by R. W. Peake
To say I was moved would be an understatement; once I read the full account of that event, and how Metellus willingly sacrificed himself by suffering the fate of burning to death as he and the men of his Century fought off the forces of Dodonis, one of the rebelling kings who participated in that revolt that is renowned for its viciousness, in order to give the rest of my father’s Cohort the chance to withdraw as the town burned down around them, Titus Pullus’ gesture is even more meaningful.
It was Miriam who said, “And this is where you, and Titus, and Scribonia, and Gisela, along with your families will go too, Alex. If,” she added, “that’s what you want.”
This was too morbid a topic for me, so I attempted to make a joke by saying, “It’s going to get crowded, isn’t it?”
“That’s why we own the two strips on either side,” Miriam assured me, which was how I learned that the extra space I had noticed between the tombs on either side was not an accident, but that knowledge was destined to last no more than a couple of heartbeats.
We got a hint when Septimus cleared his throat, causing the rest of us to look at him, and he said awkwardly, “Yes, about that.”
He did not say anything after that; I assume he was letting us work it out for ourselves, although it was Miriam who was the first to understand.
“Septimus!” she gasped. “You’re not saying that Gaius sold those plots, are you?”
Again, Septimus did not respond verbally, offering a vague nod and shrug, which launched Miriam into an absolute fury that, in an odd way, was somewhat comforting, knowing that it was not just men of the Pullus family endowed with a formidable temper. What I found even more impressive was the colorful invective that she used, proving to me that she actually did have a vocabulary to rival any ranker, but it was the manner in which she spun about and stalked out of the tomb that got Septimus moving.
“This,” he said, but over his shoulder as he hurried after her, “isn’t going to be good.”
Suddenly, it was only Alex, Algaia, young Gaius Gallienus, Miriam’s children, and me left in the tomb, which left me at something of a loss about what to do, thinking that there should be some words spoken or some small ceremony when I placed the urn in its spot on the top shelf. We adults looked at each other, but Alex did not seem to be any more certain than I was; the decision about what to do was made for me when, from outside, the sounds of a quarrel drifted through the open door, and while I could not make out the words, I recognized the voices.
Consequently, I simply placed the urn on the shelf, silently asking my father for his understanding, before I said in a voice that I hoped sounded partially authoritative, “I better go out there and keep my aunt and uncle from killing each other.”
Alex surprised me then, grabbing me by my arm as he shook his head, and his tone was firm as he said, “Gnaeus, you don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Why not?” I asked, perplexed.
“Never get in between siblings fighting.”
That it was Algaia who said this startled me, but Alex was nodding vigorously, agreeing, “She’s right, Gnaeus. You don’t have any brothers or sisters, do you?” When I shook my head, he continued, “If you try to intervene, it will just make things worse. Besides,” he added with a touch of what sounded like grim humor, “if we’re blessed by Fortuna, Miriam may take care of the problem with Gaius for us.”
Before I could think better of it, I grinned at him as I said, “If she does, I don’t want to miss it, do you?”
“Is Mama really going to kill Uncle Gaius? What if he hurts her instead?”
I am somewhat ashamed to say that I had forgotten all about Miriam’s children, my young cousins, and as inexperienced with children as I may be, I could see how anxious Manius was; fortunately, for Manius and me, Alex immediately dropped down on his knee, putting a hand on each of the children.
“You go on outside,” he told me. When I began to move but Algaia stayed there, he turned to her and said, softly but firmly, “You too, meum mel. Let me talk to Manius and Atia for a moment.” Then he turned to young Gaius and asked, “Will you stay here too, Gaius? I could use another man’s help here.”
Sextus’ son Gaius, who I had learned over the previous days was a quiet boy, nodded solemnly, staying behind as Algaia and I left. Alex might have missed her scowl, since she obediently turned and, because of her position inside, led me out of the tomb, but I did not, although my immediate concern was to at least get an idea if there was bloodshed in the offing.
The argument between two of the Pullus children outside their family tomb gave the people of Arelate fodder for gossip for weeks; at least, so I was told, but it was entirely verbal in nature. While it was satisfying in the moment, seeing how Miriam thoroughly cowed her oldest surviving brother, who, if I am any judge, was actually physically afraid of his “big” sister despite her diminutive size, I have often thought that it probably contributed to all that transpired. I may not have thought much of Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, but no man, particularly a Roman, can be expected to be so thoroughly humiliated in public by a woman without some sort of retaliation; that it was his physically smaller sister only compounded the outrage to his dignitas. And, for anyone who has aspirations to run a collegia, being upbraided in front of the citizens who you intend to prey upon can ultimately result in failure, probably in the form of a blade across the throat or between the ribs. I offer this not as an excuse for what Gaius did, but as an explanation; the fact that it was against his own family is something that he can explain to my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather.
Perhaps the only thing that can be said about the walk back to Arelate was that it allowed tempers to cool enough for Gaius to agree to meet with the family at the villa the next morning. Septimus managed to refrain from his own verbal assault on his sister until we returned to the family home, but while it did not get as acrimonious or volatile as the incident between Miriam and Gaius, it was close. It did not help that Miriam was completely unapologetic, but I suspect the fact that I took her side did not help matters any, and we quickly reached an impasse about the wisdom and efficacy of Miriam confronting Gaius. Finally, by unspoken consent, the three blood members of the Pullus family turned to Alex, who had been sitting with Algaia, watching the exchange.
While he was clearly uncomfortable, he did not hesitate, addressing Miriam, “What did you hope to accomplish, Miriam?”
“Accomplish?” she echoed, and I could see a look of chagrin flash across her face that indicated to me that this was the first she considered the question, but she said stubbornly, “To let him know that he had no right to do as he did! He didn’t have the authority to sell anything, not without Tata’s permission, or Titus’ once Tata died!”
“That’s true.” Alex nodded in agreement, but then he asked quietly, “But that’s already done, isn’t it? That’s a jar that’s been broken and can never be repaired. So,” he pressed, “what were you trying to get from Gaius?”
Miriam did not answer immediately, and I saw her face transform as what I assume was a series of emotions ran through her as she actually considered Alex’s question for the first time with a certain level of detachment.
Finally, she answered, “I think,” she spoke slowly, “that what infuriates me more than anything is that Gaius has never once apologized.”
“That’s not true,” Septimus interjected. “He did apologize, when Titus stopped in Arelate last year.”
“To who?” Miriam shot back, but when Septimus looked away from her, she demanded, “Who did he apologize to, Septimus?”
“To me,” Septimus answered, “and to Titus.”
“But not to me!” she shouted, then stamped her foot on the floor, and it was that action that I had seen my mother use when she was both furious and frustrated that gave me an instant’s warning so that I was not surprised when she raged, “And why? Because I’m a woman! And I don’t matter, do I, Septimus?”
“I didn’t say that,” Septimu
s protested.
“You didn’t have to,” she shot back. She stood there, glaring down at her brother, but then she looked in my direction, her eyes flashing a challenge, but even if I was so inclined to argue, it never occurred to me to do so. Her voice softened, only slightly, but it was noticeable as she said, “You forget who our mother was, Septimus. She was a Ptolemy, even if she was born a slave. Do you think Mama would have behaved any differently if something like what Gaius did happened to her?”
“No,” Septimus did not hesitate to answer. “And,” he took a deep breath, and he looked her in the eye as he added, “you’re right, Miriam. You have every right to be angry, because what Gaius did hurt you as much as it hurt Titus or me.”
“But,” Miriam said, and turned to Alex, “Alex is right. That wasn’t the time or the place for me to behave as I did. And for that,” she addressed all of us, “I apologize.”
Naturally, we all accepted her apology, but I decided that I had learned enough about my new family to risk a joke, saying, “Of course I accept your apology, Miriam. You’d kill me if I didn’t.”
As I hoped, this resulted in an eruption of laughter, while Miriam agreed, “That’s right, and don’t you forget it, nephew. We’re Pulluses!”
Since I was relieved that the tension had been dispelled, I decided this was not the time to raise the subject that Miriam had mentioned so casually, yet had rocked me to my core; my grandmother was a slave.
“You surely don’t think I’m going to do that, do you? Brother?” Gaius addressed Septimus, then in what I knew had to be a calculated insult, swiveled his head past Miriam to look at me. “Nephew? Do you really think I would violate Roman law?”
The three of us were seated on one side of the kitchen table, facing Gaius, a man who Septimus confirmed was the lawyer Cinna, whose debts bound him to Gaius, and a third man who Gaius insisted was a scribe. However, the fact that he was larger than average, though nowhere near my size was not what convinced me that my uncle was lying; the scars that crisscrossed the man’s arms, the flattened nose, and the ear that could only be called such under the most charitable conditions told the tale even more than the fact that he clearly was unaccustomed to holding a stylus. Although, I had to admit, the fact that he had the tablet open and actually made some sort of scratches in the wax was a nice touch.
“We’re not asking you to violate Roman law, Gaius,” Septimus countered. “We’re asking you to honor our eldest brother’s wishes. Our brother,” he cut Gaius off, “who was our Avus’ namesake, and who the gods ordained to be the leader of this family once Tata died.”
“I don’t know the minds of the gods any more than you do, little brother,” Gaius scoffed. “But what I do know is Roman law. And,” for this, he turned to the lawyer, who I will say did not look particularly happy to be there, “Roman law is on my side, isn’t it, Cinna?”
I had noticed that Cinna’s eyes kept darting over to me, and I suppose I may have flexed a bit more than normal, but he licked his lips after a glance at me before he acknowledged, “Yes, Pullus. Your status as paterfamilias is a matter of law now that your older brother is dead. And,” he hesitated, then finished, “that nullifies anything your brother may have directed in his will.”
If Gaius tried to hide his look of triumph, he did a terrible job of it, but I suppose he tried to sound magnanimous as he said, “If you’re worried that I’m going to leave you destitute, brother, and,” he did look over at Miriam, but it was more of a sneer than a smile, “sister…don’t. I would never do anything like that to my family.” At first, I thought Gaius was being gratuitously mean-spirited, but we all learned differently when he turned to address the other people in the room. They were not at the table, but they were present, and it had been at Septimus’ insistence. “As far as the freedman Pullus family, however, I’m afraid that I’m going to have to make some…changes.”
“Changes?” Septimus demanded, and I saw he was as alarmed as I was, but when I glanced over at where Birgit, Alex, Gisela, and Algaia were standing, I saw that only Alex did not appear to be the least bit surprised. “What kind of changes are you talking about, Gaius?”
“Just that I’m not…comfortable having Birgit, Gallienus and Gisela living here, when I’m going to be moving back.” He spread his hands in a gesture that I suppose was supposed to convey some sort of regret, but it was so transparent that I believe he meant for us to see what a sham it was. There was a silence that I know stemmed from the shock, and Gaius added, “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not demanding they vacate immediately. They have…” he tilted his head as if he was considering something that we all knew he had decided long before, “…a week to find other accommodations. Oh,” he snapped his fingers, continuing the pretense that he was just remembering, “and I’ll no longer require Birgit’s services as housekeeper.”
“You can’t do that, Gaius,” Miriam spoke in a near-whisper. “You can’t just throw them out like that.”
“Why, sister,” Gaius answered with a smile, “I can, and I’m doing just that.” Once more, he turned to Cinna. “I do have that right, don’t I, Cinna? As paterfamilias and owner of all of this property?”
To his credit, this time, Cinna did not respond verbally, nor did he look up from the table, simply nodding. Which, I noticed, seemed to peeve Gaius; I got the sense that he wanted at least one participant in this little drama to show some appreciation for his guile and cleverness.
“Gaius,” Miriam pleaded, “please don’t take your anger out on Birgit, Gisela, and Gallienus. They’ve done nothing to deserve being treated this way.”
“No, they haven’t,” Gaius agreed, and again, I was certain he was doing his best to shock us.
And, I suddenly thought, keep us off balance; in that moment, I began looking at what my uncle was doing in almost military terms, as if he was a general of an enemy army, and this was what prompted me to break my silence.
“I know why he’s doing this,” I said.
“Oh?” Gaius gave me a scornful glance. “I highly doubt that. After all,” he added, “you’re your father’s son. All muscle and no brains.”
I did not respond, only because I knew what he was trying to do, but it did inspire me to pay him in kind, because instead of speaking, I very deliberately turned and looked directly at someone. And, since I had captured the collective attention of everyone in the room, it was only natural that every head turned to look at the person who I was regarding. My reward was the quiet gasps, and while my eyes were not on him, my ears told me that Gaius was one of the ones gasping.
“Algaia,” Septimus muttered. “That’s what this is about.”
I turned my attention away from her, though not before I saw Alex reach out and take her by the arm because she was so pale that I thought she might collapse, then I looked directly at Gaius, catching the poisonous stare he was giving me…until our eyes met. And, like all cowards, he quickly looked away, turning his attention to his brother.
Seemingly recovering his equilibrium, Gaius cocked his head as he asked quizzically, “Algaia? I’m not sure who you’re speaking about, brother.” This was when he turned away from us to look for the first time at the girl and Alex. “Now, if by Algaia you’re talking about my property, who I named Juno, then I will admit that I’m anxious to retrieve that property and return her to my care where she belongs.”
“You cannot do that!” Algaia snapped, her anger such that she tore her arm from Alex’s grasp, who was wearing a look of fury that I had never seen before. It turned out she was not trying to free herself from Alex to lunge at Gaius; instead, she reached down into her shift and withdrew a small scroll, which she waved triumphantly at her former owner. “Your brother freed me! Here is my manumission document! I am a free woman, you…cunnus!”
Given how I had seen Gaius behave the last time a woman confronted him, I braced in preparation to launch myself across the table, but he did not appear to be angered. Instead, he laughed, and hard. In fact, he was so
consumed with mirth that he doubled over, while we could only gawk at him, and when we talked about it later, I learned that we all thought he had lost his senses.
Finally, he straightened up and wiped a tear from his eye, although I was close enough to see that they were actually dry, but he was clearly enjoying himself as he chuckled. “Oh, my dear. Do you really think that,” he waved a dismissive hand at the scroll, “means anything? The only thing my brother did was give you false hope.” Suddenly, he turned to the lawyer. “Cinna, would you care to explain to Juno, and to my family, the error committed by my brother?”
Cinna surprised me a great deal, because his immediate response was, “Not really, Pullus. And,” he turned to look Gaius in the eye, and while he spoke quietly, we could all hear him ask, “are you certain that you want to do this? Because you know my advice is that this is a very, very foolish…”
“Shut your mouth,” Gaius snarled. Then, pointing a finger in Cinna’s face, he leaned over and whispered something in the lawyer’s ear, but while I could not hear everything, I did hear the word “debts” and a name “Prixus,” which made the man go even paler. Straightening back up, Gaius demanded, “Well? Are you going to explain or not?”
The look Cinna gave Gaius was expressive in itself; it was a look of rage and hatred that is made even more intense because it is impotent, and I felt a stab of sympathy for the man.
Cinna took a deep breath, then with closed eyes, explained, “The problem with Titus Pullus freeing…the girl Algaia,” I was certain this was a tiny measure of revenge on Gaius, who clearly did not like it, “was that he had no legal right to do so.”
“That’s not true,” Septimus broke in. “Algaia was one of the slaves Gaius purchased, using funds from the family. Funds,” he turned and jabbed a finger at Gaius, “that he had no right to use for any purpose that wasn’t approved by the paterfamilias, which was Titus once our father died. So Titus had every right to free her!”
“Normally,” Cinna replied, “you’d be right. However,” he swallowed, then once again glanced over at me, “that’s not the case with…” He stopped then, but he waved in Algaia’s direction.