by R. W. Peake
I could see that Germanicus was amenable to my argument, and I was certain that whatever Dolabella had in mind would be stopped right then, but then, Dolabella made what I thought an extremely odd request.
“Sir, may I speak to Pullus privately?”
This obviously startled Germanicus as much as it did me, but he nodded his permission, and Dolabella motioned to me to follow him out of the office. Although I did so, I was not happy about it; too many times I had found myself in a web of Dolabella’s making, so I was preparing myself for telling him that I had no intention of being entangled in this one; that I was completely unprepared for what was coming is an understatement. Following him out of Germanicus’ office, we retreated to the same corner we had been not long before, but Dolabella was careful to check for any prying ears before he turned to me.
“There’s something you should know, Pullus,” he began. “Something about who’s involved in what’s happening in Pannonia.”
This elicited a sudden rush of icy cold that was so overpowering that it made my fingers tingle. It is a funny thing about a man’s mind, how it will go to extraordinary lengths to protect itself, and this moment was no exception. Only now, with the distance of some time, as little as it may be, can I see how a part of me instantly understood Dolabella, and about whom he was speaking, yet in the moment, I refused to make that association.
“Who?” I heard myself gasp. “Not Asinius!”
Dolabella physically jerked, staring at me in disbelief, and he assured me, “No, not Asinius.” He stared up at me for a long moment, and I got the sense that he was trying not to say the name that, by this point in time, I knew was on the tip of his tongue. Which I refused to acknowledge, prompting him to close his eyes for a brief instant, then say aloud, “Titus Domitius. He’s one of the leaders of this rebellion.”
Titus Domitius, the man who had befriended me as a fresh-faced tiro when I enlisted in my father’s old Legion, the 8th, the grandson of my Avus’ childhood friend, Vibius Domitius. The man with whom, on one memorable night, I had been forced to flee over extremely rough ground, simply to stay alive during the rebellion of the Colapiani. He had been my close comrade during my time in the 8th, the holder of my will, and I had been a guest in the home he had made with his woman Petrilla more times than I could count. I had also trusted Domitius more times than I could count, but I know he would have said the same. Despite our family history, which I had been worried about from the moment I first learned of his identity, Domitius was, and many ways still is, the closest friend I have ever had, no matter what transpired between us. Although I had been with the 1st for a decade by this point, I had kept up my correspondence with Domitius, but within a matter of heartbeats after Dolabella informed me that Domitius was one of the ringleaders of the Pannonian rebellion, I realized that, while I had continued sending him letters, he had not responded for at least a year. Up until this instant, I had put the lack of return mail down to him being busy – he had a family, after all, and he had been promoted into the Centurionate, currently serving as the Secundus Hastatus Superior – but now I was confronted with an uglier possibility, that he had not written me because he was busy planning this insurrection. Dolabella spared me no detail, describing to an uncomfortable degree the level of Domitius’ involvement in the mutiny of the 8th Legion in particular, and the other Pannonian Legions.
“I wouldn’t put him at the very top of the men responsible for this,” Dolabella told me, “but he’s probably in the top three or four men involved.”
Despite this being a cold comfort, I confess to a small glimmer of, if not happiness, then at least pride that Domitius had this level of influence among his comrades. I made sure this did not reflect in my expression as I listened to Dolabella continue.
“I think that if anyone can reach Domitius and the men of the 8th, you’d be at top of that list,” Dolabella said, yet while I was always suspicious of this man, as I stared into the one eye that was looking into mine, I did not sense any deceit there, and I suppose a part of me responded to this flattery, no matter how true it may have been. Even more unusual was Dolabella reaching out to grasp me by the arm as he finished urgently, “Pullus, I need you to come with me to Pannonia. We’re supposed to meet Drusus, but,” suddenly, his voice dropped even lower, and he took a quick glance around as he whispered, “Drusus isn’t Germanicus. I’m afraid, and,” his expression turned even grimmer, “I think Tiberius feels the same way, that Drusus will need…help.”
“To do what?” I countered, still unwilling to commit to this, although I confess the idea of seeing Domitius again, no matter the circumstances, was tempting.
“To try and keep Drusus from making matters worse.” Dolabella did not hesitate. “If he’s left to his own devices and without anyone to control him, there’s no telling how bad he’ll make things.”
“What about Germanicus?” I asked, but again, he did not waver, responding, “Between Germanicus and Drusus, I’d trust Germanicus much more than I trust Drusus to handle a delicate matter in a way that causes the least amount of trouble.”
He hesitated, and I understood why when he said, “Pullus, I know you don’t trust me, at least under normal circumstances. But these aren’t normal circumstances. I’m asking you. No,” he shook his head, “I’m begging you to come with me to Pannonia.”
Honestly, he had me convinced already, but having Tiberius Dolabella, a man who, over the years, had created so much trouble for me as he worked first for Augustus, then Tiberius, begging me was something that I could not help enjoying.
Regardless of my personal feelings, all I told him was, “If Germanicus allows it, I’ll go.”
He immediately spun about and reentered the office, but when I moved to follow him in, he turned and motioned me to stay where I was. For some reason, and for one of the only occasions, I did not argue, nor did I try to follow him into the office, choosing instead to sit back down and wait. Asprenas had been off doing something with some of his Tribune friends; by this point, we had begun switching off being present while we waited for the messenger, who had turned out to be Dolabella, and as I waited to hear my fate, Asprenas returned, heading directly for me with an inquiring expression.
“I just heard from one of the guards outside that a courier’s arrived,” he said, but there was an extra layer of tension, which was explained when he said, “and the guard said that, while he doesn’t know the courier’s name, he says that he’s a man who usually carries messages for Tiberius.”
I agreed by saying, “His name’s Dolabella, and yes, he does.” Asprenas turned, acting as if he intended to go into the office, and I said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea right now, Tribune.”
I was not surprised when he shot me an annoyed look, that air of disdain at being spoken to by an inferior resurfacing, though it was just a glimmer, but I was a bit surprised that he heeded me, muttering to himself as he came to my side and leaned against the wall. Fortunately, at least for Asprenas, we did not have long to wait; the door was opened by Dolabella, and we heard Germanicus call for us. My heart was beating quite a bit more quickly than normal for just sitting down, and I was in a unique state of mind, one where I was equally torn. On the one hand, I felt my duty was to go back to Germania and help Germanicus in restoring order to the Legions there, especially the 1st, but I could not deny that the pull exerted on my heart by the knowledge that I conceivably had an opportunity to reunite with Titus Domitius, Asinius, Galens, and many others was very strong as well. That short walk into the office seemed much longer than it had been every other time I made it, and I scanned Dolabella’s face as I entered, trying to get a hint of what lay ahead for me, and for the Army of the Rhenus. Germanicus was still seated behind his desk, but while he was normally expressive and not one for hiding his feelings, this time, his face was a mask. Thankfully, he was not disposed to keep either of us in suspense.
“I’ve received instructions from my father,” he began, “but when he
issued them, he was unaware of what was happening in Germania.” My heart sank, thinking that I was about to hear that we were in for another wait. Then, he paused for a deep breath and continued, “However, I was just informed that he is sending my brother Drusus to Pannonia, and while his instructions are to join him there, since Drusus has been given imperium by our father to act on his behalf, I’ve decided that I’m going to Germania immediately.”
Now, this was not exactly the situation that Dolabella had described; nevertheless, I did not try to hide my relief, nor did Asprenas, who let out an explosive breath that he had obviously been holding in as he listened. Relieved as I was, I also was waiting to see if Dolabella had been successful in his plea for me to go with him to Pannonia.
“Tribune,” Germanicus addressed Asprenas, “you need to go get ready. We leave at first light, and we’re going to be riding hard.” For a moment, Asprenas did not move, and I felt his eyes go towards me, clearly expecting me to go with him, which Germanicus caught and correctly interpreted. “The Princeps Prior and I have some things to discuss. However, you’re dismissed.”
Asprenas stiffened, coming to intente, although I suspect some of his rigidity was an automatic response to what he took as a rebuke, but he rendered a salute, executed an about-turn, and marched out of the office, leaving me alone with Germanicus and Dolabella.
We waited for the door to close, and once I heard the latch engage, only then did Germanicus speak again, saying evenly, “I won’t waste time here, either. Pullus, I know that you’re aware that Dolabella has asked for your presence down in Pannonia.” I simply nodded, which was enough for him, and he leaned back in his chair, eyeing me closely, then asked, “What are your thoughts on that, Pullus? Where do you think you’d be of more use?”
This was completely unexpected, although when I thought about it immediately afterward, I suppose I should not have been surprised, given the capacity under which I had served Germanicus as his Primus Pilus, when he had never been shy about asking for my advice. I suppose I assumed that, after all that he had been through, and the inevitable seasoning brought on by passing years, he would not have been as disposed to ask.
In the moment, I tried to think through the conflicting swirl of thoughts and emotions I was feeling, then before it fully formed in my mind, I said, “I think I should go to Pannonia, sir.”
Germanicus did not respond immediately, just kept looking at me for a long moment, his face giving nothing away, to the point where I convinced myself that I had given him an answer that displeased him.
Finally, he said, “I agree.” Turning to Dolabella, he added, “You have my permission to bring Pullus with you to Pannonia. But,” he warned, “I expect him back as soon as those troubles are over, do you understand?” While I appreciated that he seemed to think I was valuable to him where I was, I did not think this admonition was all that necessary, but then Germanicus said something that chilled my blood. “He’s not to be used for any of those…special tasks that my father’s used him for in the past, which I know you’re involved with as well. Pullus is still in the 1st Legion, which is part of the Army of the Rhenus. I am Propraetor of that province, which means that every Roman, citizen or Legionary, is my responsibility, and I will not have him doing any of those things as long as he is under my command. Is that understood?”
By the time he had finished, Germanicus’ voice had turned hard, his tone flat and, frankly, for the first time since I knew him, there was a sense of menace in it that I saw was not my imagination, just by the manner in which Dolabella visibly flinched, and what little color had come back into his face since his arrival once more drained away.
“Understood.”
Dolabella’s meek acceptance of this condition underscored that this man, who had been playing the very dangerous game of serving the interests of the rulers of Rome, recognized that Germanicus was every bit as dangerous and powerful as any of them.
“Well, Pullus,” Germanicus stood, then leaned over the desk to offer his arm to me, “you should get some rest. You’ll be leaving just as early as we will.” He gave me a mischievous grin, and I was certain I knew what was coming, which he affirmed by teasing, “Now go give Latobius an apple.” Then the smile vanished and he said soberly, “And may Fortuna bless you and your efforts to help my brother. I suspect,” he finished grimly, “he’s going to need it.”
Saluting, I turned and left the room, leaving Dolabella standing there, my mind once more awash in the emotions unleashed by this twist in fate.
Dolabella looked better the next morning, though not by much, and despite my feelings for the man generally, I did feel a stab of sympathy. He was older than I was by about seven years, and I knew how much longer it took me to recover from a stretch of hard travel now that I was older. It did relieve us of the need to have a conversation, and it was reminiscent of my journey with Asprenas, who was now accompanying Germanicus on a hard ride back to Ubiorum, or perhaps Mogontiacum, where the miles initially passed in silence. It was when we arrived in the town of Cabillonum, another former stronghold of the Aedui, and we did not turn east to take the road to Vesontio that I was moved to speak to Dolabella.
“Why aren’t we going that way?” I asked Dolabella. “That’s shorter.”
“It is,” he agreed, “but it’s slower. Remember, I’ve spent the last fifteen years traveling all over this side of Our Sea.” He turned and grinned at me, but it was not with his usual sly malice, saying, “You’re going to have to start trusting me at some point, Pullus. It might as well be now.”
I immediately knew there was no arguing this, so I did not try. When we reached Lugdunum, late the first day, we stopped only long enough to switch out our horses, each of us once more taking two spares, and buy some meat pies from a vendor. As an experienced traveler, this was Dolabella’s suggestion, that whenever possible we buy food that was already cooked, and thereby saving the rations we had brought along with us for those times where we could not do so, which we could eat in the saddle. Reaching Vienne after dark, where once more we did not turn east by taking the road to Augusta Praetoria, only then did I begin to have a suspicion about what might be going on.
Turning on Dolabella, I asked suspiciously, “Where exactly are we going?”
“To Siscia, of course!” he answered, but I was not thrown off, and even in the dark, I saw he was refusing to look in my direction.
“By way of where, exactly?” I asked Dolabella.
Sighing, only then did he turn to face me, and he answered evenly, “We’re going all the way down to the coast, then we’re following the coast on the Via Aurelia.”
While I heard him clearly enough, I was not quite believing my ears.
“That means we’re heading to Arelate.”
“Well,” Dolabella answered blandly, “if we plan on taking the Via Aurelia, then yes, we are going through Arelate.”
“But that’s my home.” Even to my ears, I sounded dazed.
“Yes, Pullus, I know that,” Dolabella acknowledged, and only then did he turn to look at me as he finished, “and I think we can probably spare a watch for you to visit your family home.” With a shrug, he added, “We have to stop to rest at some point, and it might as well be there.”
This was too much for me to take in, and on an impulse, I suddenly kicked the horse I was riding in the ribs, forgetting that Latobius was on a lead, so it did not reply immediately, which only served to make me feel a bit more foolish. Finally, I got the beast moving, with Latobius and the other spare mount trailing behind me, working it up to a canter as I fled from Dolabella so that he would not see me cry. It took some time for me to get control of my emotions, but I finally did, and drew up to a halt to wait for Dolabella to reach me. Seeing him coming out of the gloom, I was in a bit of a quandary about how to approach the question that was foremost in my mind.
Which, of course, meant that I immediately blurted out, “Why are you doing this for me? I mean,” I added, “given that our rela
tionship has been…”
I trailed off, certain I did not need to expand, and I could see Dolabella understood, which was confirmed as he said lightly, “Troublesome? Is that the word you’re looking for?”
He said it in such a way that, despite my continuing distrust of the man, I could not help myself, and I laughed, agreeing, “That’s certainly one way to put it. So, yes, let’s settle for ‘troublesome.’”
He had been smiling, but I saw it vanish in the light of the half-moon, and he did not answer immediately. Indeed, I was just beginning to believe that he had no intention of saying anything when, at last, he resumed speaking.
“I suppose I could give you some cac about how it serves the interests of our new Imperator, but I suspect you’d see through that fairly quickly.” He was looking ahead, not meeting my gaze. “And, as you know very well yourself by now, Tiberius isn’t much for taking into consideration the feelings of other people, especially those of us who have served him.” This, honestly, made me acutely uncomfortable, and I had known Dolabella long and well enough to hear the undisguised bitterness in his voice, speaking the words of a man who had endured the indifferent treatment from Tiberius more than I had, and perhaps more than just about anyone else. Still, I did not stop him, just continued looking at him until he continued, “But that’s only part of it, Titus.” This was when he looked over at me, as if gauging my reaction to his use of my praenomen, which was the first time he had done so in quite some time, but I did not object, which seemed to please him. “The truth is that, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve come to realize all that I’ve sacrificed to serve others. Not,” he allowed, “in the most honorable manner, and certainly not as honorable as you and the men of the Legions.”