by R. W. Peake
Of course, I did as he suggested.
Chapter Ten
It was snowing the final two days before we reached Mogontiacum, but being on a barge made things considerably easier than if we had been on the road. Alex and I rigged up an awning over a space between the crates that were heading to the Army of the Rhenus, and I bought a cheap charcoal brazier and supply of charcoal, although the barge master was unhappy about it. And, once there was a coating of snow on the awning, it served as further insulation, making things quite snug and cozy, considering. I passed the time by finishing reading the scrolls of my father’s that I had brought with me, regretting that I had not thought to have them copied while we were in Arelate, not that we would have had the time. Alex used one of them I was done reading to help Algaia learn to read, and before noon of the first day, the master’s son, who looked like he was about ten but could have been a scrawny teenager, kept sneaking away to sit and listen as Alex helped his woman become literate. One thing about snow is that, for reasons I do not understand, when it is falling, and it is not a blizzard, it is extremely quiet, and since we were moving downstream, there was not much for the half-dozen slaves who comprised the crew to do, so my memory of that cruise is that the predominant sound was of murmured conversations. The master was a surly bastard, but I soothed his ire with a handful of coins; at least, so I believed, but the second day, he behaved as if I had never given him anything the day before. He even had the temerity to thrust out his hand; once I informed him that the next time he did that I would slice it off, tapping the hilt of my gladius as I said it, he did not approach us again. Honestly, it was harder for the animals, but I had a spare sagum in my baggage, which I used to cover Latobius, but Alex did not have one, so I helped him brush the snow off of Thunder, Algaia’s mount, and the pack animals at regular intervals. Otherwise, there was not much to do besides sleep and talk, and naturally, much time was spent discussing my situation, so that by the time we docked in Mogontiacum and debarked, Alex had helped me come up with how I was going to approach this sensitive subject. I paid the master’s boy to run ahead to alert my mother that we would be arriving, and once again I tarried, fooling neither of my companions as to my purpose in doing so, not wanting to confront the possibility that my mother had taken a lover. I cannot honestly say why the idea bothered me; as she is always quick to remind me, she is a widow, and in many ways, widowhood gives Roman women the most freedom since, if their father is dead, they are not under the control of any man. Therefore, it should not be surprising that, especially for women of some means like my mother, they are not in any hurry to remarry, and while I cannot say I like it much, I do understand it. Nevertheless, I knew, and know, myself well enough to recognize that, if I happened to catch a man in my mother’s villa, I would be highly unlikely to react well. Fortunately, there was no possibility of that, as both my mother and Carissa were standing at the outer gate, bundled up obviously, but waiting for us. We had another affectionate greeting, and I do not believe we got more than a dozen steps inside the walls before my mother turned to Algaia and Alex to offer her congratulations on her pregnancy, leaving Alex and me to exchange a look of complete mystification.
“She’s wearing a cloak,” he muttered as we followed behind the three women, while Mandalonius appeared to take control of our animals and lead them to the stables. “How could your mother possibly know?”
Since I had absolutely no idea, I did not even attempt to guess. My mother ushered us into the villa, and I inadvertently headed towards the kitchen area, forgetting that my mother preferred the triclinium, and that her house was not constructed with a kitchen big enough where a large table would fit.
“Why don’t you and Alex get cleaned up while I chat with Algaia?”
She phrased it as a question, but I knew my mother far too well, so when Alex seemed disposed to argue, looking extremely uneasy, I tugged his arm and led him in the direction of the room he and Algaia would be using, telling him, “Trust me, it’s just easier this way.”
“But what do you think they’re talking about?”
I could see he was worried, and I wish I could say I did not use this as an opportunity for my own idea of fun, answering instantly, “What do you think? You, Alex. They’re talking about you.”
“But what about me?” He sounded so plaintive that I had to stifle a laugh, but I could see he was truly concerned, which did ignite a pang of guilt, so I tried to assure him, “She’s probably just telling Algaia that you’re going to be a good father, but that you’re also going to be a new father, just like she’s a new mother. Something like that.”
This amused him, and he countered, “You have no idea what she might be saying, do you? You’re just making this up.”
“No,” I admitted, “and yes.”
This made him laugh, and I left him at his room, then went to the one I used when I was here, finding that Mandalonius had not only unloaded my baggage, but had brought it to my room, and was waiting to see if I wanted to at least have a good oiling and scraping. I naturally said yes, and I at least felt cleaner, but I tired of waiting to be summoned, so I stalked down the hall, finding Alex lying on the bed staring up at the ceiling.
“Let’s go see if my mother is through telling your woman how to handle you.”
Not surprisingly, he immediately jumped to his feet and followed me into the triclinium, to find that Algaia was curled up on one of the couches, sound asleep, while my mother was sipping wine and reading from a scroll. Somehow, I instantly knew what she was reading, and I decided this was as good a place to start as any.
“Mother, I’m going to take these with me when I leave. But,” I held up a hand, knowing what was coming, “I’ve finished reading most of my father’s account, and I’m going to leave all but the last two that I haven’t read yet with you. And as soon as I get back to Ubiorum, I’ll send the ones I left there that I’ve already finished.”
As I expected, this had an effect on her, and even if I had never met her, I would have heard the anxiety in her voice as she asked, “So you’ve read most of it?” She paused to take a sip that was more a gulp of wine, then, “What did he say about me, Gnaeus? About us? Will I be…hurt?”
It felt extremely awkward talking about this, but I was happy that at least I could assure her that, if anything, my father was extremely kind to my mother; indeed, I still struggle to reconcile myself to the feeling that he was probably kinder than he should have been. Considering for whom this account is intended, just as my father’s account, I will not belabor how badly hurt Titus Porcinianus Pullus the man was by what transpired with my mother, nor the fact that he never loved another woman in a way that could not be measured in parts of a watch and a handful of coins.
Still, I managed to assure her, “No, Mama. You’ll be…pleased,” I realized how awkward that sounded, but it was the best I could do, “with what he had to say. Now,” I pointedly changed the subject, “there’s some other things I need to talk to you about.”
“Algaia told me,” she replied, but something in my face must have caused her to hastily amend, “at least part of it.”
Alex had entered with me, but he had immediately gone to sit on the edge of the couch where Algaia was sleeping, and it took me clearing my throat twice to get his attention.
“Ah, yes,” he mumbled, leaping up and coming to sit next to me on the other end of the couch facing my mother.
“What part did Algaia tell you?” I began, and her expression turned somber.
“She told me about Gaius, and what happened with him,” she answered. Shaking her head, she added sadly, “Honestly, I don’t know how to feel about it. He obviously posed a threat to you and the entire family, but it’s still very sad.”
I certainly could not argue this, and despite having more than ten days to grapple with all that transpired in Arelate, I still could not really determine my true feelings on the matter. Perhaps if I was not already dealing with the radical change in my circumstan
ces and what it meant to be a member of this family that, to the men under the standard, is widely known and respected, it would have been more straightforward. Nothing I saw in my limited contact with Gaius Porcinianus Pullus elicited any kind of warm feelings in me, and the brutal truth is that I wanted to kill him within a matter of heartbeats of meeting him, but I suppose seeing how conflicted people, like Algaia, who were impacted far more by Gaius Pullus than I was, made me somewhat conflicted as well.
Consequently, I simply agreed, “It is. But, Mama, with his death, that means there are some…changes.”
Rather than explain myself, I turned to Alex, who proceeded to tell my mother essentially what he had told me, while I sat, watching her carefully, searching her face for a clue to her thoughts. And, as he talked, I could see her expression slowly transform, recognizing the look of hope and happiness blossoming to an extent that I felt compelled to intervene.
“Mama,” I tried to be as gentle as possible, because this was a sensitive topic, for both of us, “it’s not all good news, I’m afraid.”
“Oh?” She turned to regard me with a raised eyebrow, but before I could respond, she went on, “Are you referring to how my name will be dragged through the mud? How all the gossiping merchants’ wives will titter about the fact that I fell in love with a man of the Head Count and had his child?” It was in this instant I realized I should have expected her to know my mind, but all I could do was nod; I was completely unprepared for her to counter, “Let me ask you something, Gnaeus. Is this based in your concern for me? Or is this about you, and what you’re likely to face?”
Inwardly, I roundly cursed myself for forgetting how clever my mother is, and how much insight she has into her only child; outwardly, I was forced to acknowledge, “It’s both, Mama.”
“Well,” she challenged me, “if I can bear it, why can’t you? Gnaeus,” she reached out and grabbed my arm, squeezing it hard enough that I gave a mocking wince, but although it made her smile, I knew she was deadly serious, “this isn’t about me, and it’s not completely about you either. It’s about your children. Now that you’ve been in the Legions and you’ve seen how we treat the Head Count, why would you want that for your children?”
I knew this was impossible to argue, yet I still felt compelled to point out, “I just returned from Arelate, Mama. And the Pullus family…my family are very highly respected there, and they live better than most equestrians. In fact,” I felt somewhat badly about saying this, but it was true, “they live better than we ever did in Mediolanum.”
“And that,” she replied, not in a contentious manner, but reciting it as fact, “is because of one man, Gnaeus. But you’re his great-grandson. And your children will be five generations removed, and their children even farther removed from the Prefect, and people forget their heroes.”
I felt the first stirring of anger now, and I could hear it in my voice as I shot back, “You act as if my father, the man you loved, wasn’t respected in the Legions! Or his father, my grandfather, for that matter!” I am afraid I began pointing at my mother, but the more I spoke, the angrier I became. “And you’re acting as if I’m not able to keep the Pullus name as respected as it is now, but my father was a friend of Germanicus! He didn’t just serve Germanicus, they were comrades! Were you there when Germanicus gave his funeral oration, Mama? No! But I,” I suddenly remembered that Alex was there, and I saw Algaia had awakened, probably because, while I was not yelling, I was close to it, and I encompassed them with a gesture, “no, we were there! And we saw Germanicus Julius Caesar weep as he spoke about him! So the Pullus name is still respected, Mama, and I’ll do everything I can to uphold the reputation of this family! Rome will never forget our name!”
I was fully roused now and had come to my feet, but while my mother’s eyes had filled with tears, I also saw that tilt of the chin, and more importantly to her son when it came to divining his mother’s mood, the nostrils flaring, the most potent sign she was at least as angry as I was.
Regardless, her tone was calm as she asked quietly, “And at what cost, Gnaeus? What did it cost the Pullus family? Your father’s dead, your grandfather lost his leg, and the Prefect…” She stopped suddenly, her head dropping, and I saw that her eyes had gone to the scroll she had set on the table, then she resumed, “…your great-grandfather was perhaps the saddest, loneliest man of all. Yes,” now she looked up at me, and the anger was gone, replaced by something else even more unsettling, a look of real anguish, “he achieved greatness, and Gaius Porcinus, and your father Titus added to the family name…but at what cost?” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m sorry, Gnaeus, but I don’t want that for you, or my grandchildren, whenever they may come, and I am perfectly happy to bear whatever comes my way so that your children and theirs can simply be in the Equestrian Order without anyone knowing who they are, and how they got there.”
This was not what I had had in mind at all when I nodded to Alex to open this discussion, and I desperately did not want to have it in front of him and Algaia, yet I also recognized that this was unavoidable, so I decided to get it all out in the open.
“You know that I’ve decided that I plan on staying under the standard even after my first enlistment expires,” I began.
“Yes,” she answered tersely, and her lips set in a thin line. “I know that you’ve mentioned it. But this changes things.”
“Not to me,” I countered, determined that now I would be the calm one. “Even if I do return to the Equestrian Order, I have no intention of leaving the Legion, Mother.”
I have no idea whether it was the words or that I referred to her formally that ignited her rage, not that it mattered.
“Don’t be foolish, Gnaeus!” she snapped, and she was truly angry, that much I could see. “You’re my only child, and if you haven’t learned anything else from your father and what happened to him, you should at least have learned that the chances of you surviving for forty-two years like the Prefect are just as likely as you being named Germanicus’ heir! I will not lose you like I lost your father to the cursed Legions!”
My mother had certainly raised her voice to me before, but never, ever had she shrieked at me as she did then, and I do not recall her doing so, yet suddenly, she was standing, glaring up at me. This was bad enough, but she began poking me in my chest, and I am not proud when I say that I came very close to striking her in that moment, yet there was a part of me that did recognize that she was acting this way because of the pain of losing my father. Nevertheless, I was still more angry than sympathetic, mainly because she had aimed unerringly, pricking my pride, and although we never spoke of it, I am certain that this was no accident.
“I’m happy to see that you have so much faith in my ability, Mother,” I said coldly, but she was unmoved.
“It has nothing to do with ability, Gnaeus,” she shot back. “Are you saying that your father wasn’t skilled? That he wasn’t,” she cocked her head as if she was trying to recall, yet I knew she was mocking me by the way she continued, “the best man with a gladius that you have ever seen?” Once more, she poked her finger in my chest, demanding to know, “Are you saying that you’re even better than your father, Gnaeus? That if you had been in his position that you would have survived?”
As I said, we never spoke about it later, but I am certain that she had never forgotten my confession to her, so again, her aim was unerring, because I felt like I had been punched in the gut, and just as when the wind is knocked from you, my anger vanished, replaced by a pain that, even months later, was still too raw. And, even now as I dictate this, it is still difficult, and if the pain has dulled, it is only by a matter of degree.
“No, Mama,” I finally managed, having dropped back onto the couch next to Alex, “I’m not saying that. But,” I took a deep breath, and looked her in the eye as I said quietly, “I’m not changing my mind. I’m a man of the Legions, for however long the gods will allow it. And, if I fall in battle,” I shrugged, “well, we all die, Mama. A
t least if I do, it will be doing what I think the gods made me for.”
And, this is what I still believe, and is why Alex and I are still serving Rome.
One blessing in what was, by any measure, a contentious and emotional conversation with my mother is that we have never been able to stay angry at each other. Also, I believe that now that we both knew where the other stood, we recognized that there was no chance of convincing the other to change their mind. Consequently, the next day was spent on more pleasant topics, mainly composed of Alex and me listening in growing bemusement as Algaia and my mother talked about pregnancy and raising a child. It did take some time, but I harbored a growing suspicion that the two women were actually using us as a source of amusement; when I finally brought this up, they both burst out laughing, leaving Alex and me to look at each other sheepishly. Otherwise, by unspoken consent, we steered away from any topic that might prove contentious, but then, as we ate our evening meal the night before our departure, Alex brought something up that, at the time, seemed a bit farfetched.
“Gnaeus, don’t be surprised if Gaius shows up in Ubiorum at some point in the future,” he said so casually that it did not register at first.
And, even when it did, I was confused, to put it mildly, my first thought being, How could Gaius Pullus show up if he’s dead? Alex saw that I was puzzled and correctly interpreted it.
“I’m talking about Gaius Gallienus.”
“Your brother?” I asked, immediately experiencing a jab of apprehension at the idea of Birgit and her likely reaction.
“Half-brother,” he corrected me, although it was not in a manner that indicated he was upset, and I realized that it was just Alex’s precision in all matters, “but yes. That Gaius.”
“Why do you say that?” My mother asked this, but I was every bit as curious as she was, and Alex chewed his food as he thought for a moment.