Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  "So...what are we going to do?"

  There, she had finally asked the question that kept her up nights, but now Porcinus just looked at her with an annoying placidity, the expression on his face telling her that he had given the matter little, if any, thought.

  "About what?" he asked her, confirming her suspicions.

  Iras was dangerously close to hurling the cup she was holding at his head, but it was then she caught the glimmer of his smile, and she recognized he was teasing her.

  Scowling at him with mock indignation, she retorted, "You're lucky I can tell that you're teasing me, because I was about to bounce this cup off your head."

  "Pax." He laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. Then, turning serious, he said, "I suppose that's something we need to think about. Macrinus came the day after I got the letter from Diocles and asked me, so you're actually not the first person to ask me." He considered for a moment, conscious that Iras' eyes were studying him intently. "If his will just transfers his status to me through adoption, I suppose it means that the money goes with it. But I don't know if his villa in Arelate is part of that or not. If it is," he shrugged again, "I imagine that it would make sense for us to live there."

  Now that the words were spoken, Iras felt as if her breath was being snatched away at the scope of what they were discussing. Although both she and Gaius were well traveled; she had been part of Cleopatra's court, after all, and he had, of course, seen much of the world from within the ranks of the Legion, yet it had been many years since she in particular had traveled. Not until that moment, when Porcinus mentioned that relocating their family was a possibility, did she realize how much she had missed the excitement that comes from seeing new sights, and experiencing new tastes and smells. Yes, it was a hardship, and it could be dangerous, but to Iras, that just added spice to the stew of adventure, and she found herself fighting a smile at the thought of it.

  "How long do you think it would take for us to get to Arelate?" Iras asked, her mind suddenly racing, filling with the enormity of what needed to be done.

  "I think first we need to wait to hear from Rome, or Diocles," Porcinus cautioned his wife, standing up from his side of the table to place his hands on her shoulders, almost as if he were trying to keep her seated.

  Which, in a sense, was exactly what he was doing, because he knew his wife very well. If this was allowed to get out of hand, he would come home from his daily duties to find his entire household packed up and ready to move.

  "Until we hear, I'm still the Quartus Pilus Prior of the 8th Legion, and that's all that I am," were his final words, in a gentle but firm tone.

  Iras understood his message, and accepted it. For the time being.

  Winter in Pannonia could be bitter, but young Titus Porcinus always enjoyed himself, no matter what season it was. This winter was different, however, and Iras fretted that her oldest son would make himself sick. If, that is, he could make himself sick from sadness. Both she and Porcinus had assumed that Titus would behave with the resiliency that all youngsters showed when faced with tragedy, but it had been almost a month since the news of his Avus’ death and Titus showed no sign of emerging from his melancholy. Finally, the boy could contain himself no longer, blurting out part of the cause for his ongoing grief and worry during the evening meal, and solving the mystery of his condition to his parents.

  "Now that Avus is gone, who's going to look after Ocelus?" he cried, knowing that it wasn't manly, it wasn't Roman to shed tears in this way, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

  "You know that your Avus has Simeon," Porcinus told his son, not unkindly, but not wanting this display of tears to continue much longer. "He's been looking after Ocelus a long time now, and I'm sure he'll do a fine job now that Avus is gone."

  "He can't take care of him like I could," Titus said with a ferocity and conviction that told Porcinus that his son was very worried that Simeon could indeed care for the stallion.

  "I'm sure you're right," Porcinus agreed, his eyes meeting those of Iras, who was looking on with a bemused expression.

  Like her husband, she had rarely seen her oldest boy display this side of his personality, and while she was amused, she was also a little fearful. Titus was a large boy; in fact, when her former master had been alive and still living in Siscia, Titus Pullus had told her that he was sure that he had been about the same size at young Titus' age. The boy's father was certainly taller than the normal Roman, by several inches, but young Titus, even at his age, was broad across the shoulders, giving a hint that he might actually emulate his adoptive grandfather in his size. Such thoughts gave Iras cause to shudder, but as quickly as it came, she reminded herself that Titus wouldn't have any reason to be put in a position where his size made him a target.

  "What do you think is going to happen to him?" Titus asked his father, but much to his disappointment, his father refused to give him any hope.

  "I suppose he'll live the rest of his days in Arelate, with Simeon to look after him," Porcinus said. Or, he didn't say, either Diocles or maybe I will sell him. Aloud, he told Titus, "But if I write and find out, will that snap you out of this...mood you're in?"

  Surprisingly, Titus didn't answer this immediately, instead seemed to consider the question as if it was an actual proposition made to him by his father. Finally, he nodded, without much conviction, but still gave his mute agreement. Willing to take whatever victory he could get, Porcinus soon turned to other matters, talking to Iras about subjects in which Titus had absolutely no interest, and if he remained quiet through the rest of the meal, his sisters and brother more than made up for him. Although it was absolutely true that Titus was concerned about the fate of what had been one of his earliest companions going back to as long as he could remember, there was more to Titus' feeling of being unsettled. Even if he had been older than nine, he wouldn't have been able to verbalize the deep instinct that the death of his Avus had caused a fundamental shift, not just in Titus' life, but in that of his family. He knew, at least in general terms, that something called a will was going to have some sort of impact on them, but while his mother found it hard to contain her excitement, sending the message that whatever this will thing was, it meant good things, Titus' feelings on the matter were the exact opposite. Without knowing how, or why for that matter, he was sure that when the news of this will came to his family's doorstep, it wouldn't be bringing any happiness.

  With his reform of the calendar, the man known as Divus Julius had finally ensured that the calendar was in step with the seasons, and it was just after the turn of the new year, in what would become known as the ninth year of the reign of Augustus, that the news for which Porcinus and Iras, with different degrees of patience, had been waiting finally arrived. At least, partial word, in the form of a cryptic message, not from Diocles but from what Porcinus learned was the lawyer in Rome charged with the handling of his adoptive father's affairs. Porcinus had received the message in his office, and even after reading it several times, he wasn't clear on its meaning. The only thing he was sure about was that the reaction of his wife wasn't going to be pleasant, because she would undoubtedly have the same questions that he did, and wasn't likely to be pleased with his lack of answers at the moment. Because of this prospect, perhaps he could have been excused for suddenly finding some particularly pressing matters that kept him from returning to his quarters at his normal time. Nevertheless, he recognized that further delay would be hazardous to the harmony of his house, so he trudged back home, carrying the scroll that was going to be the cause of the upset. On the walk, Porcinus reflected that perhaps the regulation against men of the Legions being married was, in fact, the wisest course to take. However, it was also the most ignored regulation, although if one were being technical, Porcinus wasn't married to Iras, at least legally. This was how most Legionaries were able to skirt the regulation; more importantly, it was what gave their commanders, at all levels, the pretext for ignoring the fact that when a Legion was in one area fo
r any length of time, like the 8th was here in Siscia, there was a suspiciously high proportion of women and young children in the nearby town. And, depending on the campaign and the Legate in command, when a Legion did march, it carried a "tail" with it that was an army of its very own. It had been this way for as long as any man attached to the army could remember, and it was the unwise commander who tried to change this arrangement. Still, Porcinus entertained the brief thought about how uncomplicated his life might have been, then quickly dismissed it. While Gaius Porcinus loved the Legions, the truth was that he loved his family more, and it was perhaps this that was the biggest difference between him and Titus Pullus. It wasn't that Pullus had never had a family; in fact, he had loved two women in his life, and his first love, Gisela, had borne him two children, Vibius, named for Titus Pullus' longest, and, at that time, close companion Vibius Domitius, and Livia, named for the dead sister of Pullus and Porcinus' mother. This had been before Porcinus had become an adult and joined the Legions, so he hadn't seen the raging sorrow when his uncle's family had been wiped from the Earth in a plague that struck Brundisium, when Pullus was away fighting in Africa for Divus Julius, although he had met Gisela when she was still carrying Vibius. But Porcinus knew, and deeply loved, Pullus' second woman, and the one who Pullus had been given a special dispensation to marry legally on his elevation to Camp Prefect. Titus Pullus had met Miriam during his time in Damascus, when the 10th was marching for the dead Triumvir Marcus Antonius, and where Gisela had been coppery fire, carrying the voluptuous curves that spoke of her Gallic heritage, Miriam was slim and dusky, with dark features and a fine nose that bespoke her Syriac heritage. And as Porcinus thought, sadly, it had been her slim build that had doomed her and the too-large baby that was an echo of Titus Pullus' own birth, when his mother couldn't survive bringing her huge son into the world. It was not only the first event of Pullus' life, it was the seminal one that turned his own father Lucius against his only son, and drove the young Titus to seek a life away from the poisonous hatred of the man who sired him. Then, Pullus had watched the woman he loved, a woman who Porcinus was sure Pullus loved even more than he had loved Gisela, suffer the exact same fate. That, Porcinus thought sadly as he turned down the lane that led to his quarters in the town, had changed his uncle in a way from which he never recovered. He had become more like the Titus Pullus of his youth, at least in the sense that his only focus was the Legions, and advancing his career, a man with no softness in him, no finer feelings that would serve as an impediment to being the perfect man of the Legions. But at what cost? And in that answer lay the difference between Gaius Porcinus and Titus Pullus, because Porcinus had long before recognized that it was a price he was unwilling to pay.

  "What does this mean, that there are 'issues with fulfilling the provisions of the will in its entirety'?" Iras scoffed, and even if the tone wasn't, the question itself was a reasonable one.

  Unfortunately, it wasn't one that Gaius Porcinus could answer, at least to his wife's satisfaction. This meant that the rest of the evening was spent in what, to Porcinus at least, was an unprofitable manner, as Iras ran through every possible explanation to this riddle. It would have been one thing if she had pursued the answer on her own, but not surprisingly, she demanded that her husband participate. All that resulted was in two unsettled people retiring for the night, to toss fitfully through the watches of darkness, one of them because her mind wouldn't stop tearing at the knot of this mystery, the other because it is impossible to sleep when the person lying next to you never stops moving. It wasn't that Porcinus wasn't concerned; in fact, he was, but one of the more valuable lessons he had learned during his time in the Legions was the futility of worrying about matters over which one has no control. In fact, it had been during his first campaign, the ill-fated expedition against Parthia that he saw firsthand how corrosive and energy-sapping such behavior was, and until his dying day he would be convinced that more than one of his comrades who succumbed, not to a Parthian arrow or lance, did so because he was simply worn down from worrying about matters that they couldn't have done anything about. Porcinus wanted to know, perhaps not quite as badly as Iras, but it was worrisome nonetheless, yet he found he always felt better with a good night's sleep. That, he recognized, wasn't going to be happening, at least this night.

  Looking back, Porcinus would never really be able to decide if it was a good or bad thing that neither he nor Iras had long to wait to discover exactly what that ambiguously worded phrase had meant. One thing that he did know was that the identity of the person who cleared up this mystery was a welcome sight, even if his task would prove to be so earth shattering. Only a full day had gone by, when Porcinus had once again returned back to his quarters, dreading the idea that he was essentially going to be forced to pick up what had been a singularly unsatisfying discussion for both him and Iras, that their talk was interrupted by a knock on the door. The timing couldn't have been better, at least as far as Porcinus was concerned, because the tenor of the conversation between him and Iras was growing increasingly heated, at least on one side.

  "Are you expecting anyone?" he asked Iras, who shook her head.

  She had her own ideas, however, as she retorted, "No doubt that it's your Optio or one of your men who you told to come rescue you from the clutches of your harpy of a wife!"

  "If only I had thought of that," he sighed, but managed to duck the wooden spoon while moving to open the door.

  Under normal circumstances, Porcinus would have determined the identity and purpose of the caller before opening his door; it was true the province was settled, but there had been attacks on Legionaries by the men who still refused to acknowledge the inevitable. However, he was sufficiently distracted that he forgot his normal precaution, and yanked open the door, which had a tendency to stick. The violence of the act startled the visitor, who uttered an undignified squawk as he leaped back a step, clearly expecting a reception in line with the abrupt nature of the opening of the door. Porcinus, framed in the doorway, didn't make a move of any kind, so the two men faced each other, frozen for a moment, both of them staring at each other. In Porcinus' case, it was a combination of shock and surprise, but not any fear, if only because of the diminutive stature of this unexpected visitor. Yet it was more than that, although it took Porcinus a moment to find his voice to identify this caller to Iras, who was even then demanding to know who had disturbed them. Finally, he managed a hoarse, gasping word, or name.

  "Diocles?"

  Naturally, he had aged, Porcinus noticed, after ushering his guest into his quarters, then stood there as he and Iras, as surprised as her husband, greeted each other, hugging for long moments. His black hair had been liberally sprinkled with strands of silver when Porcinus had last seen him, but now his head was almost completely an iron gray. The wrinkles, if not increasing in number, had definitely deepened, making longitudinal crevices framing his mouth, and accenting the corners of his eyes. Yet, his manner was still as vital as it had been when Porcinus had first met him, when he had still been a slave who belonged to Titus Pullus. Even then, the relationship between Pullus and this Greek, whom he had plucked from a pen containing the captured slaves and servants from Pompey's army at Pharsalus, when the then-Secundus Pilus Prior needed someone who could serve as a body slave, had transcended the master-slave dynamic. Diocles had earned something at least as valuable as his freedom; the trust of Titus Pullus, and his fidelity to his large master had been amply rewarded. Now, standing there as Iras took his cloak, he looked careworn and tired, which was understandable since it was a long journey from Arelate to Siscia. Yet, it was more than that, Porcinus could see; he looked...worried. Having him take a seat, Porcinus sat with him as Diocles drank deeply from the cup of wine that Iras had poured, giving his wife a cautioning glare when he recognized that she was growing impatient. Finally, Diocles set the cup down, frowning down at it as he framed his thoughts.

  "First, I want you both to know that I share your sorrow about Mast
er Titus," he began, but he was cut off.

  Somewhat to Porcinus' surprise, he watched as Iras placed a gentle hand on Diocles' arm, looking at him with a deep compassion.

  "We're not the only ones suffering," she said softly. "I know how much you loved him yourself."

  The words seemed to burst some sort of dam of grief inside the Greek, because without saying a word, he bowed his head and burst into tears. Within a matter of a few heartbeats, his body was wracked with sobs of the sort that came from such a deep well of sorrow that Porcinus felt the tears coming to his own eyes. Iras had risen from her chair and was now leaning over Diocles, who buried his head in her breast as he continued to pour out a grief that he had clearly kept bottled up inside as he performed his final duties to his master and friend. Finally, he regained enough of his composure that Iras relinquished her grasp, although her own face was wet with tears, making Porcinus feel a bit better about his own. A silence descended over the trio, punctuated by the sniffling of Diocles as he wiped his eyes.

  "I don't know where that came from," he finally mumbled, then gave a self-conscious laugh.

  "I do." Porcinus surprised himself. "This is probably the first chance you've had to grieve. I imagine there was a lot to do with..." He fumbled for words that wouldn't send his guest back into the abyss. "Well, with all that had to be done."

  "Oh, there was a lot to do," Diocles agreed, a sad smile creasing his face as he stared into his cup. "Especially the funeral rites in Arelate. He was quite the well-known figure there."

  "I can imagine he wouldn’t have minded that." Porcinus said it without thinking, but it was the simple truth, and Diocles laughed in response, knowing that it was meant without any kind of rancor.