by R. W. Peake
All of this disturbed me; it had been my mother, born a slave, who had insisted that our family divest ourselves of any servant in bondage, and now here I was hearing that Gaius was going against her wishes. In turn, this led to another thought, even more unsettling than the first.
“When did this start?” I had to swallow the lump that formed as I asked, “Was this our father’s decision?”
“No.” Both Septimus and Birgit answered in unison, but she left it to my brother to tell me, “Gaius started buying slaves not long after Tata died.”
What else has he been up to? I wondered, but I kept that to myself.
Suddenly, I remembered something, and I turned to Birgit, asking her, “Can you see to the needs of the man who’s with me? His name’s Dolabella, and I imagine that he’s waiting in the triclinium by now. I told,” I had to recall the name I had just heard, “Berdic to take care of the horses and Dolabella. Just make sure he has whatever he needs.”
I do not know why, given all that I had learned, but instead of Birgit hurrying away, she simply walked over to another new addition to our home, a bell, hanging from the wall. After she yanked the cord a couple of times, I do not believe a count of five passed before another person arrived, this one a female. A young, very comely female, who entered the room with her eyes cast demurely down, but it was what she did that shocked me, dropping to her knees in front of Birgit.
“Yes, Mistress?”
As troubling as her demeanor was, her accent rocked me to my core; it had been a few years, but I knew when someone was from one of the Pannonia tribes, the Breuci specifically, and this young woman was definitely speaking with that particular affectation.
This prompted me to ask her, in her tongue, “What’s your name, girl?”
Naturally, hearing this huge Roman speaking her own language caused her to gasp in shock, causing her to lift her head and stare up at me with wide, expressive eyes; despite the circumstances, I could not help noticing what a beauty she was, and the corresponding stirring within me at the sight.
“J-Juno, Master,” she answered me, but I shook my head, and trying to keep my tone gentle, I admonished, “No, girl. Your real name. Not the one you were given by…us.”
It felt awkward to include myself in this, whatever it was, but I knew that she was unlikely to view me as being separate from her owner since we were Roman, and he was presumably my brother.
This seemed to ignite a spark in her, and for the first time, she showed a hint of the kind of pride that the Breuci are known for, answering me, “Algaia, Master.”
“Well, Algaia,” I continued speaking to her in her tongue, “stand up. And please see to my guest in the triclinium. Give him anything he asks for.”
She did not respond immediately, looking over to Birgit, who gave her a nod, though I have no idea how much Birgit understood. It was true she had spent a fair amount of time in Siscia and had undoubtedly picked up a few words, but dialects vary widely among the tribes. I had to suppress a flash of irritation that the girl looked to Birgit for confirmation, though it made sense. Rising to her feet, there was no hiding the lithe grace with which she moved, and I caught Septimus staring after her hungrily; when he finally tore his eyes away from her retreating figure, he saw me watching him and turned a deep red. I gave him a grin and a lifted eyebrow, but while he smiled back, he said something that seemed odd in the moment.
“Gaius isn’t going to be happy,” he commented but refused to say anything more when I pressed him.
When I turned to Birgit, her face had suddenly assumed a carefully neutral expression, yet at my silent inquiry, all she said was, “Gaius has certain…standards for the slaves.”
The more I was hearing, the more disturbed I was getting; worse, for everyone involved, I was getting angry.
“When is he expected back?” I asked Birgit.
“Soon,” was her only answer.
Seeing that I had to be content with that, I said nothing else, though within no more than a handful of heartbeats later, there was another commotion, except this came from deeper within the house, and I heard footsteps descending the stairs that were made by more than one person. As I turned in that direction, yet another beautiful young woman entered the room, but she was no slave, and I recognized her immediately.
Nevertheless, out of reflex, I stood up and gasped, “Gisela?” Looking over at Birgit for confirmation, she nodded, an expression on her face that I had seen my mother wear whenever she looked at Valeria, the pride a mother has for a beautiful daughter. “This can’t be Gisela!”
Laughing, she assured me, “It is, Uncle Titus! I just grew up.”
That, I thought, was one way of putting it, but she had already crossed the room at a run to throw herself into my arms, and this time, I was the one struggling for breath as she hugged my neck fiercely. Naturally, to do so, she had to leap upward, so her feet were several inches off the ground, which did not help my air supply. Still, if I had to suffocate, being smothered by someone who loved me was not a bad way to go. Putting her down, I looked past her to see Scribonia, who was now almost fifteen, and I realized that the last time I had seen Diocles’ other children, Gisela had been Scribonia’s age. Now, the only one of Diocles’ children missing was Titus, but when I asked Birgit where he was, a shadow flitted across her face reminiscent of when my brother Gaius’ name had been mentioned. Before I could ask more, the final, and in some ways, the most painful reminder of all that our family had lost came trailing in, eyeing me with open curiosity, but no real recognition.
“Gaius,” Birgit beckoned to him, “come greet your Uncle Titus. Don’t you remember him?”
“Not really,” he admitted, which did sting a bit, but I could not blame him, given how young he was when I packed his mother and the family off for Arelate.
Still, he did come forward to greet me, but then as he got close and he naturally had to crane his neck to look up at me, suddenly, a light of recognition flickered in his eyes.
“I…I think I do remember you.” With all eyes on him, he seemed embarrassed, and he shrugged and mumbled, “I just remember a giant who let me ride on his shoulders.”
“That,” I was smiling, but he was shimmering because of the rush of tears that flooded my vision, “was me.” Then, on an inspiration, I reached out, tweaked his nose, then presented him with my fist, except with my thumb protruding from my fingers as I told him, “And I used to steal your nose, just like I did now.”
His eyes went wide, but it was the sudden grin that made my heart feel like it would burst.
Laughing in delight, he cried, “I remember that! You’re…Uncle Ti.”
Now he was joined by all of us, me more than any of them because this was absolutely true; Gaius had been at an age where, apparently, my praenomen was too much for him to say, and he had shortened it to just “Ti,” something that was quite amusing to all of us. With the exception, perhaps, of his brother, also named Titus, and this memory jerked my thoughts back to where Diocles’ youngest son was, and more importantly, what he was up to, but even as young Gaius hugged me around the waist and I was about to turn back to Birgit to ask more, there was yet another commotion. This time, however, it was because of the arrival of my brother Gaius, who burst into the room angrily, his face dark with fury.
“Why isn’t Berdic waiting for me?” I heard him yell before he actually entered the room from the direction of the rear entrance, and naturally, we all turned as he stormed into the room in the middle of saying, “By the gods, I’ll flog him again for this!”
I did not make a conscious decision; at least, I do not remember it, but I do recall crossing the room. I also remember grabbing my younger brother by the front of his tunic, lifting him off the floor, and hurling him against the wall, his body slamming into it so hard that the plaster cracked, while his head whipped back with only slightly less force, smacking into the wall hard enough that I knocked him senseless. Dropping him in a heap to the floor, unconscious, I
became aware of the sudden, shocked silence in the room, and I turned to see all of them, both families of mine, staring at me in wide-eyed horror and fear.
Rather than apologize, I said, “When he comes to, tell him he’s to meet me in Avus’ library.”
Then, without saying another word, I strode past them and stomped up the stairs.
Entering this room, even in my enraged state, which I was pleased to see was essentially unchanged, evoked even more powerful memories, not just of my Avus, but of my father. It was in this room that we discussed my joining the Legions, something that, while he certainly did not forbid it, neither did he encourage, and he gave me the ultimate compliment for me at the time, talking to me as a grown man. He held nothing back, nothing at all, yet I was undeterred, and now, standing there surveying the shelves crammed full of scrolls that make up a library that I knew was superior to even those of some men of the Senatorial class, I had no regrets for the path I chose. Still, seeing what was my Avus’ pride and joy, which brought him such comfort in his last years, only served to remind me of how I had fallen short of even matching his deeds, let alone surpassing them as I had vowed to do, back when I was a callow boy who had no idea of what it took. I had turned forty, this the year of the death of the Princeps, and while I was a Centurion of a first line Cohort, I was not Pilus Prior; the first Titus Pullus had already been Primus Pilus of the Equestrians several years by this point. After a few moments just standing there, I found my feet moving, tentatively, towards the chair at the desk in the center of the room, and I sat down in it, somehow feeling as if I did not belong there, which I suppose is understandable. Settling down, I was still looking at all the scrolls, trying to remember which ones I had read and deciding which ones I would take with me when we resumed our journey. The light streaming through the open window was fading fast, reminding me that time was against me; I could only imagine what Dolabella, sitting in the triclinium and being treated as an honored guest, was thinking. Getting up, I found a tinder box and lit the lamps that illuminated the room, then sat back down. It was then I noticed a stack of wax tablets on the desk, and I reached out, took the one on top, and opened it. At first, I could not make any sense of it, then I gradually realized that what I was looking at were figures, and more quickly, I understood that these were sums of money. Matters only got worse from there, as I deciphered what I assumed was my brother Gaius’ hand and his own unique method of record keeping. It was certainly not anything taught in the Legions, which made sense given that Gaius had never served under the standard, but before I had finished perusing the first tablet, I was wishing that I had not even opened it, as the bile came rushing up into my throat. The second tablet was no better news, but before I could finish it, I heard the sound of footsteps, and I laid the tablet down on the desk. Somewhat oddly, there was a knock on the door, which I had not been expecting, yet it somehow served as a signal to me as to how I would handle this moment.
“Enter!” I said sharply, just as if I was seated at my own desk in my office in Ubiorum.
And, just as often happened back in Ubiorum, the door opened very slowly, as if the person opening it was not eager to do so, which was understandable, and my brother’s face peeked around the door.
“Get in here,” I snapped.
His face flushed a deep red, and he opened his mouth as if to argue, then he seemed to be propelled into the room by an unseen force, which turned out to be my other brother Septimus, whose expression was almost impossible for me to read. Gaius stood there, staring at me defiantly, his fists balled up, but Pullus he may have been, trying to stand up to me after all the moments like this that I had experienced, on both sides, as it were, meant that he quickly wilted under my hard, cold stare.
Pointing at one of the other chairs, I said curtly, “Sit.” Then, I looked at Septimus, trying to decide whether he should stay, deciding at that instant, “You too, Septimus. You might as well be here for this.”
He grabbed a chair, but I could not help noticing how he moved it, slightly farther away from his brother, and I wondered what that meant, though I made no comment, just tucking it away as an observation.
Picking up the first tablet I had perused, I opened it and turned it so Gaius could see the interior, where he had incised what, even to my unpracticed eye, I could see was a catastrophe for our family, asking, “Would you care to explain this, Gaius?”
“Explain what?” he replied, and I realized how little I knew about this man, despite him being my brother, yet even so, I was not willing to indulge in any back and forth, always conscious of the time pressure I was under, and I raised my voice just a fraction, countering, “You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Waving the tablet in his direction, I asked, “Are these figures correct?” My throat seemed to constrict as I continued, “Have you really lost our family more than a half million sesterces?”
I suspect that hearing it put so baldly served to deflate my brother, because his earlier show of defiance vanished, his shoulders slumping as he closed his eyes to break my stare.
“Yes.” He whispered the word, but even knowing this to be the case, hearing it confirmed served as a punch in the gut, prompting me to say, “What? I couldn’t hear you, Gaius. What did you say?”
Taking a deep breath, Gaius opened his eyes, yet he would not look at me directly, answering dully, “I said, yes, it’s true.”
“How?” I asked, truly wanting to know, my bewilderment outweighing my rage. “How could you lose that much money?”
The story came out, in fits and starts, but after perhaps a third of a watch, which I knew I could not afford, I had learned the essentials, and I felt numb. It all began with the drought four years earlier, when the Princeps was still alive, and all of Italia was still struggling to cope with the Varus disaster. My father was still alive at this point, but what I learned from Gaius, and Septimus confirmed, he had become more and more disinterested in the daily running of the family interests, in which he had taken on a more active role upon the death of Diocles. Essentially, he had given Gaius more and more control, but also more latitude to make his own decisions, and my brother was simply not capable of handling so much responsibility. While Gaius was relating how our family fortune, which at its peak could have technically bought the family a seat in the Senate were it not for Augustus, had been cut by more than half, I was reminded of something Sextus had told me when he arrived in Siscia, with Diocles and his family. In effect, he had warned me that both Gaius and Septimus had lived very different lives than Sextus and I had, since they had been born and raised in Arelate, after my father’s injury and retirement from the Legion. Naturally, they had heard the stories that are part of every family’s lore, although I rather think that it is unlikely other families have events where rebelling Pannonian tribes pursue them, and one of the children of that family kills a man when he is only ten years old. But hearing about them and actually living through them are far different matters, and my two younger brothers, as well as my sister Miriam, who had been born but was a babe in arms during our ordeal, had no experience of our family when we were just part of the faceless mass of the Head Count. Listening to Gaius, I was struck by how much he sounded, both in his mode of speech and his attitude, like Volusenus, especially when he first arrived to take the post his father had purchased for him. There was a haughtiness, as if Gaius was daring me to find fault with him, his tone making it clear he believed that his older brother, by virtue of being nothing but a man of the Legions, could not possibly understand the intricacies of such matters. Despite an almost overwhelming urge to strike him, I forced myself to remain calm and listen. What became clear was that, despite his high opinion of himself, the consortium of merchants that he joined in this venture to profit from the misery brought on by drought saw him for what he was; a callow, arrogant youth whose belief in himself outstripped his actual ability. If I were to take Gaius’ version as the accurate account of what had happened, then he was of course blameless, merely a
victim of circumstances in the form of a storm that ravaged the fleet of grain ships coming from Egypt, in which my brother had been the major investor, something that only became clear after some pointed questions.
“So let me see if I understand this,” I said, once he had finished, not able to resist adding, “in terms my simple mind can understand.”
“I didn’t say that you were…”
“Shut your mouth,” I cut him off. “It’s time for the paterfamilias to talk.”
This was a deliberate use of the term on my part, both because, as I suspected it would, this angered him and also to remind him that, in fact, that was exactly what I was.
“Now,” I began, “you put up almost the entire amount of hard cash to buy the grain, while your partners in this endeavor supplied other things, like the fleet of ships and the laborers to load and unload the ships.”
“And,” Gaius interjected, “the carters. They were an important part of this, because if we didn’t have the means to haul the grain on the Via Aurelia to Rome, we would have ended up having to hire men piecemeal and pay a premium to do it. Using Avienus’ people cut those costs in half. Also,” he pointed out, “we needed storage space in the grain warehouses. I don’t know if you’re aware of this,” his tone turned unbearably earnest, “but the grain warehouses are different from those used to store other goods. They’re more tightly built, and they’re also under heavier guard.”
“Yes, of course, the carters,” I agreed, but I could not keep the sarcasm from my voice. “We can’t forget the carters or the special warehouses.” Pausing for a moment, I went on, “So, everything’s in place, and everything goes perfectly, until the storm that sank almost the entire fleet. Which, as you say, was an act of the gods that couldn’t possibly be foreseen.”
Nodding his head, Gaius agreed, which was not surprising.