Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  Quintus Pacuvius arrived with Titus, and although Porcinus had prepared himself for this meeting with his son as much as he could, his composure almost crumbled when he saw that the boy needed help from his friend to climb into the wagon, favoring his left arm as he did so.

  “Father?” Porcinus could clearly hear the strain in his son’s voice, yet he had remembered to address his father more formally, even if it was only in front of Quintus. “Quintus said you’ve been hurt and that you wanted to see me! What is it?”

  “I just didn’t want you to be the only wounded man in the family,” Porcinus joked, but Titus’ expression didn’t change, his eyes wide and not leaving his father’s splinted leg.

  “What happened?” Titus gasped, reaching out to touch Porcinus’ foot before pulling his hand back.

  “You can touch it; it won’t hurt,” Porcinus assured him. “But I need to talk to you about something.” Turning to Quintus, he asked, “Quintus, would you please wait outside the wagon? There’s something I need to talk about with Titus.” Quintus had been expecting this command, even if it was in the form of a question, but then, Porcinus added, “In fact, go find your father. I’m sure he needs your help unloading his mule.”

  Quintus’ face fell, prompting a small smile from Porcinus, who had known that if he hadn’t sent him away, the youth’s ear would be pressed against the side of the wagon. What he had to share with Titus nobody else needed to hear.

  Once the other boy was gone, Titus pointed to the wooden bench. “Sit down. I need to tell you something.” Titus did as he was told, his face tight with tension, but before Porcinus began on the subject he had summoned Titus to discuss, he asked, “How’s your arm?”

  In reply, Titus moved his left arm in a circular motion, but although he tried, he couldn’t stifle the wince.

  “That’s what I thought.” Porcinus shook his head. “Why isn’t your arm still in a sling?”

  “I don’t need it,” Titus protested, but Porcinus was unmoved.

  “From the looks of it, that’s not exactly true,” was all Porcinus said, however. “So I want you to put it back in a sling for at least another week.”

  His son opened his mouth to argue, then the combination of the look on his father’s face, and the fact that, for the first time in his life, Titus saw his father helpless, caused him simply to agree.

  “Now,” Porcinus began. “I want to prepare you for something that’s about to happen. But before I do, I’m going to tell you that I expect you to act like a man, Titus. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Titus answered, although he was still sullen about the command to return his arm to the sling, his tone prompting his father to speak in a manner that Titus had never heard before, at least when he was the focus of his father’s anger.

  “Pluto’s cock,” Porcinus snarled, his face, still gleaming with sweat, hardening into an expression that Titus had rarely seen before and never aimed at him. “I don’t have time for this! It’s time for you to grow up, boy! Your mother, and I,” Porcinus conceded, “have spoiled you. But that ends today! It has to, because…” Now it was Porcinus’ turn for emotion almost to overwhelm him, but he forced himself to continue, although in a softer tone. “…I need you, Titus. More importantly, your mother is going to need you, as will your brother and sisters.”

  Now all rebellion and unhappiness had fled Titus’ face, to be replaced by a fear that he had never experienced before, even when the Latobici had chased him.

  “Why?” he asked Porcinus, searching his father’s face. “What’s going to happen? Tata?”

  It was the last word that did it, Porcinus realized with some chagrin as his son suddenly began shimmering in front of him.

  “Because,” Porcinus was doing his utmost to keep his tone matter-of-fact, as if this was just a routine matter of business that had to be dealt with, “I’m having my leg amputated in a little while.”

  For the rest of his days, Porcinus would often think of that moment as he watched his son change into a man in front of his eyes. Titus’ first reaction was a widening of the eyes, and Porcinus saw the sudden sheen in them that signaled his own tears were forming. Yet, somehow, they didn’t fall. As he watched Titus absorb what he’d just been told, there was a detached part of Porcinus that observed and tracked the emotions that went rippling through the boy. First, there was the understandable response of a child, as along with the tears, Porcinus saw his son’s lower lip jut out, a sure sign throughout Titus’ life that he was refusing to accept whatever decision or parental edict with which he was presented. Then, something happened. Suddenly, Titus sat up straighter, and while his lower lip was still jutting out, it was joined by his jaw in a look that, frankly, Porcinus had never seen before, transforming not only his son’s face, but his entire body. In that moment, Gaius Porcinus realized that his son didn’t look like him, at least in the way he was presenting himself; he looked how Porcinus imagined a young Titus Pullus had, as an almost palpable aura of hardened resolve emanated from the boy’s body.

  “What do you need me to do?” Titus asked quietly.

  Porcinus suddenly exhaled, only then aware that he had been holding his breath.

  “You’re going to have to be strong for your mother,” he told Titus. “And that means you can’t argue about whatever it is she tells you to do. Also, you’re going to have to explain to your brother and sister what this means.”

  “What does it mean, Tata?” Titus sounded remarkably composed, although Porcinus could hear how clipped his words were, a telling sign of his son’s struggle to keep his poise.

  And Titus wasn’t the only one struggling, especially as Porcinus was forced to voice what had been preying on his mind ever since he came to his decision.

  “It means my time under the standard is done, my son,” he said quietly. “I’m going to be retired and my days in the Legion will come to an end.” Seeing the anguish in his son’s face, he sought to reassure him, “But, Titus, it’s not all bad. Remember, your Avus has left us in a very, very good….position.”

  “Not if Augustus finds out,” Titus burst out, the bitterness causing his face to twist in a mask of sorrow and rage.

  Despite the fact that his son’s outburst wasn’t that loud, Porcinus still put up a cautioning hand and replied sternly, “And that’s the last you’re going to say anything like that! Do you hear me? I know Diocles already talked to you about this, Titus. He told me the night before I left on campaign. But now, it’s even more important than ever that you never, ever say anything that can be considered as disloyal to the Princeps.”

  Suddenly, Titus eyed his father keenly, so that despite the fact it was his ten-year-old son, Porcinus felt acutely uncomfortable under the scrutiny.

  “I know, Tata. Diocles explained why, but what’s different now? What happened?”

  For a brief moment, Porcinus considered telling his son everything, his rationale being that, since he was saddling Titus with the responsibilities of an adult before his natural time came, as a man, he deserved to know the entire scope of the hazards that might lie in wait.

  Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to burden his son in that way, so instead, he merely replied, “Nothing’s different. I just need you to understand and take to heart how important it is.”

  “I do, and I will,” Titus promised.

  For a moment, the pair sat there, suddenly awkward as neither of them quite knew what to do. Finally, Porcinus spoke.

  “Now that you’re taking over duties as the man of the family, I do have one request.”

  “What, Tata?” Titus asked, eager to repay his father for what he knew was not only an enormous responsibility, but was a compliment of the same stature. “What can I do?”

  “Come give your Tata one last hug and kiss like a little boy,” Porcinus said huskily, holding his hands out from his hammock.

  And Titus did, without protest.

  When Titus left, it was with the task of going to the Fourth Cohort are
a and finding Urso.

  “I need to talk to him about the Cohort,” Porcinus had explained to Titus, which was true enough.

  Porcinus wasn’t sure how long it was before he heard the footsteps outside his wagon. He was too uncomfortable to doze off, but he fell into some sort of daze as he waited, because the sound of voices caused him to jerk, sending a bolt of pain through his leg. Later, he would be thankful, since it served to yank him out of wherever he had been, and forced him to concentrate. The flap of the wagon was pulled aside, and Urso’s face appeared, his expression impossible to read.

  Over his shoulder, Porcinus could see Titus, and he called to his son, “Go on home now, Titus. You know what you need to do.”

  Titus nodded and quickly disappeared, but Porcinus still waited a moment before motioning his second in command into the wagon.

  As Urso climbed in, Porcinus commented, “This is my last official act as Pilus Prior.”

  Although he had meant it as a joke, he also understood the truth in the statement, and he could see that Urso did as well. Still, for whatever reason, there was no hint of triumph in the expression of the Pilus Posterior as he unconsciously mimicked Titus, settling in the same spot on the bench of the wagon. If anything, Porcinus noted with some confusion, he looked…sad? Why would that be? he wondered. He has to know that he’s going to be the Pilus Prior, especially if he does work for Tiberius.

  “Pilus Prior,” Urso said, “I just want you to know something. It’s no secret I wanted your post, and as hard as it is for me to admit, in the beginning, I thought it was because you weren’t qualified for the job.” Urso’s eyes bored into Porcinus’, and the suspicious part of his brain thought that if Urso was making a point to be sincere even if he wasn’t, he was doing a good job of it. “But I was about as wrong about you as a man can be, and no matter what you have to say, I wanted you to know that. Your leadership of the Cohort has been exemplary.”

  Everything that Porcinus had carefully rehearsed in his mind fled as he felt his jaw dropping in astonishment, and if he were honest, with more than a little shame.

  “I…I thank you for that, Urso. And, since we’re baring our souls,” he was heartened to see the Pilus Posterior chuckle, “I have to say that I’ve been suspicious of your motives.”

  “I know,” Urso replied, his tone matter-of-fact. “And, in the beginning, you should have been, frankly. But I’ve watched how you lead this Cohort, and I can’t deny that it’s not been without a bit of surprise that I’ve seen how your…style of leading is effective. Mind you, it’s not mine,” he emphasized, “but if anything, you’ve taught me that there’s more than one way to lead a Cohort.”

  “Well, now it’s yours to lead, and I can’t think of a better man to lead it,” Porcinus replied, and, like Urso, he was more than a little surprised as he realized that he was being honest.

  For moment, neither man spoke, with Porcinus staring at the ceiling and Urso examining the floor. Finally, Porcinus cleared his throat.

  “Yes. Well,” he began, trying to remember the words he had rehearsed in his mind. “That’s only part of the reason I called you here.”

  “Oh?” Urso suddenly looked cautious. “And what would be the rest of the reason?”

  “Who do you work for?” Porcinus asked bluntly. “Because you said that my debt was paid by the man you work for. Not,” he felt compelled to add, “that I agree. About the debt. You saved my life, and no matter why you did it, I owe you.”

  Urso stared at him, his face revealing nothing, then said, “Does it matter, really? Who I work for?”

  “It does to me,” Porcinus replied fervently. “Because I need to know who I need to worry about.”

  Urso didn’t reply immediately, but then he inclined his head in tacit acceptance of Porcinus’ argument.

  “I work for Tiberius,” he said evenly, confirming Porcinus’ first guess. “And I meant what I said. You owe me nothing.” Seeing Porcinus’ skepticism, Urso assured him, “I swear on Jupiter’s black stone, Porcinus. Even if I wasn’t working for him, I would have saved you.”

  “Why?” Porcinus was surprised that the question came out, but once it was, he didn’t do anything to modify it. “Why did you save me?” he demanded.

  “Because Barbatus didn’t deserve to be Primus Pilus,” Urso replied immediately, “and what he was doing was wrong.”

  “Since when does right and wrong have anything to do with things nowadays?” Porcinus couldn’t stop his bitter outburst. “All that matters is what side you’re on!”

  “That’s true, but only to an extent,” Urso said, seemingly unperturbed by Porcinus’ words. “I’d like to think that I would have stopped Barbatus even if I thought he was in the right, or that you weren’t a worthy Pilus Prior. Things,” he finished soberly, “aren’t always as simple as they seem.”

  Porcinus couldn’t argue that truth, at least of the last part of Urso’s statement, but he couldn’t resist answering bitterly, “I wish they were! Life would be so much easier!”

  “Yes, it would,” Urso agreed evenly. “But that isn’t the world that you and I live in.” Seemingly moved by some internal urge, he leaned forward to pin Porcinus with his eyes. “Don’t you think I know that you and I are just pieces in some game that the upper classes play?”

  Of all the things that he could have said, Urso couldn’t have picked a better statement, echoing as it did Porcinus’ own father’s words.

  Either oblivious or ignoring Porcinus’ eyeing of him, Urso continued, “So if we’re going to be used, why not make sure you pick the right horse to back in this absurd game?”

  “And you’re backing Tiberius,” Porcinus said slowly.

  Although Urso didn’t make any reply, neither did he deny it.

  “You really think he’s going to come out on top? Compared to all the others?” Porcinus asked, more curious than anything.

  Urso shrugged.

  “He’s as good a one as any,” was how he put it. “Ideally, I think Drusus is probably the smartest choice. But there’s just something about Drusus.” He shrugged again. “I can’t explain it, but my gut tells me that when it’s all settled, and Augustus does shuffle off into the afterlife, it will be Tiberius who’s left.”

  Although Porcinus didn’t have a feeling one way or another, he supposed that Urso’s reasoning was sound, and while he didn’t want to admit it, and like Urso, there was something about Drusus that had caused him to hesitate when viewing the patrician as the likely heir to what Romans were only just now coming to understand was the throne of all that was Rome and what it stood for, the shining light in an otherwise dark world.

  Porcinus regarded Urso, and he finally accepted not only his counterpart’s argument, but his lot as decreed by The Fates.

  “I suppose so,” he said slowly. “And nothing I’ve seen about him gives me the shivers. But,” he finally moved to the subject that worried him above all, “if Barbatus was being honest, and he was sent by Augustus, and he had doubts about Tiberius, where does that leave us?”

  “That,” Urso conceded, “is a good question. And one that I can’t answer with any certainty. Other than to say that Tiberius has his own allies, and they’re very powerful.”

  “Who?” Porcinus asked, but when Urso balked, he persisted, “Look, as far as I’m concerned, you and I are in the same trireme. Whether we’re chained together like galley slaves, or we’re there of our own free will, does it really matter? This is where we are.”

  Urso started to continue arguing, but quickly recognized that there was really nothing he could summon to refute what Porcinus had said.

  “Livia Drusilla,” he finally said, and was rewarded by the sight of Porcinus’ own mouth dropping open.

  Porcinus had been expecting a name, but of all those that he had prepared himself to hear, the name of Augustus’ wife was the last. And yet, the moment Urso uttered it, he realized that it made sense. Augustus’ wife, by all accounts, was a formidable woman even witho
ut her association with the Princeps. And she was Tiberius’ mother, so her support of both him and Drusus was understandable. He let out a low whistle.

  “Well, if you’re going to have a backer, you could do worse,” he mused.

  Urso nodded, clearly relieved that Porcinus accepted what he had said without pressing for more.

  “That’s what I thought,” he agreed. “But I also think that Tiberius is a good man, and he’ll do what’s best for Rome.”

  “Of course,” Porcinus said blandly.

  The truth was that he didn’t care about how fit Tiberius was to run Rome, and he suspected that it wasn’t high on Urso’s list either. Regardless of this truth, there were some conventions that had to be served, even in the privacy of a wagon.

  “Well,” Porcinus said awkwardly, “I still thank you for what you did. No matter why, you saved my life.”

  “Don’t forget that I helped the Legion,” Urso pointed out, “because that cunnus had no business running a Century, let alone a Legion.”

  Even if he had been so disposed, this was something that Porcinus couldn’t argue.

  “Whatever the case,” Porcinus said, “you’re going to be the Pilus Prior. And,” his throat threatened to close over the words, but they had to be uttered, “you’re the best man for the job. Take care of our boys.”

  Urso inclined his head in acknowledgment, not just of what Porcinus was saying, but all that it meant.