Avenging Varus Part II

by R. W. Peake

  “What do you mean?” Alex asked, but this Gaius answered, although he addressed himself to Septimus.

  “Do you remember what Tata gave us for our name day when we donned the toga virilis, Septimus?”

  I glanced over at Septimus, who was frowning, and he shook his head, “You mean, besides the lecture on what it meant to be a Pullus and a gladius?”

  “Yes,” Gaius answered patiently, “besides that.” When Septimus did not reply immediately, he reminded him, “He gave us five thousand sesterces, remember?”

  I saw Septimus’ expression change, so I knew that he understood, but he countered, “That wasn’t Tata, Gaius. That came from Mama.”

  Gaius waved his hand, saying impatiently, “A woman can’t give money unless she’s a widow, you know that. Anything that came to us from her really came from Tata.”

  I was actually sitting next to Miriam, with Septimus on the opposite side, but as I learned later, we both reacted in the same manner, and quickly enough, reaching out with our near hand, under the table and snatching at the cloth of her shift, thereby keeping her in her seat. This did not stop her from hissing a curse at Gaius, who I was amused to see suddenly looked uneasy, shifting his attention between his sister and his brother.

  Septimus, realizing that it did not matter in the larger scheme, acknowledged, “All right, yes. I remember that.”

  “That,” Gaius said triumphantly, “was the money I used to buy Juno. It didn’t come from the family funds, but from the gift that was given to me.”

  My eyes went to Algaia, and her expression struck me like a stab in the gut, but Alex was no better; in that moment, I began to truly hate my uncle.

  “Wait.” Miriam’s voice jerked me away from the couple, and I turned to see her staring at Gaius with a frown, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Something’s not right here.”

  “I assure you, that it’s…” Gaius began, but she cut him off.

  “Unless you’re assuring me that it’s a load of cac, save your breath,” she snapped. Pointing at Gaius, she said, “You just said that you used the funds from your name day when you put on the toga virilis.”

  “It’s good to see you’re paying attention,” Gaius sneered.

  Shaking her head enough that it made her curls fly, reminding me of my mother, my aunt shot back, “But you didn’t purchase Juno until four years ago, Gaius.”

  Suddenly, Septimus interjected, and I could hear the excitement in his voice, which I could see Algaia noticed. “You spent that five thousand long before you purchased Algaia, Gaius. And I know it, because I was with you when you spent it. Not,” he held up a hand to cut Gaius off so he could finish, “all of it, no. But more than enough so that there’s no way you could have afforded to buy her!”

  I never learned whether Gaius’ long, drawn-out pause was because he was thinking furiously or if he wanted to torment us; I am certain it was the latter, given all that I know about him now.

  Gaius finally broke the silence by asking, “Can you prove that, Septimus?” Gaius turned to Miriam, his voice dripping with venom, “Can you, sister? Can either of you prove that I didn’t use the money our father gave me?”

  The silence was answer enough, and I felt Miriam sag against me, her head dropping, although she did not cry. It did enable me to glance over at Septimus, who sensed my eyes on him, and when he turned to look at me, I gazed at him for a long moment.

  Then I saw his head nod, imperceptibly, and he addressed Gaius, “Are you sure this is what you want to do, Gaius?”

  “What?” Gaius countered. “Claim my property given to me under Roman law?” He gave an elaborate shrug. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because you’re putting us in a position where nobody wins,” Septimus said quietly.

  For the first time, Gaius seemed truly puzzled, but I was looking at Cinna, and while he was still staring down at the table, I swear I saw the shadow of a smile cross his face, and I am convinced that he knew exactly what was coming.

  “From where I sit, brother,” Gaius chuckled, “I can see where you might feel like you’re not winning, but that certainly doesn’t apply to me.”

  I decided then that it was time for me to play a larger role, partially to save Septimus, and to a lesser extent Miriam, the pain and anguish that what came next would evoke.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure,” I spoke up. When Gaius looked at me, I went on, “As an officer of the Legions of Rome, I’m under oath to report violations of the law. Now,” indulging my sudden impulse, I stood up and leaned on the table so that I towered over Gaius, happy to see how quickly he leaned backward, “normally, that means out in Ubiorum, where the 1st is stationed. If, for example, I learn about a fixed dice game, or someone who’s using his whores to rob men under the standard, it’s my duty to report it to the provosts. However,” I paused, “there’s nothing in the regulations that say that my duty ever ends, even if I’m on leave. Although,” I shrugged, “I’m actually not on leave right now. I’m under orders from the Propraetor of Gaul.” I could not resist paying Gaius in the same kind of coin he had been spending, so I addressed Septimus, “Uncle Septimus, I forget. What province is Arelate in? Do you happen to recall?”

  As I expected, he immediately understood, so he frowned as he pretended to think about it, and I suppose I should not have been surprised he decided to get Miriam involved, “Actually, I can’t recall, nephew. Oh, sister dear,” he turned to Miriam, “you’re the clever one of the family, and you know all these kinds of things. Where is Arelate located?”

  “Why,” Miriam replied gaily, “I actually happen to know this! You know how flighty and silly we women are.” She turned and gave Gaius a sweet smile, then turned to look up at me, and I saw her eyes dancing with what I am certain was a combination of humor and a savage satisfaction. “But we live in Narbonese, Gaul.”

  “Ah, yes, thank you, that’s right. I forgot.” I nodded. Then I returned my attention to Gaius, pleased to see that he had gone pale, and I continued, “So, as I was saying, being under orders by the Propraetor of Gaul. And,” I felt a sudden tightness in my chest, “since your brother, my father once served as the de facto Primus Pilus of the Legio Germanicus, and the Propraetor himself gave the funeral oration for him. Well,” I lifted my hands off the table to spread them in the same kind of helpless gesture he had used, “I’m sure that you can see that I really have no choice but to go to the duumviri of Arelate. And,” I shook my head sadly, “I would certainly not enjoy having to tell them that one of my blood relations and the grandson of Prefect Pullus was involved in the kind of illegal activities that would bring shame to this town. And,” my voice hardened as the anger came back, “this family.”

  “You…you wouldn’t dare,” Gaius hissed, and for the first time, what I am certain was the real Gaius Pullus came out, his face twisted into a mask of hatred and rage. However, when he pointed a shaking finger, it was not at me, but at both of his siblings. “You’re making a very bad mistake if you think that I’ll allow you to do something like that.”

  “Don’t look at them.” I did not yell; in fact, I spoke even more quietly than I had a moment earlier. “Look at me, Gaius. I’m the one who’s going to destroy you if you go through with this.”

  And, just as I anticipated, I saw the third member of Gaius’ party move for the first time, although I have no idea if it was because of some signal Gaius sent him or if he was acting on his own initiative. All that mattered in that moment was that just as he leapt to his feet and while he was reaching for the pugio at his waist, I reached down, grasped the edge of the table on our side, and flipped it over. It was a simple enough maneuver and one that is common in the battles that rage in the tavernae of Legion towns, although I am not boasting when I say that the table in the Pullus villa was much larger, and heavier, than those used in a taverna. I did feel somewhat badly that Cinna was on that side of the table, but I did not hesitate once I upended it, which pinned both Gaius and the lawyer between their benc
h and the table, although both of them managed to come to their feet. To my consternation, the would-be clerk reacted with the kind of reflexes that belied his status as a scribe, managing to avoid being pinned. It did not save him, however, because I was following that table so closely, leaping over it as he went staggering backward so that before he could react, I already had a fistful of his tunic in my left hand and my right fist slammed into his battered nose, smashing it even flatter than it was already, feeling it collapse from my punch. I am not certain how many times I hit him before first Alex, then Septimus draped themselves over me, with Alex hanging on my arm and Septimus on my back, but it was actually Miriam who stopped me.

  She suddenly appeared in front of me, making me aware that I was actually on my knees, which were pinning the arms of Gaius’ man, but it was her shouting, “Gnaeus! That’s enough!” that actually made me stop.

  The only sound then, at least that I could hear, was my own harsh breathing, and because I was straddling the man, I had to rely on feeling his chest rising underneath me to know if he was still alive, and I was suddenly struck by the odd thought that this was the second time I had found myself in this situation, just on this trip. However long I was beating him, it was enough time for both Gaius and the lawyer to extricate themselves, while the latter scurried to a corner of the room, but I did not pay him any attention. Keeping my eyes on Gaius, who was standing a couple paces away, I bent down and retrieved the pugio that was lying on the floor, then in one motion, I threw it, causing Gaius to flinch as he shrieked in fear as he tried to duck out of the way, but I had not aimed at him.

  I walked over and pulled it out of the plaster wall, then handed it to him hilt first, and I surprised myself with how calm I sounded. “I was just returning your property…uncle.”

  “You…you almost beat Prixus to death,” Gaius whispered, sounding shocked, which made me laugh.

  I actually addressed Cinna, pointing down to the now-identified Prixus, asking scornfully, “Gaius was threatening you with him?” I shook my head, saying sadly, “If that’s what passes for a hard man, you’re not likely to be running a collegia very long. Now,” just as quickly, I fell back on what I think of as my Centurion voice, “get that lump of meat out of here. I don’t think Birgit appreciates having to clean up all the blood.”

  “I can’t carry him,” Gaius gasped, but when I suddenly wheeled on him, I was happy to see how quickly he changed his mind, and he scrambled over to Prixus, who was moaning softly and slowly moving his head back and forth.

  “Cinna,” Gaius snapped. “Come here and help me!”

  For a moment, I thought Cinna would refuse, but then Gaius turned and gave him a look that, while I did not know with any certainty, indicated to me that there was some sort of silent communication about Cinna’s debts, because with a sigh, the lawyer walked, reluctantly, over to my uncle. None of us made a move to help them, and I was content to watch them huffing and puffing as they pulled Prixus up to a sitting position; fortunately for them, he was conscious enough by then to at least partially aid his cause, climbing to his feet, then with one beefy arm over their shoulders, Gaius and Cinna guided him out of the room.

  “This isn’t over,” Gaius called out, but when I moved to go after him, Septimus grabbed my arm, shaking his head.

  “No, Gnaeus,” he said softly, “that’s enough for now.”

  “You know that he means it,” I argued, but Septimus would not budge, although he did not argue the point, saying only, “This isn’t the time.”

  It was when I glanced over and saw that Alex was occupied comforting Algaia, who was sobbing uncontrollably, her face buried in his shoulder, while Miriam was hugging Birgit, who was in only slightly better shape than the Breuci girl, that I realized he was right.

  We summoned Aviola, and by the time he arrived, the bloodstain on the tiled floor had been scrubbed away, while the table was back in place, and the broken cups cleared away. He listened to all that transpired, and I was a bit uncomfortable when neither Septimus nor Miriam spared any detail, although I was thankful when Aviola seemed unconcerned.

  “He drew a weapon,” the lawyer pronounced after hearing everything. “The Centurion was well within his rights to defend himself and the rest of you.” With that handled, he turned to the more pressing issue. “Now, as far as what Gaius Pullus is doing, I’m afraid that he’s within his rights under Roman law. He can decide who can dwell under his roof, especially now that he’s paterfamilias. As for the other matter,” he looked somewhat embarrassed, but I understood why when he indicated Algaia, who was only partially recovered, “there might be better news there.”

  “How so?” Alex asked anxiously, which was completely justifiable from my perspective.

  “Before I go down that road, let me ask you,” Aviola turned to Septimus, “how good at keeping records was your father?”

  “Very,” Septimus answered, without hesitation, but when Aviola asked, “And Gaius?” he sighed, admitting, “Not as good. Although,” he added suddenly, “now that I think about it, the problems with his record keeping had more to do with his attempt to hide what he was doing from my father the last few months he was alive.”

  “Why is that relevant?” Miriam asked.

  “You told me that Gaius went on something of a…spree? When it came to buying slaves?” Aviola elaborated. When the siblings nodded, he continued, “Usually, slaves aren’t purchased individually, at least when someone is suddenly expanding their business.”

  Before he could go on, it was Alex who interjected thoughtfully, “Which means that Algaia could have been part of a lot sale.”

  “I was!” For the first time, she showed a spark of what I thought of as her normal self, adding, “I was sold with my mother, one brother, and a half-dozen other Breuci captives.”

  “When was this?” Aviola asked, and I did not have to know her to see how painful it was for her to recall this, but she answered readily enough, “More than ten years ago now.”

  “But that was before Gaius started buying slaves,” Septimus objected, glancing apologetically at Algaia, but it was left to Aviola to ask, “When you were bought with your mother, brother, and those other people, was it when you came here? To Arelate?” he asked her, yet while she did not respond verbally, the shake of her head, along with the fresh set of tears was all the answer needed, but Aviola was not quite done. “Do you remember the circumstances when you were sold to the Pullus family?”

  She thought for a moment, then she answered listlessly, “Yes, I do. There were five of us.”

  To me, this seemed to be all that was needed, which meant I did not understand why she did not appear all that happy, but Septimus did, which made sense once I thought about it.

  “Three of them went to the ludus,” Septimus explained. “And the fourth was one of the slaves Titus made Gaius sell.”

  “Do you have a record of that sale?” Aviola asked, but Septimus shrugged, which prompted Aviola to say, “And am I correct in assuming that the three who were sold to the ludus are…”

  “Dead,” Septimus answered flatly, eliciting a stifled sob from Algaia, which I assumed was because of the damage it did to her own cause.

  And, I will add, it shows how much I know about women. Aviola sat for a moment, considering matters.

  “Can you at least try and find that record of purchase by Gaius?”

  “Yes,” Septimus answered, and he got up and left the room.

  We sat there listening to his footsteps up the stairway, and nobody seemed in the mood to speak, which suited me because my hands were beginning to stiffen up. I had not noticed them before, but then Miriam pointed out my skinned knuckles, making me aware of them, for which I half-jokingly blamed her.

  Septimus returned quickly enough, a smile on his face that lifted our spirits, handing a scroll to Aviola, who opened it, scanned it, then gave a grunt and said, “That’s what I was afraid of. She’s not mentioned by name in the bill of purchase. It only says, ‘
Girl, 15, of Breuci tribe.’ And…”

  He stopped then, suddenly reluctant to continue, but Algaia spoke up, “Go ahead. Read what it says.” When Aviola did not do so, she jumped to her feet, then shouted, “Read it! They might as well know what it says!” He still did not do so, and she turned to look at us, the three members of the Pullus family who had returned to our spots at the table. Her voice contained such a mixture of anger, defiance, and raw pain that it made me shift uncomfortably, “What this man isn’t saying is that it describes me as being ‘suitable for brothel work’ or,” her chin began to quiver, “as a ‘pleasure slave for a private owner’. Oh,” she added, but the tears were streaming down her cheeks, “I also have hips that are wide enough to make me suitable for breeding more slaves.”

  I was a grown man, in my mid-twenties, and this was the first time I had ever been confronted with what I know Romans of my class take as a matter of course, the disposition of our slaves. Not once had I ever really considered slaves as a class of human beings; it is impossible, however, not to think of individual slaves with whom you have daily contact as fellow humans, at least for me. But in this moment, I also realized that they were the exceptions, and now that I have thought on it, I suspect that this is how we Romans who are not like Gaius Pullus can manage to live our lives without any guilt, because as long as we treat the slaves with whom we have contact well, relatively speaking, we can tell ourselves that every other slave is treated the same way, or that those slaves who suffered at the hands of cruel owners are rare. Gaius had destroyed that fiction, and listening to Algaia recite her value, as viewed by we owners, made me extremely uncomfortable, and one glance over at Miriam and Septimus told me they felt the same.

  Miriam confirmed it further by murmuring, “This is why Tata and Mama didn’t want us owning slaves.”

  “Your parents,” Birgit spoke for the first time, “never treated me or my mother as a slave. And they freed us both. You should always remember that. What Gaius did was wrong, but Titus corrected it as soon as he found out about it.” Suddenly, she looked over at me, asking directly, “What I want to know is, what will Titus’ son do? Will he follow the path of his father and grandparents? Or is he still an Equestrian who thinks other people are there to serve him?”