Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  Now, she sat at the table in their quarters, and while her tears were genuine, like most women, especially wives and mothers, she had a practical side that even then was in operation. For as sorrowful as the news of Pullus' death was, it also put into motion a number of things that would have an enormous impact, not just on Iras personally, but more importantly, her family. Before he had retired as Camp Prefect, and left Siscia, where Porcinus and the 8th Legion were stationed as part of the Army of Pannonia, he had given Iras her document declaring her freedom, duly sworn and notarized. But it was his plans for her husband that had the largest impact, on her and her children, as well as Porcinus.

  "I'm adopting you, and making you my heir," he had told them, shortly before he and his close friend and scribe, Diocles, departed for the villa he had purchased in Arelate. "So you'll never have to worry about money, at least."

  That, naturally, made Iras very happy; the fact that the reason her now-former master had accrued so much wealth was to elevate himself, and more importantly to Iras, his heir to the equestrian class in the rolls of the citizens of Rome. But the most crucial thing that came from this elevation was the knowledge that Iras' children would be equestrians as well. Of the most immediate concern was the fact that neither of her sons would have to worry about finding themselves in the ranks of Rome's Legions, holding a sword and shield, as their father and benefactor had. This was a particular concern because Iras was no fool; she had seen how her oldest boy had loved her former master, and had, from almost as soon as he could talk, started telling anyone who would listen how he would be a man of the Legions, just like young Titus' father and his Avus. And from everything her husband Gaius had said, this was exactly what had led her husband to enlist in the Legions, because of the example set by the brother of his mother Valeria. Porcinus' enchantment had started when he was a little younger than Titus was now, when his uncle had visited, fresh from the conquest of Gaul where, like his general Gaius Julius Caesar, Titus Pullus had found his own measure of renown and fortune. The young Porcinus had been enthralled, and as his parents would learn, more to his mother's chagrin than his father's, the idea of life on a farm, emulating his father, had left him dead inside. In fact, although his uncle didn't realize it at the time, not only had he ignited a fire within his nephew that would only be quenched by enlisting in the Legions, he had provided the youngster with the vehicle by which he could achieve his dream, in the form of a small sum of money that he had entrusted to Porcinus' mother.

  "This is for the boy," he had instructed his sister, "so when he's old enough, you give this to him to spend however he wants."

  It helped that Pullus had given his sister what was, to her at least, a staggering sum of several thousand sesterces for her own use. However, Pullus' generosity had gone wrong as far as his sister was concerned, because Gaius used his money to find a man to help the young Porcinus swear into the 14th Legion by claiming to be the youth's father. To Pullus' credit, he had been unaware of this, and, in fact, had done what he could to prevent his only nephew from enlisting, although it was a halfhearted attempt. However, once he did learn of his nephew's enlistment, Pullus had used his influence, and money, as the Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion, to pluck the young tirone, the name for a trainee, from the 14th. The timing of this move could have been better; Pullus and the Legion were in the process of preparing for the invasion of Parthia, under the then-Triumvir Marcus Antonius, a campaign that not only failed in its objective, but would go down in Roman history as the most grueling and the costliest, with the exception of the expedition that had spawned this one. That first campaign had been three decades before, when Marcus Licinius Crassus and his entire army had met defeat at Carrhae, when only a handful of Romans had escaped with their lives. While that hadn't been the case with Antonius' campaign –he had been able to extract about half of his army from the vast expanses of frigid desert that constituted a large part of the Parthian kingdom – the ignominy suffered by Marcus Antonius was that the vast majority of his losses hadn't come from a Parthian arrow or cataphract's lance. It had been the land itself, and the brutal climate and conditions of privation that had claimed so many of Rome's finest Legionaries. This had been the first campaign for Gaius Porcinus, and while he never spoke of it, Iras knew that he bore the scars of all that he had seen and endured, because there were still nights where he would wake screaming in terror, shivering as if he had been submerged into an icy pool. These were the things that made Iras so thankful in the knowledge that her sons wouldn't have to endure these kinds of horrors, no matter if her husband never referred to them as such, or talked about them at all, for that matter. It was true that her youngest son, Sextus, hadn't expressed any interest or desire, but he had been too young for his huge uncle cum grandfather to have the same kind of impact.

  Iras looked over at her husband, and even as her mind was working, she felt for him, seeing the look of sadness that had descended on his features, now that the shock had worn off. Better than anyone, Iras understood how her husband felt about Titus Pullus, and she ached for him now, wishing that there were words she could utter that would provide some balm for the fresh and gaping wound in his soul.

  "It's just hard to believe," Porcinus broke the silence, his eyes fixed at some spot on the table, the wine cup in his hand still full. He turned to look at Iras, his eyes haunted. "I mean, I knew he would die, but somehow, I never thought that he actually would." Giving a self-conscious laugh, he lifted the cup to his lips, muttering, "I just thought that if anyone would cheat death, it would be him."

  As he drained the cup, Iras studied him thoughtfully. No, she decided, it wasn't time yet.

  Instead, she offered, "At least he died in his sleep. That's good."

  Porcinus considered this for a moment, then shook his head.

  "No," he replied quietly. "Somehow, I don't think he would have wanted to die that way."

  "How then?" Iras asked, but Porcinus ignored the edge in her question, choosing to answer it as if she were asking because she wanted to know and not plumb his own thoughts about what kind of death he himself would seek.

  "With a sword in his hand," Porcinus replied instantly, and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Iras visibly flinch.

  "And I suppose that's how you would want to die." Her tone was a combination of questioning and scornful; like most members of her gender, she didn't think much of men and their ideas of glory, honor, and duty.

  Gaius Porcinus was every bit as dedicated to his Legion, Cohort, and Century as his adoptive father had been. Where he differed from Titus Pullus, however, was that he was also a devoted husband and father. So that, even through his grief, he knew he was swimming in dangerous waters, and understood that for the sanctity and peace of his home life that there was really only one answer he could give. However, it was partially because of his sorrow that, without making a conscious decision to do so, he chose to honor the man who had been the strongest influence in his life.

  "Absolutely," he answered quietly. "I can't think of a better way for a Centurion of Rome to die, with a sword in his hand and enemy at his feet."

  Iras glared at him, but he wasn't cowed, returning her gaze with a calm certainty that she had learned from long experience meant that he wouldn't be swayed. Consequently, Iras satisfied herself with a contemptuous snort that she knew with the same amount of conviction that he understood she didn't accept his statement. But this wasn't the time for a fight; in fact, the couple rarely argued, because that just wasn't in Porcinus' nature. Normally, his disposition was a closer match to that of his very first Centurion, the Secundus Pilus Prior and Titus Pullus' best friend Sextus Scribonius, a man who, as far as he knew anyway, was still alive and living in Alexandria.

  It didn't take long for his thoughts to turn in that direction, and he commented to Iras, "I wonder if Scribonius knows. He's going to take it hard."

  "I doubt he's heard yet, but he certainly will," Iras agreed.

  He looks so sa
d, she thought, and she put her own small hand over his, which he took and squeezed gratefully. When their eyes met, she saw his were shining, rending her heart and telling her with no uncertainty that this wasn't the time to raise the practical considerations wrought by the death of Titus Pullus.

  "He's just been such a huge part of my life." Porcinus was forced to choke back a sob, but he only did so with difficulty. "I just don't know what it will be like, knowing he's not there."

  "I know." And in this, Iras was being completely honest.

  Titus Pullus had been larger than life, in so many ways that it would have been impossible for her to describe. Physically speaking, it was certainly a true statement to say that Titus Pullus dominated every space he occupied. He had been born a large man, so huge that, according to his long-dead father, he had killed his mother in childbirth because of his size. This had been the pretext for his father's hatred towards Pullus, but in that hostility had been born a fire, which, when combined with the fact that he was taller and more muscular than almost everyone Iras or anyone else had ever met, made Titus Pullus a man destined for greatness. That greatness was tempered by the circumstances of his birth, but somehow, he innately understood that the only road that would take him to his ultimate destiny led him to the Legions. And it was in the Legions that the legend of Titus Pullus was born, as he not only survived a forty-two year career under the standard, but he achieved what was the highest rank available to a man of his birth, the post of Camp Prefect. This was an office that had appeared from time to time in the Roman military, but it had been made into a formal office, with a distinct set of duties, during the reforms wrought by the man who was the heir to Pullus' first general, Julius Caesar. Pullus' appointment to Camp Prefect had been a reward for his loyal service to Rome, but it wasn't without cost, one that Porcinus knew in his bones that he could never pay. As ambitious as Gaius Porcinus was, he had recognized at an early age that he wasn't possessed of whatever it was that fueled a man like Titus Pullus. And while he had some of his uncle's physical gifts, namely his height, his was a more slender build that, no matter how hard he worked, would never be as muscular as that of his adoptive father. But it was more than that, Porcinus knew, and if Pullus had been asked what his nephew was missing, he would have said that it was the gift of rage, a seething, dark, and lovely legacy given to him by his father's loathing, where there was an undercurrent of anger just waiting to be unleashed.

  And now that his presence was gone, Porcinus thought, he realized that he did indeed feel adrift, as if whatever had moored him and given him his sense of stability and pride of place was suddenly missing. How could he compensate for that?

  The personal trials of a Pilus Prior notwithstanding, the business of the Legions, and Rome, continued apace, so Porcinus found himself in his office the next day to begin business as usual. Unfortunately, he hadn't thought to tell Ovidius to keep the news of Pullus' death a secret, so it was only a matter of moments before the first man showed up, another Centurion from the 8th Legion, to offer his condolences. Porcinus took this in stride, understanding that every man who showed up was doing so because he himself had some sort of relationship with his deceased uncle. I have to start thinking of him as my father, Porcinus chided himself as the first man left his tiny office, only to be replaced by another well-wisher. It was understandable, Porcinus thought; Titus Pullus had been Camp Prefect for ten years, and had been the second in command of both major campaigns in which the Army of Pannonia participated. That made it natural for every one of these men to have some sort of connection to Pullus, and Porcinus had to admit that some of the anecdotes related to him by those paying their respects were quite funny. In fact, that seemed to be the overall gist of what men had to say about Pullus. Oh, they talked of his prowess in battle, or some of the acts they had witnessed, but by and large, these hard-bitten men talked about the amusing things that Pullus had done or said. Yet, as the day progressed, Porcinus noticed that these funny stories were almost always told in the context of how Pullus had managed to steady their nerves, or made them forget the dire peril that they were in at that moment. It was a profound lesson, the last in leadership that Titus Pullus gave to his adopted son, but it was one that would stick with him the rest of his life.

  It wasn't until after midday that the current Camp Prefect stopped by. Despite the circumstances of his visit, Porcinus' face lit up in a smile as Aulus Honorius Macrinus knocked on his door. Not that he had to engage in such formality; Macrinus was the current Camp Prefect, and the successor to Pullus, who had made the recommendation for him to assume his post. More than that, Macrinus was the former Primus Pilus of Porcinus' own 8th Legion, and had been Porcinus' commander for his entire career, even if it was removed by several levels. While there had been a quid pro quo, in the form of Pullus' demand that his nephew and heir be promoted from where he had been the Pilus Posterior, commander of the Second Century, of the Seventh Cohort, in exchange for Pullus' support of Macrinus for Camp Prefect, Pullus would never have offered up his nephew if he didn't truly believe he was ready. Thankfully, for all parties, Porcinus had vindicated Pullus' judgment, and Macrinus held the younger man in high regard. Conversely, Porcinus thought of Macrinus in similar terms, so his pleasure at this call was unfeigned.

  "I was sorry to hear about your uncle," Macrinus said after the initial pleasantries. "I didn't think anything could put him in Charon's Boat," he continued in an unconscious echo of Porcinus' own thoughts.

  "I suppose he was just worn out," Porcinus replied as both men took seats. "After all, you saw him without his tunic. I've never seen anyone with so many scars."

  "Nor have I," Macrinus agreed.

  Macrinus regarded the other man thoughtfully. He had been more than a subordinate to Pullus; Macrinus was proud that he was one of the very few men that could call Titus Pullus a true friend. And it was as a true friend that Pullus had confided in Macrinus his plans and ambitions for his nephew. That, in fact, was one of the reasons Macrinus had come to visit.

  "So what are your plans now?" Macrinus asked after the two had sipped their wine.

  "Well, I'm going to take the Cohort out on a surprise forced march," Porcinus replied, hurrying to put his cup to his lips to hide his smile, knowing this wasn't what Macrinus was asking.

  "That's amusing, Porcinus." Macrinus' tone was peeved. "But I think you know what I'm talking about."

  "I do," Porcinus admitted, but his smile faded. "Honestly, I don't know. I haven't had much time to think about it."

  "That's true," Macrinus granted, but while his tone was gentle, it was insistent. "But speaking as Camp Prefect, I'm going to need to know your intentions as soon as possible."

  "I understand, sir."

  Standing, Macrinus offered his hand, which Porcinus took, grasping the other man's forearms in the Roman manner.

  "I'll let you know as soon as I can, sir."

  "See that you do," Macrinus said genially. "And again, I'm sorry to hear about Pullus."

  When the Prefect left, Porcinus had a few moments to himself before he was disturbed again, and he spent it deep in thought. What would he do?

  Fortunately for Porcinus, despite Macrinus’ words, he didn't have to make any decision immediately. It would take some time for the process of Titus Pullus' will to be retrieved from its location in the basement of the Temple of Vesta, where every Roman citizen, no matter how modest their status, kept their last will and testament. It was a peculiarly Roman trait; even if the only item to be bequeathed to a relative was a copper pot, it was likely that the owner of it had paid one of the lawyers hanging about the Forum every day to draft their will. Titus Pullus had quite a bit more than a copper pot to his name, so Porcinus was sure that it would take weeks, if not months before all the arrangements would be made to fulfill the provisions of his will. After that, he had no idea how long it would take for his own elevation to the equestrian status as Titus' heir to be ratified. Iras managed to wait for three days before she
finally couldn't hold it in any longer and broached the subject that had been in the forefront of her mind since her husband had given her the news.

  "Once your unc...father's will is opened," she made sure to correct herself, although she didn't really know why, "how long do you think it's going to be before you hear anything?"

  Porcinus stifled his first impulse to snap at her for bringing such matters up so soon after Pullus' death, realizing that Iras had indeed managed to keep what he knew had been boiling inside her under control for three whole days. Instead, he gave her a weak smile, but could only shrug.

  "I have no idea, my love. I've never been part of anything like this. I don't know if the will has to be taken back to Arelate, or if the lawyer who's handling the will in Rome just sends instructions back to Diocles about how to dispose of his estate. Or if he sends me a message at the same time. Then I imagine some sort of paperwork has to be done before my elevation is ratified."

  Not surprisingly, this didn't satisfy Iras, but she also understood that her husband was right in that he had never had reason to have any experience with such matters. His father had died, that was true, but because of the generosity of Titus Pullus, the farm on which Gaius Porcinus was raised had instead gone to his youngest sibling and only brother, also named Titus. It had saddened Iras when word of Gaius' father's death had come, in a letter from Valeria, Gaius' mother and Titus Pullus' only surviving sister, but not for the reason one might think. It wasn't because Gaius was bereft at the news; in fact, it was the opposite. He had shown little emotion when he was informed. Iras knew it wasn't because the elder Porcinus had mistreated his son, but because her husband's affection and regard for a father figure had been transferred years before to Titus Pullus, probably all the way back to when Gaius was around young Titus' age and his uncle had shown up.