by R. W. Peake
Now this was one of the more startling conversations I had had with Dolabella, but I did not accept what he was saying, shaking my head as I reminded him, “Don’t include me in that, Dolabella. You know more about the things I’ve done for Tiberius than anyone, so I’m not even a shade of those men you’re talking about.”
“The only reason,” Dolabella countered, “you did what you did was because you were forced to.” There was a distinct pause then, and once more, he turned to look me directly in the eye as he went on, “And while you were forced to by Tiberius, and,” he allowed, “the Princeps, they did it with my help. All I can say in my defense was that, at the time, I thought I was doing it for the good of the Republic. Now?” He heaved a huge sigh, one that was more expressive of his turmoil than his actual words, which were, “Now I don’t even know why I’m doing what I do. Somewhere along the way, the meaning of it all got lost.” As I absorbed this, we rode along in silence, then he shifted in his saddle, shrugging as he said simply, “This is my own way of making amends, as sorry as it may be, for the role I played in corrupting you.”
How, I wondered, do I respond to that? The simple truth is that, after all that had transpired between Tiberius Dolabella and me over the years, there was a part of me that still did not trust the man. I will not deny that there was also a part of me that wanted to believe him, but too much had happened for me to be instantly convinced of his sincerity, here on this road south to my home.
However, I was not so ungrateful that I said nothing, choosing to say only, “Thank you…Tiberius. I appreciate that.”
Happily, this seemed to be all that he expected, and while I may have still held some doubts about his motives, I chose to believe that the smile he gave me was genuine.
The walls of the city where my childhood home is located are visible from several miles away when approaching from the north, so I had more than enough time to work up a case of nerves. My parents were dead, as were two of my siblings who had survived childhood, Sextus of course, and Valeria, who had died in childbirth. That left Gaius, Septimus and Miriam, with Gaius being the oldest surviving sibling, and it was with a sense of shock when I realized that he would be nearing his thirtieth name day. Part of the cause of my nervousness was based in the fact that I barely knew my younger brothers; I had left when they were still very young, although oddly enough, I knew Miriam better, simply because she was the family favorite. She had married, but she still lived in Arelate, her husband a member of the equestrian order, which may seem odd since we were officially members of the Head Count. However, there are few secrets in small towns, although Arelate had since grown into what can be described as a small city, but the Pullus family was never truly considered a member of the lower classes, despite our name being inscribed in the rolls as such, thanks to the enmity the Princeps held towards my Avus. Speaking of the man himself, much, if not most of this viewpoint came directly from the first and greatest Titus Pullus, a man who I had finally come to accept I would never even hope to match in his renown and fame. A truly remarkable man, he was one of the only men of his class for whom the combination of his fame and the wealth that was built on the strength of his right arm, and advanced even farther than the peerless Diocles, transcended the invisible but very real bonds of the Roman class system.
Speaking of Diocles, I was always mindful that I had left Alex behind in Germania, but such was my faith in Germanicus that I was not that worried that he was in danger. It did not mean that I did not feel a pang of regret he was not with me, since I would be seeing his mother Birgit, and his brothers and sisters. It had been quite a fight to get Birgit to move back to Arelate after Sextus was killed, and I was not all that certain that she had forgiven me for exercising my status as paterfamilias of Diocles’ family in forcing her to move. Her mother had died by this time, so I could understand why she did not feel any strong pull to the city, but I was certain then, and even with the trepidation I felt as we approached the city, I still was confident I had made the correct decision in sending her back, especially now with yet another rebellion in Pannonia, just five years after the end of the Batonian revolt. Ultimately, none of that mattered; what did was how Birgit viewed my sudden appearance, as well as my brothers. I suppose that, if I had given it more thought, it might have occurred to me that it was likely that one or both of my brothers were absent from Arelate; if only that had been true, perhaps I could have been spared from so much heartache and shock. While it seemed to take forever, we finally reached the gates of the city, immediately given entrance because of the pass imprinted with the seal of the new Imperator that Dolabella flashed to the guards, and we rode through the gates. Immediately, I could see the changes wrought by the growth of the city, starting with the fact that the walls had been moved out well more than two hundred paces, probably closer to three hundred. I knew this by the absence of the huge tree that had been just a matter of a dozen paces outside of the northern gate; at first, I assumed that it had been cut down, but it was only after we were inside the walls that I saw that it had not been removed, but now served as the basis of a small park, where a fountain bubbled the waters from the aqueduct that fed the city its fresh water, which we called the Julian Aqueduct, although I do not know if Divus Julius actually ordered its construction. Since he had been responsible for founding the veterans’ colony here, I suppose it was natural that his name be applied to the aqueduct, along with a number of other official structures. That the tree was almost a furlong inside the walls was the most potent sign of how much Arelate had grown since the last time I had been there. Still, there was enough familiar that it was not a challenge to navigate my way, while Dolabella rode at my side, but slightly behind me, content to allow me to lead the way. All the sights, sounds, and smells assailed me, plunging me back to what, when all things are considered, was an idyllic childhood. The baker my family used was still in business, and even later in the day, the aromas of freshly baking bread reminded me of how Sextus and I, despite neither of us needing to do so, stole a fresh loaf, simply for the thrill; it was not until I was a grown man that I learned that this was one of a dozen businesses in which my Avus, with Diocles acting as his agent, owned, so we essentially had stolen from ourselves, which probably explains why we were never caught. On the other side of the street, I saw what I assumed to be the son of the man who had sold wine to my family, while next to his shop, there was a butcher shop, the smell of draining blood and fresh meat competing with all the other smells. I did not take the most direct route, choosing instead to take a more circuitous path that brought me to the theater, which had just been completed the last time I had been in Arelate, when I escorted Diocles’ remains home to honor his final wish, to be interred next to my Avus. It was impressive, but I was more interested in the business that was located a short distance away, down the same street, with only an insula separating it, the ludus where Maximus Vulso, the lanista, had taught me how to fight like a gladiator. Of course, Vulso had long since retired, dying peacefully not long after my father, but it was still owned by my family. That was what I thought, anyway, until we drew up in front of it, and I sat Latobius, staring up at the unfamiliar sign that was hung above the gateway. My first thought was that, for some reason, my father had decreed the name be changed before he died; then, I recalled the letter I had received from Miriam, informing me that, in my absence and with Sextus’ death, my brother Gaius was now running matters concerning the family. That this letter was actually written in my sister’s hand, and not dictated, was a source of quiet pride in our family, since my father had decreed that, when Diocles became our tutor, the women of the family be included. To a point, it should be said; they were expected to be literate, but they did not have lessons in Greek, or rhetoric, or mathematics that the Pullus boys received, secretly of course, but I recall at the time being jealous that my sisters’ afternoons were free, because I would have much rather been on the back of Ocelus, roaming the countryside and undoubtedly getting into some sor
t of trouble. Pausing only briefly at the gates of the ludus, I shrugged, thinking I would simply ask Gaius when I got to the villa.
“Pullus,” Dolabella’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to see him regarding me with a peculiar expression, but I understood why when he said, “delay isn’t something we can afford to do. Remember where we’re heading and why. We can’t spend as much time here as I’m sure you’d like.”
I did not answer him verbally, but I knew he was right, although I was still grappling with why this man, who had been an adversary for years and, while most of the time he was relaying orders from above, had placed me in moments of peril, was showing me this kindness. In answer, I turned about, headed back towards the forum, and within a span of perhaps fifty heartbeats, I saw the wall surrounding my home. The gate was closed, but when I tried to open it, I discovered it was barred, and although that was not unusual, especially since I was not expected, I did feel a bit odd standing outside my own house, unable to enter. Using the iron knocker that signaled whoever was inside that there was a visitor, I had to do it twice before the small window in the postern door was opened. The eye that peered out was unfamiliar to me, and it suddenly widened as it took in the sight of me, though I was only dressed in a soldier’s tunic and baltea, but that was not unusual and was something I had seen happen my entire life.
“M-master Titus?” I did not recognize the voice either. “You are Titus Pullus, yes?”
He had spoken enough to place the accent as Gallic, and I tried to remember if we had any of them in our employ the last time I was here, but I could not recall.
“Yes,” I answered, “it’s me.”
The eye disappeared, but I immediately heard the locking bar being lifted, then one of the gates swung open.
“I’ll be at that tavern on the other corner of the forum,” Dolabella told me, already turning away to head in that direction.
I do not know why, but I called out to him, “No. Wait.”
Turning back, he looked curious, but he was as unprepared to hear it as I was to say, “Come in. You can get something to eat here. And,” I grinned, “we have better wine.”
A sudden rush of embarrassment caused me to turn back to lead Latobius and the other horses through the gate, not seeing if he followed, but my ears told me that he did so. Now that I could see the owner of the eye, I knew I had never seen him before; that was not the disturbing part. Around his neck was a bronze placard that signified he was a slave, which is an extremely common sight. That it was inscribed with my family name, however, caused me to stop and stare down at it with a frown, which the slave, a slightly built man around thirty or thereabouts, interpreted as displeasure, and he dropped to his knees immediately, bending over at my feet.
“Have I displeased you, Master Titus?” His voice was slightly muffled because his face was so close to the ground, then he turned his face upward, and while I was as aware of the manner in which slaves try to manipulate their masters’ feelings when it is in their interest to do so, I was certain the fear in his eyes was unfeigned. “Please, Master,” he begged me, “tell me what I have done to offend you! I apologize profusely, whatever it is!”
A moment ago, I had been embarrassed by my gesture of hospitality to Dolabella; now, I was mortified at this display, and I reached down to grasp the slave by the arm, gently pulling him to his feet as I assured him, “You did no such thing. I’m not displeased in any way. I’m just…surprised, that’s all.”
Naturally, the slave allowed me to do so, yet his face still betrayed a caution that indicated to me he thought I might be playing some sort of cruel trick on him, and now I was deeply disturbed, which led me to do something I normally would not have done to a strange slave.
“The reason I’m surprised is that my family stopped keeping slaves a long time ago,” I explained to him, which clearly was news to him.
“I wouldn’t know anything about that Master,” he told me, keeping his eyes averted. “I’ve only been here for a little more than a year.”
That, I thought, explains it, at least a little bit, since that meant it was after my father had died.
Understanding there was no point in continuing this discussion, at least with a slave, instead I told him, “Please see to these horses, and to my…friend here,” even though the word felt strange in my mouth, I made a clear gesture to Dolabella, who had since dismounted. “Now,” I asked, “are either of my brothers here?”
“Only Master Septimus is right now,” the slave answered readily enough, “but Master Gaius is out in town doing some business. He’s expected back shortly.”
I suppose my exchange with this slave served as a warning to expect the unexpected, yet even so, when I walked to the entrance to the villa and once more knocked on the door, heard the kind of light footfall that told me it was a female, I was still unprepared to see Birgit answer the door. And, as unexpected as it was for me, it was more so for Birgit, who collapsed in a dead faint at my feet. Such was my homecoming.
Chapter Seven
“Things are…different here, Titus.”
Thankfully, Birgit had revived quickly, hugging me fiercely, then completely unsurprisingly immediately began besieging me with questions about Alex, not only asking how he was but demanding to know why he was not with me.
“I didn’t know I’d be coming through Arelate! I swear on the black stone!” I was laughing as I said it, but I was serious, remembering that for a small woman, Birgit was someone one did not want to trifle with, especially when she was angry.
Fortunately, she accepted this and led me by the hand past the triclinium and into the main room, and I suppose that this was when it finally hit me: my parents were dead. As strange as it might seem to say it, what I understood as I surveyed the room, essentially unchanged since the last time I had been here, was that this was the first moment where I actually thought about and accepted that my parents were dead. According to Roman law and custom, that made me paterfamilias, yet I also realized that, when it came to the running of the various enterprises owned or partially owned by my family, the responsibility for which Gaius had been charged by my father, both when he was alive and in his will, I had not received any correspondence from my brother for some time. Perhaps Birgit somehow sensed my thoughts; more likely, it was just a natural moment to bring it up, because she led me to the table, where she made a point of sitting me down in what had been my father’s spot.
This was just sinking in as well, that this was my rightful spot, as Birgit sat on the bench to my right, and with a glance in the direction of the doorway that led into the rest of the house, she repeated quietly, “Titus, things have…changed here.” While I still thought of her as a beauty, she suddenly looked tired, or more accurately, worried, and she heaved a sigh as she told me, “Gaius has had some…setbacks managing your interests, Titus. And,” she placed a hand on my arm, her tone earnest, “he was very young for so much responsibility.”
This got my attention, and I felt my first stab of unease, which only mixed in with the other things I was feeling, but before I could question Birgit further, I heard a commotion, and the door opened. Through it walked a man, a young man to be certain, though it was not his age I noticed, and I was suddenly seized by such a powerful feeling of an emotion that I could not readily identify, because my initial impression was that, somehow, Sextus had come back to life.
“Septimus?” I gasped, because in that brief moment, I did recall that, as a child, he had favored my younger brother. “Is that you?”
Although Septimus nodded, when he opened his mouth, nothing came out, while Birgit, watching this, remarked dryly, “Yes, the resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it, Titus?”
The mention of my name seemed to yank my youngest brother from his dazed state, one with which I could certainly identify, and I felt my legs shaking when I stood up, as Septimus gasped and essentially repeated my own words, “Titus? Is it really you?”
Despite the awkwardness, I had t
o laugh, and I answered him, “Do you know anyone else this size who looks like you?”
This seemed to break the dam, and he crossed the room, while I met him halfway, but when he held out his arm, in the manner of Roman men who are just meeting each other for the first time, I ignored it to sweep him into an embrace. I suspect I squeezed the life half out of him, yet he did not seem to mind all that much, as we both laughed and talked at the same time. At some point in this, I glanced over to see Birgit, still seated, but looking up at us with tears streaming down her face, and I wondered how hard it must have been for her as Septimus grew up and looked more like our brother, her love and the father of young Gaius. Finally, I let go of my little brother, and we stepped away from each other, but thinking of Sextus prompted me to turn and ask Birgit where her children were.
“They are here and about,” she assured me. “I’ll send Nasua to find them.”
“Nasua?” I was unfamiliar with the name, while Birgit and Septimus glanced at each other, as if they were silently willing each other to say something, so I solved the problem by guessing, “Is he the slave who met me at the door?”
My guess, as it turned out, was incorrect, as Birgit shook her head, saying, “No, that’s Berdic.”
“How many slaves do we have?” I asked. “The last time I was here, only Chickpea was left.”
Once more, there was a silent exchange between the two, but this time, it was Septimus who admitted, “Honestly, I don’t know. Gaius has leased some out to other businesses around town, and then there are some that work for us directly.”
Birgit interjected something, correcting a misassumption on my part. “Chickpea wasn’t a slave, Titus. Once Gaius brought them in, he was dismissed.”