Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  “Why did you do that?” he demanded, suddenly rounding on Septimus and me from where he had been leading the way back to the villa. “Why did you humiliate my friend?”

  I was more shocked than angry, at least at first. “Your friend?” I echoed, then repeated, “Your friend?” This was when the anger started stirring, and I pointed back in the direction of the tavern, my voice cold as I told Titus, “If that man was truly your friend, he’d be chasing us right now. If that man was your friend, he would have never let us leave!” I quickened my pace so that I could stare down at Titus, who suddenly did not look quite so resolute as I continued, “Now, how about you explain to me how you ended up associated with scum like the Poplicolas.”

  “They’re not scum,” he retorted, then repeated stubbornly, “they’re my friends.”

  “What about me, Titus?” Septimus broke in. “I’m your friend. We’re family.”

  “No we aren’t!” Titus shot back. “Just because my father was your family’s slave…”

  He got no further, because before I could stop myself, my hand shot out and I grabbed a handful of his tunic to pull him close to me as I roared, “What are you talking about?” As I shouted at him, I realized I was violently shaking him. “Who told you these lies?”

  “They’re not lies!” Titus shouted into my face, and while his struggles were to no avail, I was surprised at how strong he was for his size. “I know the truth!”

  “What truth?” Septimus was standing beside me, clearly as bewildered as I was. “What are you talking about? Your father wasn’t a slave!”

  “Yes, he was!” Titus shot back, and the fury in his voice was unsettling, even impotent. “Don’t deny it!” Finally, he shouted, “I read those scrolls that your Avus wrote! I know the truth!” I was so shocked that, with the next spasm of his body, he jerked free of my grasp, staggering backward a step, then standing, feet apart, glaring at the two of us. “Don’t lie to me anymore!” He was still shouting, but then his voice cracked with the powerful emotions he was feeling, and he began sobbing, “I know what my father was, and what my mother was! They were slaves!” Suddenly, he looked up and pointed a shaking finger, not at me but at Septimus, as he accused, “And now you and Gaius are doing it again! You’re buying every slave you can get your hands on! That’s not right! That’s…”

  “That’s stopped,” I cut in, but in contrast to the throbbing emotion he was displaying, I spoke softly, “as of today, Titus.”

  Suddenly, he did not seem quite so certain, and he looked from me to Septimus, who nodded, saying simply, “He’s telling the truth. He told Gaius to sell every slave, immediately.”

  I thought this might mollify him, but it only seemed to enrage him further, and he looked to me incredulously, “Sell them?” Shaking his head, he repeated, “Sell them? What kind of justice is that? They’ll still be slaves!”

  Rather than argue, I decided to cut to the heart of the matter, and I answered him by admitting, “It’s no justice at all, Titus.” Taking a breath, I was forced to confront the thing that I had become aware of just a matter of a bit more than a full watch before. “But the family can’t afford to just manumit the slaves we own, Titus.”

  Somewhat to my surprise, he did not protest this; instead, he looked directly at Septimus, and asked softly, “Because of the grain?”

  “Because of the grain,” Septimus confirmed, and this caused Birgit’s son to heave a great sigh, then shake his head sadly.

  “I thought so,” he said, but now I rounded on Septimus, the anger that had been bubbling just below the surface now focused on him. “Apparently,” I could not keep my voice from expressing my ire, “everyone around Gaius knew that this scheme was a bad idea! So,” I pointed, first at Septimus, then at Titus, “why did you two let him go through with it?”

  I saw the look the pair exchanged, and in it I saw, or sensed, how much of this sordid episode I would never know, but Septimus replied simply, “Because he was the oldest of us. And,” he stared up into my eyes, “you weren’t here.”

  “Or even interested,” Titus interjected, but when I glared at him, Septimus took the opportunity to agree, “Absolutely.” Feeling as if I was being assaulted from all sides, I turned and stared at Septimus, but he did not flinch as he continued, “Titus, you’ve never been interested in what’s going on here in Arelate, with the family. All you care about is your career and the Legions.”

  If my brother had punched me in the face, I could not have been staggered any more, and I stared in astonishment, first at my brother, then at my nephew, but neither of them wavered, both still looking me directly in the eye.

  “That…” I began, but then, I stood there, my mind racing as I thought through the previous twenty-plus years, and how I had read the letters from my family…then tossed them into the pile of correspondence, so that I ended up saying, “…is true.”

  Suddenly, I recognized how, in my desire and ambition to first surpass, then match the achievements of my Avus, I had consciously disconnected myself from my family and all its concerns. And yet, I thought, here I am; forty years old, and while I’m a Centurion, it’s not even as a Pilus Prior, let alone a Primus Pilus.

  “You’re right,” I said, my voice not quite sounding like my own, “I did everything you said I did. My career in the Legions took precedence over everything.” For a brief moment, I considered telling them about Giulia, and how I had never been able to move past that loss in my personal life, so I had turned all of my attention and energies to a career under the standard, but I did not. Shaking my head, I could only say, “And for that, I apologize. I am truly sorry for not being here.”

  Then, there was nothing else to say, and we stood there for the gods only know how long, then Septimus broke the silence, asking me, “Aren’t you leaving at first light?” When I said that I was, he turned and gazed towards the eastern sky, and said, “It’s not long from now.” Turning back to me, he smiled, saying, “We should get home.”

  Understanding he was right, I resumed walking down the street, but I reached out, grabbed young Titus by the collar, and drew him close.

  “So,” I said lightly, “you were snooping in Avus’ library?” He squirmed a little under my grasp, but he admitted as much, and I asked him, “How much did you read?”

  “Just one scroll,” he answered.

  “Well,” I laughed, “I can promise you, there’s more you don’t know than more you do.” I looked down at him, and asked, “Would you like to hear the entire story about your father?”

  When he nodded eagerly, I grinned at him and said, “That’s good, because we’ll have plenty of time to talk while we’re on the road.”

  “On the road?” he asked, clearly puzzled, and honestly, I had not really thought matters through, yet somehow, I knew this was the right thing to do. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I told him, “I’m taking you with me back to Ubiorum.” Before he could react, I added, “By way of Pannonia first. But,” I finished, “I think you need to spend time with Alex. I think you can learn a lot from your older brother.”

  I was expecting a fight from Birgit, but when I told her my intentions of bringing Titus with me and reuniting him with Alex, she agreed so quickly that it told me she had been planning on suggesting it herself.

  “He needs to get out of Arelate,” she said sadly, but then she gave me that look of hers as she added, with a touch of acid, “especially if you handled matters with Poplicola in your usual fashion.” Then, she smiled at me, but in a manner that reminded me of the fierce Gaul I saw when she was defending my siblings when we were returning to Siscia, then fighting off bandits to protect her own children, as she asked hopefully, “So, did you kill that snake?”

  I felt a bit badly that I had to tell her that I had not, though I did say, “I offered him a chance to stop me, but he thought better of it.” The look of disappointment on her face made me laugh, and I assured her, “But if it makes you feel better, I did kill o
ne of his men.”

  “With one blow with his vitus,” Septimus spoke up, and the note of awe in his voice did make me feel good, something that Birgit did not miss.

  “Too bad it was just one of his men,” she said tartly, but before I could reply, she turned and said, “Let me go help Titus pack.”

  She disappeared, and I collapsed more than sat down at the table, thinking that I was in for a hard stretch of watches and wondering if I could afford to snatch even a third of a watch of sleep. But, with everyone gone and only Septimus left, I knew that I could not afford the time, because I had come to another decision. Motioning to my brother, I pointed to one of the benches, and he came, holding two pieces of bread that he had smeared with honey, one of which he handed me. Thanking him, we occupied ourselves with eating them, then I knew I had to begin.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I began, “and I’ve made a decision.”

  “Oh?” Septimus was not quite through, and he continued munching his bread, regarding me with a raised eyebrow. “What about?”

  “About who I’m leaving in charge here,” I answered. “And it’s not going to be Gaius.”

  I confess I was a bit disappointed in my brother, because he looked puzzled and confirmed it when he asked, “Not Gaius? Then who’s it going to be?”

  Rather than answer him verbally, I just stared at him, watching as his expression changed from bewilderment to dawning recognition, but I was surprised when he shook his head.

  “Oh, no,” he said adamantly, “not me.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “you.”

  “But what about Gaius?” he protested, then looked down at the table as he mumbled, “He’s not going to like that.”

  I stifled my initial reaction, which was to snap that I did not give a fart in a testudo what Gaius did or did not like, realizing that this was not the time to indulge my temper.

  Instead, I replied as evenly as I could manage, “Gaius had his opportunity, Septimus. And he wasn’t up to the responsibility.” I hesitated, then decided to be completely forthcoming. “Besides, what you told me about his…habits and how he treats slaves is proof that he’s not fit to be in charge here.”

  “But we’re going to be getting rid of the slaves,” Septimus pointed out.

  In answer, I gave him a long, level look, but when he did not say anything, I asked, “Are you saying that Gaius only likes to hurt slaves?”

  I could see he was torn between being loyal to the one brother he knew well and me, the brother who only appeared once every several years, but finally, the truth won out, and he shook his head, admitting, “No, Titus. No, he likes to hurt…everyone.”

  “That’s why he’s no longer in any position to make any kind of decisions,” I told him, gently but firmly. “And that’s why you’re the one I’m depending on.” He did not say anything, but after a moment, nodded his understanding, which I took to be his assent as well. Then, I took a breath, not relishing what was coming, but I knew I had to do it immediately. “So go get Gaius and bring him here.”

  Septimus opened his mouth, but I cut his protest off with a look, prompting a sigh, though he got up and said, “Fine. I’ll go get him.”

  It took long enough that I was beginning to think I would have to rouse myself from the table to go upstairs to get both of them, but I was so tired that I was not sure that I could manage. Then I heard raised voices, loud enough that I could tell it was an argument, though not the words themselves. Muttering a curse, I pushed myself up from the table, then I was saved by the sounds of footsteps descending the stairs, and I sat back down with some relief. Septimus reappeared first, with Gaius following behind him, his very being radiating his sullen anger, which he demonstrated by deliberately choosing the seat at the opposite end of the table, the spot where my mother normally sat. If circumstances had been different, and I had been in a better mood, I would have let it pass, knowing that the message I was about to deliver would be no more or less bitter because of where he sat, but this childish act of defiance was not one I was willing to tolerate.

  Pointing to the bench on the opposite side of the table where Septimus was sitting, I ordered him coldly, “Get out of Mama’s spot and come sit here where I tell you.”

  He did not answer, but neither did he move, crossing his arms and staring at me with undisguised hostility.

  “Gaius,” Septimus spoke up before I could say anything, his voice soft but with an undercurrent to it I had yet to hear from him, “I just saw our brother kill a man with a single blow with his vitus. Now,” he glanced over at me, and I thought I caught a glimmer of a grim smile, “I don’t think our brother would kill you. But,” he shrugged, “right now, I don’t know that I’d wager against it.”

  Gaius did not respond, nor did he move; at least, until I began to rise from my own chair. Only then did he do the same, and still without speaking, he came and dropped heavily down onto the bench where I had indicated.

  “Did you tell him anything?” I asked Septimus, but he shook his head, so I turned to Gaius and began, “I’m leaving shortly, so I’m going to get right to it. After seeing what I’ve seen, I’ve decided that you’re to have nothing to do with any of the decisions regarding our family and its interests.” He stiffened at this, but he turned to glare at Septimus, and I held up a hand, saying sharply, “Don’t blame Septimus for this. In fact,” I pointed in his face, wondering if he hated this as much as I did and not caring a bit if he did, “he tried to talk me out of this. But I’m the one making the decision, and that decision is final.” Turning to Septimus, I reiterated, “But you’re still going to have to let me know about anything involving the family and wait for me to decide what to do about it.”

  “What if it’s something that needs to be decided immediately?” Septimus asked, but not in a challenging fashion, and I realized he had an excellent point, which ironically enough, solidified my belief he was the right choice.

  I thought for a moment, then said cautiously, “All right, if it’s something that can’t be delayed, then I’ll allow you to make the decision. But,” I warned, “two things to keep in mind. First, it better not be something major, like,” I turned to look Gaius in the eye, “selling every business we own outright or have a share in, in order to do something like try and make a killing in a business we’ve never been involved in.” As I hoped, this affected Gaius in an almost physical way, and he recoiled as if I had struck him, but he did not say anything, just continued staring at me in disbelief and impotent fury. I could have left it there, but I wanted to hear Gaius acknowledge what I had said. “Is that clear, Gaius? I don’t expect you to like it, but this isn’t negotiable, and,” I thought it wise to remind him, “I have the law on my side.” When he only nodded, I snapped, “I want to hear you say that you understand me.”

  “I…understand.” His voice was hoarse, but he was audible, and I contented myself with that.

  Then, the sound of the cock crowing from its perch out in the back of the villa signaled that it was time for me to leave. However, I had one last task, so I stood and, turning away from Gaius, I told Septimus to follow me, which he did, avoiding Gaius’ glare at him. It was only when I stepped out into the main yard that I realized I had not yet set foot in this part of the villa, but somehow, I instantly understood this had been intentional on my part; there were too many memories here, starting with the stakes that my Avus had put next to the outer wall. This was where he had spent his third of a watch every day, up to and including the last day of his life, and where I had spent even more time, trying to make myself worthy of his name. However, it was what was in essentially the opposite direction from the stakes that I had been avoiding, but there was no helping it now, given that it was time to leave, and I walked towards the stables, thinking of a large gray horse who occupied the last stall on the end. I was still about fifteen paces away when, from the dark recess of the same stall, I heard the unmistakable sound of a horse blowing, followed by the thudding as he pawed the dirt, th
e same way I had been greeted by Ocelus when he caught my scent. For the briefest moment, a sweetly painful instant, I was no longer a forty-year-old man, but a boy of twelve, hurrying to greet his best friend, who was always as eager for adventure as I was. Then, a nose came thrusting out from the darkness, nostrils distended, but while it was not gray, I instantly saw that it was Latobius. Despite everything, I felt a soft laugh bubble out of me, and I walked to him, letting him search my tunic for his apple.

  “I’m sorry, boy,” I murmured. “I forgot, but I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

  And, as he always did on those occasions where I neglected to bring him something, he reached out with his big, yellow teeth and gave my tunic a sharp tug to signal his displeasure.

  Turning to Septimus, who had followed me but was clearly wondering why, I asked him, “How many extra saddles and tack do we have?”

  His face cleared, understanding now, or at least thinking he did, answering, “Titus has his own saddle and bridle.” He pointed to where they were hanging, and I asked him, “Do you have another one?”

  “Another one?” Shrugging, he said he did, then asked me curiously, “But why? Your friend Dolabella already has one, and so do you.”

  I did not answer him directly, saying only, “You’ll see. Now, do you have a saddle and bridle you can spare?”

  He nodded, then went into the small tack room, while I saddled Latobius, soaking in memories of all the times I had done this with Ocelus, inhaling the smells of horse and hay. When Septimus returned, I pointed to one of the spare horses, a smaller black mare that only Dolabella could ride, and while he saddled it as I asked, I could hear him mumbling under his breath.

  “I told you that you’ll find out soon,” I assured him.

  And, almost as if I had deemed it to be so, I heard the back door open, the sound of voices drifting across the open ground. Leading Latobius out, I tied his reins to the post, then went and led out the spare horses, returning in time to see Dolabella emerge, carrying his saddlebags, followed by Birgit, then a moment later, Titus, also carrying baggage, but in contrast to Dolabella, he was actually struggling to carry what looked like two large sacks. From behind the main house, both Berdic and Nasua came hurrying around the corner, reminding me that the slave quarters were back there, next to the bathhouse, and they both ran towards us, with Berdic offering an apology for their tardiness, in such a fervent manner that I quietly told Septimus to let them know they were not in any trouble, another reminder of how Gaius had obviously treated them. The eastern sky was just turning pink, and the sight of it only served to emphasize how exhausted I already was, and I was struck by the thought that it had been one of the most eventful nights of my life, my adventures with Domitius during the rebellion of the Colapiani notwithstanding, but ironically, it was this memory that served as a spur to keep me moving. By the time the horses were saddled, the spares tied by their halters to Latobius and Dolabella’s mount, all of my family, by both blood and oath, were gathered to see us off, and I felt the lump forming in my throat as I looked at them standing there, their eyes on me. Only Gaius was missing, but then I noticed someone else was missing as well, and the anger threatened to return.