I apologize for my outburst.”
“It’s all right,” I assured her, then I added, “Honestly, I should have thought about it from a parent’s viewpoint.”
“There’s no reason you should have,” she assured me. “And, honestly, there is no way that you could, not really, until you become a parent yourself.”
This certainly seemed to be true, but one glance at her face told me that something was still not right.
“What is it, Mama? What’s bothering you?”
She did not reply for a moment, then sighed as she told me, “I suppose I had just thought that Titus might want to stay here, with me.”
That, I confess, had never occurred to me, but as soon as she said it, I could at least see why she might feel that way. While I certainly have not learned everything of my father’s past, I do know that, during the time I was with the Legion up until he died, he never had any kind of relationship with a woman that could not be measured with a watch candle and a handful of silver. Not, I reminded myself, that my mother needed to know about that.
Nevertheless, while I understood her feelings, I felt the need to point out, “Mama, I would love for him to stay here, but that’s not what his will stipulated.”
“I know.” She held up a hand, nodding. “And I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that you don’t abide by that. I just wish…”
She did not finish, but there was no need for it, and we sipped our wine for a moment.
“Algaia seems very nice,” she said suddenly, and while I nodded in agreement, the mention of her name reminded me of something.
“Yes, she is, but she began acting…strange, just before we got to Mogontiacum.”
“Strange?” She regarded me curiously. “How do you mean that?”
“She seemed to get really nervous, but it was only when we got to the villa that I figured out that it was about meeting you. That’s why they were delayed in coming in, because she ran off and Alex had to go after her. Like I said…” I finished with a shrug. “…strange.”
“Ah.”
It was the way she said it that made me look at her just as she was setting her cup down on the table in front of the couch, the expression on her face quite unusual.
“Ah?” I repeated. “Ah, what?” She did not reply, and I pressed, “Mama, ‘ah’ what? What does that mean?”
“It means,” my mother spoke carefully, but not hesitantly, “that the reason she was nervous about meeting me was because she was in love with your father.”
Of course, I had just taken a mouthful of wine, which caused me to choke, and the next few heartbeats were spent with me coughing violently, which alarmed her enough to get her to her feet and come slap me on the back and I was reminded that Sacrovir had had to do the exact same thing. I need, I remember thinking, to learn to be careful about taking a drink after I say something.
Finally, I managed to say aloud, “In love? With my father? Gerrae! How could you possibly know that?”
I suppose I was so absorbed in what I was certain was some feminine mystery that I missed the change in her demeanor, although when she returned to her spot on the couch, I looked up from my cup.
“Because,” she said, with a sudden tilt to her head that had I had seen her use when she defied her husband, Quintus Volusenus, “your father told me about how he brought her with him from Arelate, to get her away from his brother.”
At first, this did not really register with me, which prompted me to scoff, “How could he have done that? You didn’t see him…” Suddenly, my mouth went dry, and I barely managed to get out, “…did you?”
To my mother’s credit, although I did not appreciate it at the time, she did not flinch, and her voice was steady as she said, “Yes, I did see your father. And,” her eyes suddenly filled with tears that I thought had been banished, “we have something to talk about.”
“Do you remember,” she began, only after recharging her cup, which she was studying intently, and I was struck by the absurd thought that, as much time as were spending examining them, we could be considered experts, “when I surprised you in Ubiorum? When I came to visit you the first time?”
“Yes,” I nodded, immediately recalling it, while the memory of another small event that did not seem important came hard on the heels of it, “and my father suddenly turned around and returned to camp. He said,” I did have to think for a moment before remembering, “he suddenly had a headache.”
This clearly amused her, although I did not really understand why, until she explained, “During our…time together, your father often referred to me as ‘his headache’.” She gave a soft laugh, and I barely heard her murmur, “Well done, Titus.” Then, she raised her voice and continued, “Well, as you may have gathered from that explanation, I was once more the cause of that headache, but later that night, he came to see me.”
“And you let him into your room?” Even as I said it and heard the coldness in my voice, there was a part of me that was screaming at the part that was speaking to shut up, but I could not help myself. “In the middle of the night?”
“Yes, Gnaeus,�
�� she replied evenly, but I could see a spark of anger there, and she reminded me, “I am a widow, Gnaeus, so I was doing nothing wrong, either legally or morally. And,” she pointed out, “he thought I was dead.” Before I could respond, she said, “That was the first I learned the real story of what my mother had done, paying people to spread it about that I had died. He was…upset.”
“As he should have been,” I retorted, then immediately felt a stab of remorse, so that before she could reply, I held up a hand. “I apologize, Mama. That was unfair, and now that I’ve had more time to think about it, I do understand that you were both in a very hard predicament.” Thinking that I knew everything, I said, “You saw him in Ubiorum once. Perhaps you should have told me, but I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t.”
“Thank you so much, my beloved son,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but just as I had an instant before, she apologized, “That was wrong of me to say, Gnaeus.” She paused, then said, “Just like you, I’ve had time to think since we last talked about this, and you have every right to be upset, and I do appreciate the fact that you’ve…modified your position.” The manner in which she lifted her cup to her lips in such a jerky fashion to take a quick swallow was not enough time to prepare me to hear her say, “But you are incorrect about one thing. Your father and I saw each other more than once.”
I was too stunned to be angry, at first, and I could only stare at her for a long moment before I somehow managed to stammer out, “How many times did you see him, then?”
This was when what, as the gods as my witness, I fervently hope is the last of the secrets between my mother Giulia and my father Titus came out; frankly, at this point, if my mother had told me I had another sibling tucked away somewhere, in all likelihood, I would have accepted it as truth. I will not shame my mother, mainly because, in a just world, neither she nor my father have anything to be ashamed of, but I also do not want my posterity who, if the gods will it, will carry the Pullus name, to believe that my mother Giulia is anything other than what she is, an honorable woman. And, I will confess it here, over the past year, as I have had more time to think about it, just as I realized the reasons that neither my mother nor my father told me the truth of my paternity were valid, even if I did not agree with them, it does make me feel better to know that, however briefly, my parents were reunited, as I believe it was meant to be. I must also say that, once I knew the rest of the story, other things became clearer to me than they had before this, and it was well past midnight before we ended up back where we started, with Algaia.
“How do you know Algaia loved my father?” I asked her, and while it had been a couple of watches earlier, I still recognized that look she gave me, although she simply answered, “A woman always knows such things.”
Before I could say anything else, she went on, “And it’s easy to understand, really. Titus told me about his brother Gaius, and his…habits,” her lip curled up in an expression I had often seen her use when discussing members of our circle in Mediolanum who had the same proclivities, “and your father rescued her from years of suffering.” She gave a slight shrug. “It’s no wonder that she was smitten with him. He rescued her from a horrible fate. And, she worried that, as a woman,” she gave me a knowing smile, “I would recognize that fact. But I don’t begrudge her. It actually makes me love your father a little more, if that’s possible.” Her eyes had only just begun to appear normal and not swollen from crying, but they filled with tears again. I will always remember what she said then. “Your father was not only a great man, Gnaeus, he was a good man. A truly good man.” Suddenly, she reached over and, from the table in front of the couch, she picked up the scroll that she had been reading, and I learned what it was when she waved it in my direction, saying, “Just like his Avus, Gnaeus. Titus Pomponius Pullus was an extraordinary man, truly extraordinary. Of course,” she gave a soft laugh, “I knew that from being born in Siscia, at least I thought I did. But reading these,” she indicated the scroll, which she had laid back down, “for the first time, I understand why your father was so…obsessed with being considered worthy of carrying his name.”
There was a silence, which I filled by saying, with a casualness I could hear was forced, “You know, my father wrote his own account as well.”
My mother went rigid, her face drained of color, and her gasp was loud enough that I thought it might rouse Carissa to come running to investigate, but there was a sudden light in her eyes that I found…disquieting as well.
“Really? He did? May I see them? Please, Gnaeus?”
So eager was she that I had to laugh, but I held both hands out, trying to calm her.
“Pax, Mama. Of course you can.” I stopped then, and I admit it was to tease her. “But only after I’ve finished them.”
Whereupon we made a bargain. One reason that I had a pack horse for just myself was because I was carrying my father’s ashes, and those scrolls, which I had resolved to at least try to finish by the time we reached Arelate. My reasoning was, and it bore out, that it was better to know as much as I could about what lay ahead of me regarding my uncle before I met him. Consequently, I agreed to give her my father’s account, in exchange for the Prefect’s, when I returned from Arelate. And, we also agreed, that it was time for bed.
We stayed an extra day in Mogontiacum, which I was a bit concerned about, but I suppose the thought of the extra two weeks convinced me that it was all right. The morning of the day after our arrival, my mother insisted that Alex and I give her and Algaia time to talk, so we went out in the town to buy supplies to replace those we had consumed. Despite being on leave, given the kind of town Mogontiacum is, I wore my soldier’s tunic, baltea, and carried my vitus with me. I also tucked Germanicus’ scroll in my purse, just in the event that we were stopped by provosts on the prowl, looking for men who were out of camp when they should not have been, although we quickly learned there was no need. Like us, the men of the 5th and 21st had been secured for winter quarters, which means that roughly a quarter of each Legion has the day off on any given day. Normally, this would not even be worth mentioning, but something happened that, I would only learn after the fact was something that was engineered by my fresh-faced, innocent looking clerk, who has just turned a satisfying shade of red once more. Again, it was only afterward that his seemingly casual suggestion made any sense.
“How about we stop for a cup?” Since he had his hands full with the two sacks containing the things we bought, he had to nod his head in the direction of a sign that, like all tavernae in Legion towns, hung out above the door. “I’m sure your mother and Algaia will be happy to talk all day if we let them. You know how women are.” He gave me a wink that made me laughingly agree.
The fact that this was a place we of the Fourth had frequented whenever we were in Mogontiacum, sharing it in an uneasy peace with men of the 5th, made it relatively easy for me to say yes. Only later would I learn that Alex’s seemingly meandering route through the streets had been no accident, so, like an innocent lamb to slaughter, I walked inside The Happy Legionary, Alex following closely behind. Perhaps it might sound strange that, despite it being before noon, the place was, while not packed, about two-thirds full with a clientele almost universally dressed exactly like me. The males were, I should add, while the females present were the day shift whores, who tend to be those nearing the end of their useful years in that occupation, and the light streaming through the unshuttered windows did not flatter them, if one takes my meaning. And, as always happens, those men with a view of the door turned to watch us enter, and as always happens when it is me or someone my size entering, they started to look away before snapping their heads back to examine us more closely. This is something that has been happening everywhere I go ever since I grew to manhood, or at least to the size I am today, so I gave it no notice, leading Alex to a table in the corner that was unoccupied. He followed along without hesitation, dropping the sacks between his feet so that he could rest one foot on
them to keep them from being stolen.
I recognized the woman who approached us, knowing her to be the wife of the owner, who was a retired Centurion, but I apparently missed the glance she exchanged with Alex, and she wore the smile of the calculating proprietor as she surprised me by saying, “Salve, Centurion Volusenus!” Before I could say anything, she made a face, and corrected herself, “My apologies, sir! I forgot; you’re Centurion Pullus now, neh?”
Although I thought she was speaking a bit louder than necessary; while the place was relatively busy, it was not as raucous as it would be once the sun went down, I did not think much of it, mainly because I was curious, and I asked her, “How did you know that? That I was adopted by Pilus Prior Pullus?”
“Oh,” she answered quickly enough, giving me a smile that, perhaps, had been attractive a few years, and teeth, ago, “this is a Legion town, Centurion! You know how it is; there are no secrets. And,” suddenly, her smile vanished, but she dropped her voice to a level that only we could hear, and I do believe her sadness was unfeigned as she added, “we heard that the Pilus Prior had fallen, and I want you to know that both Marcus and I made an offering for him. He didn’t come here often, but he was hard to forget.” She gave a little laugh, then patted me on the shoulder as she added, “Like you, love.”
Before I could say anything, she became brisk and businesslike, taking our order then hurrying away, and I turned to Alex.
“That was a bit…odd, don’t you think? That she knew about my adoption?”
Alex did not seem to be evasive when he answered with a shrug, “Not really, Gnaeus. You forget that your father was easy to remember, even before he picked up a gladius.” He gave me a grin, teasing in what I suppose was an attempt to imitate the proprietress, “Like you are. You’re so big and strong,” he cooed, laughing as he dodged my half-hearted swipe at him. Turning more serious, he assured me, “It’s really not unusual, Gnaeus. Like Lydia said, there are no secrets in the army.”