Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  Before I could stop myself, I swept him into an embrace, although I was slightly surprised that he did not fight, and I treasure the feeling of his little arms wrapped around my neck.

  “Manius. Manius! Where are you?”

  It was a woman’s voice, but it did not sound like Birgit. The door was flung open, and while I could tell it was a woman standing there, my tears made her blurry, although I got a sense of curly hair.

  “Manius,” she snapped. “Come here, right now!”

  The way in which the boy disentangled himself from me and hurried to her side told me her identity, at least in the sense she was his mother, although I had no idea what my relation to either of them, or the girl, may have been.

  “Leave us,” the woman commanded. “Go find your sister while I talk to Gnaeus.”

  That she knew my name surprised me, although there was no reason for it, and I took the instant where her back was turned as she ushered Manius out of the room to wipe my eyes, just in time for her to turn around and face me. The shutters had been cracked open, by me, because I prefer sleeping in a cooler room, so there was enough light for us to see each other, enabling me to see her swollen, puffy eyes; there was a lot of that going around here in Arelate, I thought.

  She crossed the room towards me, and I braced myself for some sort of confrontation, certain that she was young Atia’s mother, which I assumed made her Manius’ as well, which gave me hope that the tender moment she had interrupted might assuage her anger with me about how I had been with her daughter. However, she did nothing, other than to stare down at me for a long moment, and I had just an instant’s warning because, just like her daughter, her chin began quivering.

  “You,” she whispered, “look just like him.”

  Before I could react or respond, she dropped down onto the bed next to me and buried her face in my chest; this was how I met my aunt Miriam, and my cousins, Atia and Manius.

  By the time Miriam and I made it downstairs and walked into the kitchen, we had laughed, cried, then laughed again so much that, when she clutched my arm as we walked down the steps, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. I quickly learned why Miriam had been the family favorite; she has a wicked sense of humor, and you instantly know how she feels about you, within a matter of heartbeats. Fortunately, she adored me, and I will confess that I feel the same way about her. In fact, I like my family immensely, with one glaring exception, but I feel confident that once I tell this tale, whoever reads these words will understand why and not blame me for it. I had noticed when I entered the kitchen the night before that the table was abnormally long; I determined why that morning, and while it was not completely full, it was close. Alex beckoned to me, pointing to an empty spot, and I dropped down next to him, noticing that Algaia was sitting on the opposite side, making me wonder whether she had forgiven him for what she was certain was his error; the look she gave me answered that question, which was, no, she had not, and Alex and I exchanged a rueful glance. Septimus was on our side, while Atia and Manius were on the opposite side, but at the other end of the table. Seated across from me was a girl who looked to be in her late teens, and I was both uncomfortable and intrigued by the manner in which she was looking at me.

  Before I could do so, Alex leaned over and said quietly in my ear, “That’s my sister Gisela. Don’t get any ideas.”

  “I’m not!” I protested, probably more loudly than was wise, because I saw Birgit, who had her back turned to us as she was ladling helpings of porridge into bowls, look over her shoulder, right at me.

  Next to Gisela was a boy, who, to my eye, appeared to be close to a teenager, and who was introduced to me as Gaius Gallienus, Birgit’s son by Sextus, my father’s brother who had died in Pannonia. Next to Gaius was an empty spot, which I assumed was for Birgit, with Miriam settling into the spot next to hers and next to the children, and I had the strong sense that all of these people were sitting in their accustomed spots, even Alex, despite his long absence. Except, I thought, for me.

  “Where’s Scribonia?” Alex asked his mother.

  “You have been away a long time,” Gisela teased her brother, but I could not miss the fact that she was looking at me as she spoke. “She’s married.”

  “Married!” Alex exclaimed, but so did Algaia, reminding me that she had not been gone long, and I saw them exchange a glance at each other that told me that whatever antipathy she held for him, it was not destined to last long.

  “Yes,” Birgit replied calmly, “married. Your uncle Titus’ visit seemed to do the trick, because the gods know I couldn’t get her to take the idea seriously.” Before anyone could react, she turned to me and asked, “What about you, Gnaeus? Are you married?”

  “Gods, no!” I laughed, truly amused at the idea.

  “How old are you?” Gisela asked, and I felt the blood rushing to my face, although it was the elbow to my ribs from Alex that made me cough.

  “I’m about to turn twenty-six,” I answered, but before she or anyone could say anything, I added, “but I’m in the Legion, so it’s forbidden.”

  I learned very quickly that I was among people who had grown up around the army, because she pointed out, “But you’re a Centurion, and they can get dispensations from the Princeps to marry.”

  “That,” I admitted, “is true. But,” I knew I was flailing desperately, yet I could not seem to help myself, “I suppose I just haven’t found the right woman yet.”

  “And you’re not going to find one here,” Alex said, but I was just happy he was glaring at his sister and not me. “Right, dear sister?”

  The scowl Gisela gave her brother did at least tell me that I had not been the only one whose thoughts were running along a path that neither of us cared to talk about, and she snapped at him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Alex!” Then, she deliberately turned away from us to ask Algaia, “How is Titus?”

  It was not until later that I learned that Gisela aiming her question at Algaia was not a matter of happenstance; at least, I did not learn specifically why this was the case.

  Alex, however, seemed to understand what was going on, because he was the one who answered evenly, “He’s doing fine, Gisela. He’s…”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you, Alex,” Gisela cut him off, smiling a sweet smile that did not match the expression in her eyes, but at that moment, I did not know her well enough to know whether it was mischief she had in mind or something else. “I was asking Algaia. As I recall, you and Titus were…interested in each other.”

  “Who told you that?” Algaia asked suspiciously, but I saw her eyes cut to Alex, who was now glaring at Gisela.

  “Why, he did,” Gisela replied, with surprise. “He wrote me almost as soon as he arrived in Ubiorum.” While I did not know her, nor I will admit, was I all that familiar with the inner workings of the feminine mind, even I saw that the smile she gave Algaia was not meant to be friendly. “He was very happy.”

  This was what prompted Alex to intervene, snapping at Gisela, “You know perfectly well what happened, Gisela. Algaia and Titus were…” He suddenly stopped, and I glanced over to see his face redden, “…well, you know. But now Algaia and I are together.”

  “That’s right!” Algaia put in, scowling at Alex’s sister. “Alex and I are getting married!”

  I wish there was some way to capture a moment in time, in a drawing or painting, because the look on Alex’s face is one that still makes me chuckle today, even as he is glaring at me as I say this.

  Birgit was the first to react, wheeling around from where she had been dishing up bowls of porridge as she exclaimed, “Is this true, Alex? That is wonderful news.”

  Septimus stood and leaned across the table to give Alex a hearty smack on the shoulder, while, with only a small hesitation about the idea of being included in this moment of familial celebration, I reached over and did the same, mainly because I enjoyed the look on his face. The only person who did not seem happy was Gisela, although at the
time, I simply ascribed this to some sort of sibling competition.

  “I sent Chickpea to fetch the lawyer we talked about,” Septimus commented, and if it was not his intention, it still moved the subject to safer ground. “I expect him at any moment.”

  This engendered a discussion with Birgit as, for the first time since our arrival at the villa, we talked about our purpose for being there, both in the religious sense and the wider purpose for which we needed a lawyer. Since I did not know anyone aside from Alex and Algaia that well, I decided to let them do the bulk of the talking, only answering questions posed to me, first by Birgit, then by Miriam, who had sent the children away under the care of a woman who served as a domestic, while young Gaius got up as well but wandered off, mumbling something about chores, which I found somewhat unusual. Before we were finished with the discussion, Chickpea returned to inform us that Aviola would be arriving shortly, but while we had gone over what we thought we needed to discuss with the lawyer, I could tell that none of us were in an optimistic frame of mind. I suppose our outlook could be attributed to the fact that, deep inside every Roman, there is a lawyer trying to get out. We are obsessed by the law as a people; go to any taverna and, along with the arguments about the Greens and Whites, or whether Felix the Thracian is better than Altumnus the Gaul, you will hear men arguing about the merits of some law case they have either heard about or in which they have some interest. I have not been to Rome yet, but those who have describe how the law courts are packed with Romans who have no connection to whatever case is being heard, but they are there paying avid attention as the lawyers make their respective cases. Consequently, after our discussion, I will say that none of us were optimistic that there was any legal means to keep Gaius Pullus from taking control of the family concerns. When Aviola did appear, I am not sure what I was expecting, other than he would be togate, because whenever I saw men of his profession in the forum, hawking their wares as it were, they were always attired as if they were about to walk into court. That it was not a single man but two who were ushered in by Chickpea was the first surprise; the one I assumed was Aviola was certainly young, although he appeared to be a couple years older than I was, but he was attired in a tunic that was of only a slightly better quality than the one worn by his companion. This second person was older, balding but with a fringe of black hair liberally sprinkled with silver, with a stooped posture and a squint that practically screamed his role. Indeed, in appearance, he was not much different than those clerks in the Praetorium of a Roman army camp or provincial headquarters, and honestly, once I gave him an appraising glance, I did not pay him much attention.

  Septimus had risen from the table, as both Alex and I did, but my uncle offered the greeting, “Salve, Lucius Aviola, and welcome to our home.” He turned to the jug on the table. “May I offer you some refreshment before we discuss business?”

  Aviola looked surprised, at which he explained, “I’m not usually welcomed with such hospitality….?”

  His voice trailed off, and Septimus interpreted why, introducing himself first, then his sister Miriam, followed by Birgit, and Alex, explaining their connection, then ended with me by saying, “And this is my nephew, Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus, Quartus Pilus Prior of the 1st Legion, part of the Army of the Rhenus, taking leave to return my brother’s ashes to be interred in our family tomb tomorrow evening.”

  While Septimus was doing this, I was examining Aviola, and I will say I was not impressed with what I saw. I did not expect an imposing physical specimen, certainly, but this man was scrawny to the point it made me wonder if he was such a bad lawyer he could not afford to eat regularly. However, it was his weak chin that I found most troubling; I cannot say where it comes from, because as I think about it, I can never recall either my mother or Quintus Volusenus ever mentioning as much, but I believe a weak chin is a sign of a corresponding weakness of character. I blame my preoccupation for Septimus having to call my name twice, as he obviously did, but I still offered my arm to Aviola, leaning across the table to do so, and I was amused to see his eyes widen as he took in my size, although I did manage to avoid squeezing his arm until he yelped. Not, I thought, that it would take much. Once the niceties were out of the way and Aviola was seated, and he turned to give the second man a curt nod to sit at the end of the table, which he did, withdrawing a wax tablet from the bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Now,” Aviola began, in a surprisingly deep voice, “may I see the will in question, please?”

  Septimus handed it to him as a silence descended while we all watched the exciting process of Aviola reading the contents, and I realized I was actually holding my breath. A glance around the table informed me that, if they were not holding their breath, the others were no less interested, or in suspense.

  Finally, he raised his head and asked bluntly, “What is it that you need from me?”

  “We need to know if there is any way to enforce the provision of this will,” Septimus answered for all of us. “Specifically, the one where my brother Titus, as paterfamilias, has put me in charge of managing our family’s affairs.”

  Aviola listened without expression, but there was no hesitation when he replied, “Your brother Titus was paterfamilias.” He indicated the urn that was sitting in the middle of the table. “But, as you mentioned earlier, and as I can see, those are his remains.” When Septimus answered, not with words but a nod, Aviola said flatly, “Then his directive has no legal standing. In legal terms, it’s not a command, it’s a request. So it will be up to whoever is the next oldest man in the family…”

  “How much do you know about this family?”

  I do not know whether it was the tone or the fact that I was the one who asked the question, but he suddenly looked nervous, although he answered readily enough, “Nobody who’s lived in Arelate for any length of time doesn’t know about the Pullus family. Although,” he added in what I sensed was an afterthought, but was actually important, “I’ve only been here two years.”

  “Where did you come from?” Alex asked, and while he sounded as if this was just idle curiosity, I knew him well enough to understand there was a purpose there.

  “Originally, I come from Alexandria,” he answered. “My father owns several businesses, but his main interest is in the grain trade. I was born in Rome, but he moved our family there when I was very young, so I’ve always thought of it as home.”

  I was paying attention to Aviola, but I saw Alex suddenly go stiff out of the corner of my eye, and I wondered why, although his voice did not betray any special interest as he asked, “I know you haven’t been here long, but am I correct in assuming you’ve heard of Gaius Pullus?”

  Aviola’s expression changed then, and while I had not known him long, the distaste on his face was impossible to misinterpret.

  And, to his credit, he immediately understood, although he did ask Septimus, “Am I correct to assume that your brother Gaius is older than you?”

  “Yes, by about a year and a half,” Septimus answered.

  Aviola dropped his head, I assumed to reread the will, and the silence dragged out again, then he finally looked up, yet while he addressed Septimus, I noticed he was eyeing me nervously, “Then I’m sorry, but there’s really nothing I can do to help enforce the conditions of this will.” Suddenly, his expression changed once more, and when he spoke again, it sounded to me like he was thinking to himself, “Although, I do know of cases where mitigating circumstances have been used to deny a bequest in a will before.”

  “Circumstances?” Septimus asked, “What kind of circumstances?”

  “Criminal activity, for example,” Aviola replied. Then, before any of us could say anything, he explained, “But it would have to have become an official matter, where a man has been charged with a crime and found guilty. I have actually heard of at least two cases where a will was successfully contested by stripping the beneficiary of the bequests made to them because of their own criminal activity.”

  I could
not restrain myself any longer, certain that whoever had told Septimus that this Lucius Aviola was a good lawyer had been badly mistaken, and I pointed out, “We’re not trying to take anything from Gaius. We’re trying to enforce my father’s directive that he not be allowed to take control, which is the exact opposite of what you’re talking about.”

  Aviola did not appear happy that I had spoken up, but before he could make any kind of response, Alex spoke up, giving the lawyer an apologetic glance. “Forgive me, Lucius Aviola, but may I offer my explanation of where I think you’re headed?” Not surprisingly, Aviola nodded, and Alex turned to me. “While that’s true, Gnaeus, that we’re trying to enforce Uncle Titus’ directions and not take anything from Gaius, I think that the underlying principle is the same. Essentially,” he glanced back at Aviola, who was nodding, “if what matters is that the illicit or criminal activity would nullify any bequest, then the opposite would hold as well, that he would be barred from taking control. So, if Gaius has been in trouble with the duumviri or with the office of the Praetor, then that gives us a legal cause for action.” He turned back to Aviola to ask, “Do I have that right?”

  Aviola nodded again, clearly impressed, which he confirmed by agreeing, “That is absolutely correct, Alexandros. You,” he smiled, and I admit that, while it did not transform him into a vision of Apollo, he did not seem nearly as homely and meek, “should consider studying the law. You have the mind for it.”

  Alex blushed, but there was a competition between who looked the most pleased, Algaia or Birgit, both of them looking at Alex with adoring eyes that, frankly, made me a bit nauseous, although he still insists that it was from jealousy.

  “That’s all well and good,” Septimus said glumly, “but it doesn’t matter, because Gaius hasn’t even been accused of anything illegal, let alone convicted.”

  “No,” Aviola seemingly agreed, but what he said changed the atmosphere instantly. “Not yet, he hasn’t.”

  Frankly, while I saw how the others responded to this, particularly Septimus and Miriam, who exchanged a look that seemed more than just surprised, I did not really understand why they seemed so hesitant.