by R. W. Peake
"No, he wouldn’t," he agreed. "Although he didn't much care for the members of his own class who fawned all over him. And he really didn't like it when patricians came to visit him, because they always wanted something from him."
"That I can believe." Now Porcinus laughed, and Iras joined in.
Each of them had their own memories of Titus Pullus and his now-legendary clashes with the members of Rome's upper classes, which Diocles now used to introduce the purpose of his visit.
"Yes, well." Diocles cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Since there's no way to bring this up gently, I imagine I should just come out with why I'm here." He paused to take another gulp of his cup, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before he continued, “Have you heard any word from Rome?"
Porcinus and Iras exchanged a glance, deepening Porcinus' unease even more.
"Yes," he answered. "Yesterday, in fact. But it was a...confusing message."
Diocles mouthed a silent curse as he closed his eyes.
"I had hoped I'd reach you before it got here. But I suppose it's better that it just arrived instead of you having to wait even longer to hear the news."
"What news?" Iras demanded, prompting an irritated glance from her husband.
"About your elevation into the equestrian class," Diocles replied quietly. "Rather," he corrected himself, "the fact that you're not being elevated into the equestrian class."
The couple sat in their chairs, neither of them able to speak for several moments.
"But...why?" Iras finally managed to ask, her voice thick with the shock and anger she was feeling.
Diocles considered carefully before answering, "I don't know for sure why. But," unconsciously, he shifted forward in his seat as his head dropped, his eyes suddenly looking about into every corner of the room, as if he was afraid of being overheard. "It comes from Augustus himself. According to the dispatch I was given, and it was written in his own hand, he said that new information had come to light that impacted Titus' status as an equestrian. And because of that information, although Titus' name is allowed to remain on the rolls as an equestrian, Augustus wouldn't allow his heirs to maintain that status."
Now that the reason was known, all that remained was for the enormity of it to sink in for both Porcinus and Iras. Unfortunately, Diocles wasn't through.
"Also," he continued after taking a breath, "Augustus has decreed that because of this information, he is confiscating a portion of your unc...father's wealth. A significant portion, I'm afraid."
"How much?" Iras asked, although she felt a sick certainty that she had an idea.
"Three hundred thousand sesterces," Diocles replied, prompting a gasp even from Porcinus.
Iras, on the other hand, wasn't quite as circumspect, spitting out a string of curses that was no less vehement for the fact that she actually uttered them in her native tongue instead of Latin. Both men watched as she vented her rage, exchanging a wry glance, until Diocles finally held up a hand.
"The news isn't all bad. At least," he amended hastily, "on the money front. As well-informed as Augustus is, it seems that he seriously underestimated exactly how much Titus was worth, because, as you know, the qualification for elevation into the equestrian class, besides having a sponsor, is having a worth of 400,000 sesterces." He paused for a moment, happy at least that he could pass this piece of information to the younger couple. "Well, Titus had enough to be elevated into the Senate, if he had any interest. So technically, you still have enough, even after his confiscation, to become an equestrian." As soon as he uttered these last words, Diocles saw that he had made a mistake, seeing Iras' sudden look of hope, and he moved quickly to quash what he knew was a futile dream. "But that's meaningless, at least as far as becoming an equestrian. As you know, Titus was sponsored by Augustus himself, and he's removed his sponsorship. And," he finished meaningfully, "you would have to find someone who would be willing and powerful enough, to go against Augustus in the matter of sponsoring you for elevation. That, quite frankly, isn't going to happen."
Finished, Diocles lifted his recharged cup to his lips, and a silence settled over the three people, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, it was Porcinus who broke the quiet.
"Well, at least we'll be the richest members of the Head Count in the history of Rome."
Diocles, his mouth full of wine, choked on the liquid before it finally came spewing out of his mouth as he began roaring with laughter, and was quickly joined by Porcinus. Only Iras didn't seem amused, but even she couldn't resist after a moment, although it wasn't as much because she saw the humor in the situation, as it was that she was swept up in the others' mirth. The laughter continued so long that it roused the children, who came streaming from their room, demanding to know what the cause of disturbance was.
"That's...interesting," was how Camp Prefect Macrinus put it, when Porcinus came the next day to announce that he, in fact, wouldn't be going anywhere. Although he didn't ask, Porcinus felt that his former Primus Pilus was entitled to know the circumstances, knowing that Pullus had considered him a close friend.
"That is one way to put it," Porcinus replied. "But I think you should know why."
Porcinus proceeded to explain the entire circumstances of this new development, leaving nothing out, including the fact that he was still a wealthy man, a very wealthy man. Macrinus absorbed this, his face giving nothing away, and he didn't speak until Porcinus was finished.
"I don't suppose this means that you don't need your pay, then, does it?"
Porcinus laughed, and even if it had a tinge of bitterness, the perverse humor of his situation wasn't lost on him.
"No, it doesn't," he told Macrinus. "If Augustus is going to ram his cock up my ass, I think I should at least be paid for it."
Now Macrinus laughed, nodding his head in approval.
"Good! I would have been more worried if you didn't view it like that." Turning serious, he asked Porcinus, "Have you informed Vettus of this?"
Porcinus shook his head, causing a frown to crease Macrinus' face, one that didn't need any more creases; the man already looked like a weathered pair of caligae. The man Macrinus was referring to was Sextus Vettus, the current Primus Pilus of the 8th Legion, and Porcinus' immediate superior. Bypassing him to go immediately to the Camp Prefect was a serious breach of protocol, and while Macrinus understood and appreciated why Porcinus had come to him first, he couldn't countenance this kind of behavior.
However, Porcinus, seeing and comprehending Macrinus' look, said hurriedly, "But only because he's taken the First out on a forced march. He's going to be gone for another couple of days."
"Ah, yes." Macrinus shut his mouth, a bit chagrined that he had forgotten. "Then I suppose I'm the appropriate person to tell." Before he spoke further, Macrinus gave the younger Pilus Prior a deep, thoughtful look. "I know this is a bitter blow, Porcinus. And I wish I could say that there wasn't an element of danger in your situation, particularly in the event that Augustus discovers that your uncle was much better off than he believed." Sighing, he stared off into space as he considered. "In fact, I think what would infuriate Augustus isn't if you tried to find a sponsor to elevate you, although I can't think of any man who would be foolish or desperate enough for money to do so. No, I think the fact that he didn't know Pullus had as much money as he did; that alone would be enough to make him take some sort of action." He gave Porcinus a level look, staring into his eyes. "I hope you know what that means."
"I do," Porcinus sighed. "Iras isn't going to be able to live in the villa she's dreaming about, either here or in Arelate. And she's not getting the extra slaves she wanted."
"I think that's probably the best approach," Macrinus agreed. "At least right now. In a few years?" He shrugged. "Who knows what could happen? He might forget. Or the gods may take him." The moment the words were uttered, a look that Porcinus might have thought was alarm, if he didn't know better, crossed Macrinus' face as he added hastily, "Not that
any of us want that to happen."
Speak for yourself, Porcinus thought, but wisely kept to himself. Although, if the truth were known, he wasn't nearly as upset as he might have thought, and certainly not as much as Iras thought he should be. No, she was angry enough for both of them, but fortunately, her experience in the court of the Ptolemies had taught her a level of discretion when in public that meant he really didn't have that much to worry about when she went to the market and met the other Centurions' wives.
"So I have a lot of money that I can't spend," Porcinus summarized. "And I can't use it to help elevate my status. At least as long as Augustus lives."
When put so baldly, even Macrinus wondered why Porcinus wasn't angrier about it. It was true he didn't seem happy about it, but the Prefect would have expected a bit more fire, especially in private, with a man he trusted. At least, Macrinus mused, I hope he trusts me. Although, given the subject, and the times in which they lived, it was understandable. Ever since the rise of the man now known as Augustus, more commonly referred to as Princeps, it seemed that prudent men had learned to curb their tongues. If it was because in the past few years the more outspoken among them had exhibited a disturbing practice of suddenly disappearing from not just public but private life, then those who remained could probably be forgiven for not speaking out. With nothing else really to be said, Porcinus departed, leaving the Camp Prefect deep in thought. It was undoubtedly an injustice, but Macrinus forgave himself for thinking that at the very least, the 8th would still have one of its best Centurions. Yet, he was still troubled, not as much about the news itself, but the nagging question that wouldn't go away; why had Titus Pullus run afoul of Augustus, a man who he served faithfully and well?
That was actually the same question that troubled Gaius and Iras, even if it was for different reasons, but in this matter, the normally wise and well-informed Diocles couldn't provide much help.
"It's a question that's kept me up many nights since I received the message," he confessed to the couple.
It was his third night there, although it was the second time the three had the opportunity to talk, since Diocles had been asked to dinner by one of his long-time friends, reminding Porcinus that the Greek had lived here in Siscia for many years.
"And no matter how much I've thought about it, I can't think of one specific incident or reason that would put Titus in such disfavor with Augustus. Even with the Tribunal," Diocles continued.
What he was referring to had been the most challenging episode in a life filled with them, not just to Titus Pullus' career, but his life. The last campaign in which Titus Pullus participated, serving as second in command, was an invasion of Thrace by the then-Praetor of Macedonia, Marcus Primus. Primus, an example of the worst traits that were endemic in the patrician class rolled into one obese, pompous, and incompetent bundle, had claimed that his campaign was authorized by Augustus himself. It was an operation in which Porcinus had participated, his first as Centurion, as the Hastatus Posterior, or Centurion commanding the Sixth Century of the Seventh Cohort. As such campaigns went, it had been marred from the beginning by Primus' ineptitude and meddling, although when its true purpose had been revealed, it became clear that this was nothing more than Primus engaging in a treasure hunt. A treasure hunt on a vast scale, it must be said, composed of two Legions, the 8th and the 13th, and based on a nugget of information that Primus had overheard about the discovery of an especially rich vein of gold, in the mines owned by the Serdi tribe, outside of the city of Serdica. Although the campaign had seen some tough fighting, it ended in ignominy when Primus could no longer ignore the summons to return to Rome to face Augustus, who claimed that he never authorized any kind of campaign. What resulted was one of the most notorious trials in memory, culminating in the execution of Primus, yet what surprised those with knowledge of the situation was the Tribunal that was conducted after Primus' trial, where Titus Pullus was accused of knowingly aiding Marcus Primus in the waging of an illegal campaign against Thrace. It was not only patently false; Pullus' presence had been ordered by Primus who, as governor of Macedonia, held Proconsular imperium, making such a summons a matter of law. Furthermore, even when he brought the 8th and the 13th from Siscia, Pullus had been suspicious about the veracity of Primus' orders, and had demanded to see the orders issued by Augustus. Primus had produced them, but only after a delay of almost a full watch, and it was only later that Pullus learned Primus needed this extra time to transfer Augustus' seal onto a set of forged orders. What was well known was that Pullus and Primus had been at odds from the very beginning of the campaign, as Pullus' instincts, honed over more than thirty years of service under the standard, told him that Primus was acting in a suspicious manner. None of that was enough to keep Pullus from being held before the Tribunal in Rome, but thanks to the energetic and imaginative defense provided by the Tribune Lucius Calpurnius Piso, and the appearance of his longtime friend and former Secundus Pilus Prior Sextus Scribonius, not even a Tribunal with instructions to the contrary could hold Pullus at fault. What Pullus had learned during that episode was that, contrary to his relationship with the man who raised him from the ranks, now referred to as Divus Julius, his relationship with Augustus wasn't nearly as close, or as cordial. In fact, from everything Pullus and Diocles were able to gather, the Tribunal had been conducted as a personal favor to Appius Claudius Pulcher, a close friend and supporter of Augustus, whose son had served with Titus Pullus in the army. Although Pullus and the son, after a rocky beginning, had developed at least a cordial working relationship, Pullus had been privy to misconduct on the part of the young Tribune. That had given the elder Claudius the pretext to view Pullus as a threat, but what Pullus had learned, directly from the son's mouth, was it was Pullus' impending elevation to the equestrian order that had incensed the older man. Claudius would have styled himself as an "old Roman," meaning that he viewed Pullus an upstart with pretensions above his class who had to be stopped. Yet, while that explained Claudius' motive, neither Pullus nor Diocles were ever able to determine why, at the very least, Augustus had allowed the Tribunal to move forward, even if he hadn't actively encouraged it.
"All I can think of is what happened at Actium," Diocles told the couple. "But even then, it was such a seemingly inconsequential moment that I find it hard to believe that even Augustus, who holds a grudge better and longer than anyone I've ever heard of, would still be angry. At least to the point where he would be this vindictive."
"I don't think we'll ever know," Porcinus sighed, but if he had resigned himself to this, Iras wasn't willing to let it go at that.
"There has to be more," she cried, the frustration causing her to bang a clenched fist on the table. "There has to be some sort of reason!"
"Not really," Diocles replied, and while his tone was mild, it didn't appease her in the slightest.
"Why are you so determined to find out why this happened?" Porcinus asked her. "All that's important is that it is. The why doesn't really matter."
"Yes it does," Iras retorted. "Because if we can find out the reason, then there's a chance we can at least fix it."
"I doubt that." Diocles laughed, probably the worst thing he could have done, but of the two men, he was the least cowed by Iras.
They had been fellow slaves, members of the Titus Pullus household, and they had a complex relationship. Diocles and Eumenis, the slave who died from the poison she had delivered under Cleopatra's orders, had been close friends, and while Diocles, probably better than anyone else could, understood how powerless a slave was, he still felt a reserve when dealing with her, knowing that she was the killer of his friend, even if she had acted under orders.
"Why do you doubt that?" she demanded. "Because we both know that Augustus doesn't do anything without having a reason. So we need to find out what that reason is."
Diocles didn't answer; she was right, he realized. Even if he didn't think they would ever discover it, she was correct that Augustus never did anything impulsiv
ely, unless it was perhaps gambling, at which he was notoriously bad. Otherwise, he was all cool calculation, every move and decision made with a deliberate eye and steady nerve.
Finally, he just shrugged. "Well, if you can find out, you're better than I am. Because I've thought of little else and haven't come up with a good reason."
With that glum announcement, the trio turned to other matters.
Not all the news was bad; it was while Diocles was there that he revealed two more pieces of information that would have a tremendous impact on Porcinus' family, particularly one member of it.
"Young Master Titus will be happy to know that his Avus mentioned him specifically in the will," he told the couple, lowering his voice to make sure that the sleeping children wouldn't be roused. "But he also specified two conditions."
"What are they?" Iras asked warily.
"The first is that you both have to agree to it," Diocles replied, looking at each of them.
"Uh-oh," Porcinus muttered under his breath, although with a wry tone.
"That's right: ‘uh-oh.’" Iras scowled at her husband, but in the same playful manner, although Diocles could detect a note of nerves there as well.
"And the second?" Porcinus asked Diocles, but the Greek shook his head.
"Let's get the first out of the way before we go any further."
"We can't agree until we know what it is," Iras pointed out, ignoring the fact that Diocles was clearly about to continue.
"Yes, thank you so much for pointing that out," he said dryly. "It concerns Ocelus. Titus wanted young Master to have Ocelus, for the rest of the horse's days, however long the gods will it."
"What? That's out of the question," was Iras' first reaction. "That horse is massive! And I've seen him almost throw Pullus more times than I can count! No," she shook her head decisively, "impossible."