by R. W. Peake
I believe that if he had stopped before his last statement, even though we would have showed our displeasure at this slur against us, it would have been in the form of the behavior we were displaying at that moment, which was nothing but the same muttered protest. But for the men of the 8th, while they endured the insult to themselves, the Legate's accusation against Urso proved too much and the relatively low-pitched protest instantly became a full-throated, roaring repudiation of the Legate's words. I would point out as another example of the Legate's ineptitude and lack of connection to the men he supposedly commanded that he appeared to be the only one surprised at our display of anger. Men were shaking their fists, shouting at the top of their lungs, and, in doing so, offered up one last demonstration of loyalty to Publius Canidius, whose ashes were interred and resting in the small Legion temple. Clearly shaken, the Legate's composure dissolved and I saw him turn and say something to our new Primus Pilus, the only man who did not appear disturbed by our actions. I saw Atticus give him a curt nod, then pivot and salute the Legate, who fled the forum with a haste that under other circumstances would have been comical. For my part, I freely admit I was torn about how to behave. I had loathed Urso for so much of my time under his direct command, but now I could no longer summon the sense of outrage that had once come welling up just at the thought of the man. Ultimately, in what would turn out to be the last few weeks of his life, I had come to view him in a different light, recognizing that, in many ways, he was as much a minor piece in the great game of tables played by the upper classes of Rome against each other as my family had been, and still was. I must make it clear; I am not excusing Urso's actions when it came to his outside ventures. I find his peddling of armor and helmets particularly loathsome, yet I also recognize that ultimately, he paid for his crimes in the harshest manner possible. In fact, my memory of the night of his death was, and still is, so vivid and powerful that, until the moment I step into Charon's boat, I will believe Urso could have blocked Draxo's attack. Not easily perhaps, but I had seen enough of the Primus Pilus in action to know with a degree of certainty this was well within his abilities as a fighter. It is a question I plan on asking him when I see him again; if his last act, or non-act, was his way of atoning for all the death and destruction he had brought down on Pannonia in general, and his Legion in particular. Because of all the things I thought I knew about Urso but was proven wrong, the one belief about him that has never wavered is his love for his Legion. And it was because of this love, at least so I believe, that Publius Canidius did not try to defend himself from Draxo's axe, allowing himself to be struck down in an attempt to bring all the killing and dying to an end. Did he do so, knowing from the last glance he gave in my direction as I hurried to try and close the distance that he would be avenged? I would like to think so, but that is just another question I have for him later.
I must admit that Gaius Sempronius Atticus, in his first act as Primus Pilus, handled our display with aplomb and about as well as anyone could have, especially since one could argue we were demonstrating the very disloyalty of which the Legate had accused us. The manner in which he did it was by doing nothing. Instead of trying to assert his authority outright, Atticus demonstrated the kind of cool head that when I thought about it immediately afterward, I hoped was a good indication of his performance in battle. Standing there impassively with his vitus clutched in both hands behind his back, he allowed our rowdy demonstration to essentially die a natural death. As anyone who has been involved in a similar situation can attest, it is difficult to maintain a state of indignant outrage, especially when the object of that display is no longer present. Therefore, Atticus continued standing there, his face revealing nothing, effectively waiting us out by allowing us to expend the pent-up rage and hostility towards the Legate. Slowly, the noise died down as men shouted themselves hoarse, or like me, they recognized there was not much point in voicing our protest when the object of our scorn was no longer anywhere nearby. Finally, it grew quiet, at least quiet enough for Atticus to be heard if he had chosen to speak, yet he still stood there saying nothing while moving his head slowly across the ranks of the Legion, taking all of us into his gaze. By doing so, I learned an important lesson, one of many I would learn from Gaius Sempronius Atticus, and that is sometimes the best way to rivet the attention of rankers is by, in fact, doing nothing at all. Again, little by little, what noise there had been evaporated, as did all the fidgeting and movement, until the entire Legion was as motionless and rigidly at intente as I had ever seen it.
Only then did Atticus break the silence, yet while his voice certainly projected across the Legion, there was still a quiet quality to his voice as he simply said, "The Legion is dismissed! All Centurions and Optios attend to me at Legion headquarters."
The force of habit that comes from the twice daily formations asserted itself as each Centurion pivoted about and barked the command that released us to return to our area; in our case, the command came from Asinius, who had been standing in the spot that would now be occupied by Atticus. Instantly the noise resumed as men began talking about this major development in our lives, but they were drifting away from the forum as they did so. While I cannot say with any certainty, I know I was aware that considering all that had taken place over the last few weeks, it was in our interest to disperse and not give either the Legate or our new Primus Pilus anything more to add to his charge of disloyalty.
Since we were going in the same direction, Asinius and I walked together part of the way, and he told me, "Let me go see what our lives are going to be like." Glancing over at me, he said quietly, "As soon as I know anything, I'll come by and let you all know."
Understanding this was the best we could expect under the circumstances we parted ways, each of us lost in our own thoughts.
It was not until shortly before dark that Asinius rapped on our door twice, which we had learned was his own signal that not only identified who it was but gave us a couple of heartbeats to either stop doing or hiding whatever it was that might get us put on report. Tiburtinus had done the same thing and it was a practice I would go on to adopt when I was promoted; in these small ways, our junior officers build trust and inform the men they have not forgotten what it is to be a ranker. That evening, none of us were in any kind of compromising position; in fact, we were all seated at our long table, discussing and arguing about this new development. The instant Asinius entered, we naturally stopped talking and turned to face him, but although his facial expression was the same as always, giving nothing away, I had marched next to this man and I instantly saw he was drumming the fingers of his right hand against his leg. I had learned this was a telltale sign of an inner tension, so I at least had an instant of forewarning.
"Well," he began, but instead of his normal practice of declining our offer of a seat at the table and a cup of wine, he dropped onto the bench and allowed Didius to fill a cup. "That was…interesting."
Accepting the wine, he began drinking, leaving us almost quivering with anticipation; again because of my familiarity with the man, I saw a faint twinkle in his eye that told at least me that he was deliberately tormenting us.
"Go on," I growled. "Have your fun." Turning to the others, I pointed at his face and explained, "He's just fucking about with us. I know; I've seen that look before."
"Pullus," he protested, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm disappointed in you! I would think you know my character and that I'd never do anything like that!"
"That's why I said it," I shot back. "Because I do know you."
That brought a smile to his face and a ripple of muted laughter, except it was fleeting, our tension such that nothing could amuse us for long.
The smile fading, Asinius took a deep breath and began, "First, I want to let everyone know that, despite where he comes from, Atticus is no Barbatus. At least," he amended, "I didn't see any signs that he was. Aside from his hair, of course," he added, but then shrugged and finished, "but that's the fashion
in Rome nowadays."
"Well," Ventidius allowed, "that's something. But," his tone was cautious, "what else is there about him?"
"I think," Asinius' voice turned grim, "that he might be a striper." He shook his head as he frowned into his cup. "At least, that’s my guess, although he didn't come out and say as much."
"Who does?" Didius interjected bitterly. "That's not the kind of thing a Centurion would tell his men right away, would they?"
"Not necessarily," Asinius replied. "I've seen cases where it's the first thing out of their mouths when they take over a new Century. And," he added, "Atticus didn't actually say he was. It just…feels that way to me." He took another long swallow from his cup, belching as he set it down, empty, and then said in an offhanded way, "Not that it matters to me anymore."
This arrested our attention, and I felt a shiver go up my spine as I realized that at least one of our fears might be true.
"What does that mean?" I asked, breaking the sudden silence.
Shrugging, Asinius said, "There are…complications, at least as far as me remaining Optio. It's likely that I'm going to be transferred." Suddenly, before we could press him, he stood up abruptly, saying, "Well, I've got to go tell the rest of the sections."
We all shouted at him to wait, but he did not, and when I saw him stumble slightly as he opened the door, I was sure it was not from the wine.
"Wait here," I commanded the others. "I'll find out what's going on."
Because I was at the opposite end of the hut, Asinius was several paces away, almost to the door of the next section's hut when I called to him to wait. He stopped, but it was easy to see he was reluctant to do so, and when he turned to face me, I was brought up short by the glitter of tears in his eyes.
"Asinius," I gasped, "what is it? What's wrong? Are you being demoted?"
That was the only reason I could think of for reducing this man to tears, so my confusion only deepened when he shook his head.
"No," he replied, his voice husky with whatever emotion he was feeling, "I'm not being demoted. I'm just being sent to another Cohort."
"But why?" I asked; there was only one reason I could think this was the case. "It's because he wants to bring in one of his own toadies, isn't it?" I demanded.
Yet, he surprised me when he shook his head and said, "No, that's not it. At least," he frowned down at the ground, "I don't think that's it."
"What is it, then?" Another idea occurred to me and while I had thought my first guess was the most likely, I recognized that this second alternative was, in all likelihood, the most probable. "Is it you're too junior? That you've only been our Optio for a couple months?"
I did not think it possible, yet my consternation only strengthened when he shook his head again, except this time he did so with a bitter laugh.
"No, that's not it either. That," he looked back up at me, "I could actually understand. I wouldn't like it, but I'd understand it." Seeing I was clearly at a loss, he explained, "Pullus, it's actually really simple. What other reason do you think Atticus would use?"
Only the gods know how long we stood there, my bewilderment at this seeming nonsensical reply slowly changing into a dawning realization, with the new feeling accompanied by a sudden lurching in my stomach that was so strong I was worried I might vomit on his boots.
"You don't mean," I heard myself gasp, "this is about money?"
That was exactly what it turned out to be. Essentially, Gaius Sempronius Atticus was auctioning off the post of Optio to the highest bidder, but not just to potential candidates within the 8th Legion. Supposedly, or at least so he informed Asinius, one of his colleagues from the Praetorian Guard had offered up a sum that, simply put, was a staggering amount.
"Five thousand sesterces?" I did actually reel backward when Asinius informed me of the amount. "Pluto's thorny cock! How does he expect you to come up with that much money?"
"I don't think he does," Asinius said dryly. "Oh," his lip twisted into a bitter smile, "he's actually doing me a favor. At least, so he claims. He told me that although that's the other Praetorian's bid for the post, instead of beating it, if I match it, in recognition of my connection to the Legion, he'll award me the post."
"That's fucking nice of him," I snarled, spitting onto the street. We were silent a moment before I finally summoned up the nerve to ask, "So what are you going to do?"
Shrugging, he replied, "The only thing I can do. I'm going to take a transfer out of the Century." When he looked at me then, I admit his eyes were not the only ones with tears in them. "I'm really sorry, Pullus. If I could stay here I would, just to keep your big, clumsy ass out of trouble." Despite the circumstances, I had to laugh at this. "But I just don't have that kind of money."
I am fairly certain this was when the idea came to me, and the sheer scope and audacity of what I wanted to do actually took my breath away. Even so, I had a hard time fighting the sudden grin that came to my face, trying to rein in my surge of hopeful enthusiasm, the kind that only the very young seem to possess, when anything is possible.
Thinking rapidly, I asked Asinius, "How long do you have to gather the money?"
"Are you deaf?" he shot back. "I told you, I don't have the money, so it doesn't matter if I had a month, or a year! Especially now. In case you don't recall, this campaign season wasn't exactly lucrative."
"How much could you raise, total?" I pressed him.
He thought a moment, then shrugged. "I have a thousand in my Legion account. Some men owe me money, except," the bitter grin returned, "most of them are dead now. So I'm thinking it'll be hard to collect from them."
"You don't have their markers, do you?" I asked him and he at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
"No," he admitted.
Sighing, I stared down the street, but my mind was still churning away. A part of me wanted to cuff Asinius across the head, despite him outranking me. This was a topic we had discussed more than once back when he was my Sergeant and I noticed he had a bad habit of lending his comrades money. Unlike other men who loan out money but do it as a business by charging usurious rates of interest, Asinius never demanded more than the principal amount and rarely, if ever, required a marker from the men he loaned money to, thereby making it difficult to collect and that was when they were alive. Collecting from a dead man's estate without any marker, however, is impossible. While I did not ask, my guess was that, over his time under the standard, Appius Asinius had loaned out more than enough money to purchase his post. That, unfortunately, was a jug already broken.
"If you told Atticus you'll pay the money, how long would he give you to gather it?" I asked him again.
My Optio stared hard at me for a moment and, for a few heartbeats, I was afraid he would not answer, but finally, he relented, albeit grudgingly.
"He said he'd give me two weeks," he admitted, then stubbornly shook his head. "But it could be a month! Or a…"
Cutting him off, I told him, "You don't need a month. I'll guarantee you that you'll be able to pay what he's demanding."
That was when he seemed to understand where my mind had gone and, at least I hope, he reached out and grabbed my left arm without thinking, squeezing it hard. More specifically, he grabbed my left forearm, which sent a shock of pain up my arm that caused me to gasp and recoil. I think this actually helped my cause.
"By the gods, Pullus," he exclaimed, his face suffusing with alarm. "I'm sorry! I forgot!"
"That's all right," I muttered, rubbing my arm gingerly. Then I forced myself to grin at him and joke, "And now you fucking owe me for the pain you caused. Besides," I pointed out, "you were just whining about how you wouldn't be around to keep me out of trouble. Well, I'm making sure you get the chance."
He glared at me, except I could see that I had scored a major blow.
The silence dragged out, although as I had learned, I was determined not to speak, and finally, he muttered, "Fine. You win." Heaving a dramatic sigh, he said, "I'll go let him know that
I'll pay."
"Good." I could not contain my elation. "Now, sign me a pass. I need to go into town."
"Tonight?" he asked in dismay. "It has to be tonight?"
"From this moment, every watch counts," I assured him.
Not long after that, I was striding out of the camp gates, headed into town.
Naturally, nothing underhanded is simple and straightforward and this transaction was no exception. When I knocked on the door of the plutocrat with whom most of my money, or my father's money, to be accurate, was deposited, he was not pleased at being disturbed. Or, more likely, he was unhappy I was showing up demanding my money; actually, I was demanding both my money and some of his. I had thought briefly of emptying my Legion account, but while I trusted Titius when it came to the money itself, as did the rest of my Century, I was not so sure about his ability to keep his mouth shut. This forced me to ask the plutocrat for a short term loan of my own but although he agreed, when he named the amount of interest he was charging I experienced my first pang of doubt about what I was doing. My father is neither miserly nor greedy; however, he is frugal, except it comes more from his desire to avoid attention from men like the Legate than any real love of money. While I am of a similar mind, compared to my father, I am a real spendthrift, yet despite my hesitation, it did not take long to talk myself into moving forward. My reasoning was straightforward and I still believe soundly based; by keeping Asinius in my Century, I was doing everything within my power to control my own destiny and keep myself safe, at least as safe as it is possible to be for a Gregarius in the First Cohort. Although it was true that I no longer faced an immediate threat from the likes of Philo or Caecina, my strong belief was that when our Century was plumped back up, as we say, not every new man would be coming from the Legion. After all, I reasoned with myself, where had Philo come from? Regardless, I decided to move forward, even with the outrageous amount the plutocrat was demanding in repayment, in only a month's time at that, with the interest accruing by the day after that. Once I explained what else I needed, he immediately offered to send a messenger that, as he claimed, would make Pegasus jealous. However, my mistrust was such that I demurred, insisting on handling that part myself. Judging from his clear displeasure, I congratulated myself on my shrewdness, convinced that the horse used by his rider would resemble Pegasus only in that it had four legs, and his rider was probably a drunken sot who would stop at every inn between Siscia and Arelate, his final destination. Anything, I was sure, to drag out the repayment of the money as long as he could manage. Crossing town, I sought out a man I knew acted as a courier, a former cavalryman named Decimus Silva who, despite his age, was as tough as boiled leather; more importantly, he had served with both my father and grandfather. Unlike the plutocrat, he was still up and about, and I found him at the tavern I knew he favored; most importantly, I did not have to wheedle and grovel.