Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  “Well,” I barely registered Vespillo’s voice, or his words, “at least I know why he doesn’t want to introduce any of us to her.”

  Despite their attention being elsewhere, I suppose my staggering must have been noticed, because Structus suddenly turned to look up at me, and I could tell that he was alarmed at whatever he saw.

  “Pullus? Are you all right?”

  It took a huge effort to tear my eyes away from Volusenus and his mother, yet I managed somehow, and I forced myself to say, “I’m all right. I just got this headache, suddenly.”

  “Headache?” Structus frowned, but I was further discomposed when our exchange caused Macer to turn away from the pair, and I felt his eyes studying me.

  “What’s this?” He actually asked Structus, but before my former Optio could answer, I spoke up, “I was just telling Structus I suddenly got a headache.” This, I knew, was so unusual that I felt compelled to wince, then press my fingers against both temples. “I don’t know why, but it feels like someone has my head in between two stones and is standing on them.”

  I felt slightly guilty at the look of alarm on my friend’s face, but when he said, “Then I’ll go back to camp with you,” I protested that it was not necessary.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing serious,” I assured him, then tried to give him a grin, “and I’m perfectly capable of making it back to my quarters on my own. Besides,” in this, I was honest, “I don’t want to be the one to tear any of you from a night’s entertainment.”

  “Well,” Macer answered doubtfully, “if you’re sure…”

  “I am,” I assured him. “I’ll be fine.”

  Then, without waiting for an answer, I turned and began walking; stumbling is probably more accurate, away from my fellow Centurions, although it was only to get away from Volusenus and his mother, Giulia, the love of my life who, until a matter of mere heartbeats before, I had thought was dead.

  I do not recall anything of my walk back to camp; my first recollection was sitting on my cot in my quarters, trying to make sense of what I had seen, and more importantly, what it all meant. However, while there is one aspect of this that I know is clearly obvious now, I am completely sincere when I say that, in that moment back in my quarters, it still did not occur to me there was a connection between Gnaeus Volusenus and myself. All that mattered was trying to cope with the fact that, for more than twenty years now, I had believed that the woman I loved to the point where I never seriously considered entering into any kind of permanent relationship, simply because I did not want to face the kind of devastating loss I suffered the first time, was actually still alive. It was while I was sitting there that I heard someone entering the Legion office, but I assumed that Balio, who had already been retired behind his partition in the outer office, had gone to the latrines and I had not noticed. The quick knock, repeated twice on the door, informed me that it was not, yet I did not even bother looking up when Alex entered the room, not wanting to interrupt my study of the floor.

  “Uncle Titus?”

  Realizing that ignoring him was not a viable method of dealing with my nephew, I nevertheless still did not look up, and I asked without any real interest, “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with Algaia?”

  He did not answer, which finally induced me to tear my eyes away from the spot on the floor, which I believe was his ploy for getting me to look up at him.

  As I had suspected, and feared, he clearly knew something, which he partially explained when he said, “I ran into Optio Clustuminus, and he told me that you were ailing.” Hesitating, he added, “He said that you looked as if you’d seen a numen. He was worried about you. And,” his eyes searched my face, “now that I’ve seen you, I am too.” The mention of a numen elicited a short bark of a laugh from me, but not because I found any humor in it, just that it was an appropriate way to put it, and I mentally saluted my new Optio for his insight. “Uncle Titus,” Alex had moved from the door to stand in front of me, and there was no way I could miss the real concern in his expression, “what happened? Do you really have a headache? Or did you see something…or,” I saw the bony knot in his throat bob up and down, “…someone?”

  How, I wondered, can I explain this? How can I possibly communicate to my nephew what this is about?

  What I settled on was, “I saw someone I haven’t seen in a long time, nephew, and it caught me by surprise. That’s all.”

  He stood there, not responding in any way, though his eyes were eloquent enough in their disbelief, but I think he also sensed that I was not going to divulge anything more.

  “Well then,” he broke the awkward silence, “I’m going to retire for the night.”

  When he moved in the direction of his pallet, I protested, “You don’t need to stay here, Alex! You can go back into town.” I even tried to give him a smile, though it felt as if my face was frozen. “I don’t want Algaia upset with me that I’m keeping you away from her when you’re going to be leaving so soon.”

  “She’ll be fine,” he answered shortly in a way that suggested to me that she was anything but fine about his leaving her bed in town.

  Nevertheless, seeing that he was not going to be swayed, I realized there was no point in trying to argue, so instead, I made a show of getting ready to retire myself. And, I would add, I did lay down on my cot and waited for Alex to blow out the lamps in our shared quarters, but not only did I know I would not be sleeping, I did not have any intention of doing so.

  Lying in my bunk, I stared up into the darkness, waiting for the sound of the bucina that signaled the beginning of the midnight watch, and as soon as it came, I arose. Moving as quietly as I could, I made my way to the hook where my sagum, the fur-lined one, was hanging, and grabbing it, I went to the door, where I stopped to listen for a moment.

  “Don’t try and follow me, Alex,” was all I said quietly, yet I was certain that he heard me, and more importantly, understood, then I left my private quarters.

  Slipping out into the Cohort street, I did think to reach down and feel my baltea, checking that my purse was there, knowing that I might be forced to pay a hefty bribe to the Centurion commanding the guard Cohort to look the other way if he was not of the 1st Legion. The gods were with me in that sense; it was the Fifth Cohort of my Legion who had the guard that night, and I had a good relationship with Pilus Prior Clepsina, so leaving the camp was not a problem. Walking into town in complete darkness, I cannot really recall what I was thinking, but when I reached the town gates, this was the first moment I had to drop some coins into the hands of the town watch. However, this happened on a nightly basis, just not with me, but I knew more men than I could easily count who paid for the privilege of staying in Ubiorum overnight, relying on whoever they were sleeping with to ensure they were roused in time to get back to camp in time for the morning call. Volusenus had not said where his mother was staying, but he did not need to in order for me to know where to go. Despite the fact that Ubiorum was almost unrecognizable from the time I had transferred into the 1st, which was the first winter my Legion spent on the site of what is now a good-sized town, there is still really only one inn that caters to the upper classes, and this was where I headed. Just as I reached the entrance, I was struck by something, and it was powerful enough that I stopped and seriously considered turning around. What if, I thought, Volusenus asked Macer permission to spend the night in town, and he’s sharing the room with his mother? I am not known for indecisiveness, but that night, I was in a quandary that caused me to stand, motionless, for a lengthy span of time, before I reached for the latch and opened the door. Because of the hour, the proprietor was not awake, but as was customary, there was a burly slave who served as a night watchman sitting on a stool, and seeing me enter, he leapt to his feet, his eyes wide with alarm; whether or not it was because it was unusual, it was my size, or a combination of the two, I did not know.

  It did serve to cause me to hold out both hands and say, “Pax. I mean no harm, to you or to any
guest.”

  This seemed to soothe him somewhat, but I noticed his hand was still within an inch of the cudgel leaning against the wall. As befitting a slave addressing a man of the Legions, which I obviously was because of both my baltea and my gladius, his tone was deferential, but it was also cautious.

  “Is there something I can do for you, Master?”

  This was when I realized I had not given any thought to how I was going to talk my way past this man to get to Giulia, and without thinking about it, what came out of my mouth was the truth, or a version of it at least.

  “I just found out that the mother of one of my fellow Centurions is an old acquaintance of mine from when I was with the 8th Legion in Siscia,” I explained, and I was heartened to see him relax slightly but noticeably.

  Nevertheless, he was not sufficiently swayed to simply let me pass, and while his tone was polite, there was a note of skepticism that I understood, when he asked me, “And why would you want to see this lady at this hour, Master?” Speaking the words seemed to firm his spine, because he shook his head and added. “Master Aulus would have me flayed if I let you past.”

  Feeling a sudden surge of desperation, I reached for my coin purse, holding it up and shaking it gently so that the slave could hear the solid sound of the coins clinking together, but while he was clearly tempted, he remained steadfast.

  “I’m sorry, Master,” his head continued to shake back and forth, and I was running out of ideas about how to make it nod up and down, “but there’s no amount of coin you can offer that would be worth the price of my skin.” I think he must have realized something, because he added, “I was not jesting about being flayed, Master. Master Aulus would do it, and,” a shadow of what I suppose was a combination of fear and hatred crossed his face, “he has done it before, to the slave who held this job before me.”

  My heart sank, realizing that my choices were rapidly dwindling, and a growing sense of desperation caused me to begin thinking about how I would force my way past this guard. I wish I could say that part of my calculations included a desire to avoid causing this slave, who was only doing his duty, any harm, but the only aspect I considered was how I could subdue him, as quickly and quietly as possible. As always, I had my vitus, and my pugio as well, although I will say that the latter I only considered as a last resort. The silence dragged out between us, and I suppose my face must have betrayed my intentions because his hand went to the cudgel, though his eyes never left me, while I shifted my grip on my vitus, with the intention of using it as a quasi-stabbing weapon. Before matters could disintegrate into an action that I know neither the slave nor I, for that matter, wanted, we were both saved by a voice, literally from above us. Not from the heavens, but from the top of the stairs where the rooms for the guests were located, and it was a voice I had not heard in more than twenty years, yet it still made my knees go weak.

  “I will see the Centurion, Mandalonius,” Giulia spoke from the top of the stairs, but while I could hear her, I could not see her, although the way the stool was placed at the bottom of the stairs allowed the slave to look up the stairway at her. “There’s no need for any trouble. He’s…” I heard the hesitation, and the quaver in her voice matched the feelings that were rushing through me, “…a friend, just as he said. We’ve known each other many years, and I am perfectly safe.”

  It was clear to see that the slave Mandalonius was torn between his standing orders from his master, who sounded like a right bastard to me, and obeying the orders of a guest who, while clearly belonging to the upper class, was a woman, and I was also reminded that learning the name of a slave she would only meet once in her life was something Giulia had always done even when she was young, and it likely had an effect on his thinking as well. For several heartbeats, his gaze kept alternating between looking up the stairs, then back at me, his eyes going to the vitus in my hand, and I began thinking that I would have to resort to the tactic that had come to my mind before Giulia appeared.

  Then, Giulia said, “Please, Mandalonius? I assure you I’m in no danger from the Centurion, and I won’t be alone in my room with him.”

  This caused the slave to take a deep breath, then he nodded his head; more importantly to me, his hand left the cudgel, and he stepped aside to allow me to pass him and ascend the stairs. I was in a state that I have never experienced before, where I wanted to bound up the stairs, yet was terrified of doing so, because I had no idea what to expect, not just from Giulia, but from me. Regardless of my agitation, I was sufficiently possessed of myself to hand over all but a couple coins from my purse, although Mandalonius seemed discomfited by the gesture.

  “This,” I said quietly, “is for you and you alone. And,” I added, “if your master does anything to you about this, you send a message to Quartus Princeps Prior Pullus of the 1st, and I’ll come and explain.”

  Frankly, he seemed more grateful about this than the money, although he took the coins when I held them out. Then, I could delay no longer, and I turned to look up the stairs, where Giulia, wearing a gown of a deep green, a color that always suited her, was standing with a lamp in one hand. Ascending the stairs, I could not tear my eyes away from her face, the dancing flame of the lamp playing on her features, which should have made those lines that come to all of us with age stand out in deeper relief, but were almost completely absent. Naturally, I was still two steps from the top when our eyes were level with each other, and we stood there for a moment, neither speaking, until she finally broke the silence.

  “Salve, Titus. I suppose you have a lot of questions.”

  Giulia had not been lying when she said that she would not be alone in her room, but despite my fear that it would be Volusenus, instead it was her body slave, a woman of about my age whose eyes went wide at the sight of me entering the room.

  “Blessed Juno!” she gasped, then began, “He looks exactly like…”

  “Silete! What have I told you about your mouth?” Giulia’s tone was sharp, and I was reminded how imperious she could be when she chose. This clearly chastened the woman, but Giulia was not through. “That will be all, Carissa,” she commanded. “You can wait downstairs with Mandalonius while I speak with the Centurion.”

  “But,” Carissa protested, with a horror that I could not tell whether or not was feigned, “it’s not proper, Mistress!”

  “Gerrae!” Giulia answered scornfully. “I’m a widow, not a wife. Besides,” there was a subtle change to her voice, “I saw the way you were making eyes at that German down there.”

  That this must have been true was betrayed by Carissa’s response, as she turned a deep red, breaking eye contact, and she only mumbled, “Very well, Mistress.”

  Giulia and I waited for her to leave the room, but then she spoke in a voice slightly louder than necessary, which I understood when she said, “And, Carissa, you’re not going to be listening at the door, or I’ll have you whipped.”

  While I appreciated the idea, I confess that my first thought was about another servant of Giulia’s household, Plotina, who Giulia’s mother had personally flogged to death, and I felt a stab of worry that perhaps Giulia was more like her mother than I had thought.

  Whether she read my mind or understood how this could be taken, once she waited to hear Carissa’s footsteps descend the stairs, only then did she turn to me and admit, “She knows I’d never do it, but I don’t want her listening in either, and she knows when I say that, I’m serious.” Then, for the first time, I sensed how nervous she was, seeing her hand shaking as she indicated a chair, asking, “Would you care to sit down, Titus?”

  This was such an incongruous, needless thing to say that, for an instant, I thought she might have gone mad, but I suppose the habits of courtesy still held sway, not only with her but with me, because before I gave it any thought, I had actually moved towards the chair she indicated, while she sat on the small couch at the end of the bed. Because this room was reserved for the upper-class guests who found themselves in Ubiorum, it was
lushly appointed, and was much larger than a normal room at an inn. There was a partition between the back of the couch and the bed, so it was not visible, but I barely noticed, suddenly realizing how ludicrous this was, a mummer’s play where Giulia was playing the role of proper Roman matron hostess, and I was simply her guest. I suspect that this was what caused me to stop in my tracks, and suddenly, I could contain myself no longer.