by R. W. Peake
"Try and forget whatever you saw or heard." I attempted to give him a carefree grin. "It's just a family reunion."
Much to my relief, he laughed and offered, "I know how you feel. If I saw my brother again, I'd stab him in the eye."
Maybe all families are like this, I mused as I followed the Greek to his new lodgings. It was spacious, with several rooms, but sparsely furnished, although Diocles assured me the wagon bearing Birgit and his children carried more than enough furniture that it would become a home in no time. The one salutary effect of my brother's unconsciousness was that it allowed Diocles and me to talk freely and without interruption.
"As I was saying," he began, "before you punched your brother in the face," I admit the way he said it made me laugh, "is that young Master Sextus was not only winning too much and too frequently. It was what he was doing with his winnings that got the wrong people asking the wrong questions." He shook his head, looking down at my brother laid out supine on the single threadbare dining couch, but there was no mistaking the fondness in my former tutor's gaze. "He's a good boy, Titus, and he has a good heart. But," he looked over at me and shrugged, "he just doesn't seem to take matters seriously."
"That's always been one of his problems," I agreed.
In any family, I believe there are certain characters who fulfill a role for the rest of the household, and in mine, Sextus was the one who could always make us laugh, either with his antics or his wit. But, as Diocles had observed, my brother lacked whatever it is inside a man that gives him the steadfastness and commitment to see a thing through to the end. Honestly, my feeling at the time was that it was the kind of thing he would outgrow; yet, even then, I understood only time would tell if I was correct.
Thinking of something else, I asked Diocles, "All right, I see why my father sent him with you. But how long is he going to be here?"
When I think back, I believe it was because of Diocles' slight hesitation that it gave me an instant to prepare myself.
"Your father has decided that Sextus will stay here until he turns seventeen," Diocles began, but when he paused again, that was when I truly understood.
"Until he enlists," I muttered. Diocles answered with a nod. Thinking of something, I said, "But is that what Sextus wants? Before I left, he told me he didn't want to join the Legions."
"I changed my mind." Whirling about, we saw Sextus had come to a sitting position, although he was holding his jaw, which had swollen up quite a bit, and glaring up at me as he added, "I'd forgotten how hard you hit."
At least I believe that was what he said; his speech was somewhat garbled.
"It was for your own good," I told him, although I was not surprised when he gave a snort and shook his head.
""It doesn't feel like it," he mumbled, but then he surprised me, and I believe Diocles, when he admitted, "But you're right. I got angry and I was running my mouth about things I shouldn't have."
Despite the fact I truly believed I had done the right thing, the relief I felt at Sextus' words was intense. Sensing my brother needed a few more moments to compose himself, I returned my attention back to Diocles.
"That explains why he's here," I told him. "But what about you? And Birgit?"
His casual shrug was supremely unconvincing as he repeated what he had said the first time. "I decided we could do with a change of scenery."
"Liar," I retorted, but without any reproach. "Remember, I've been both places. I can't imagine that Birgit was happy at the idea of coming back to Siscia after Arelate."
Now he was the one blushing, although he admitted, "That's true. But," he looked up at me, "she's as devoted to your family as I am. And she understood this was where we're needed the most."
The sudden rush of emotion I felt manifested itself in me by my bursting into tears at a simple declaration of devotion by this man who had started as a slave to my Avus, then had become so much, much more. I cannot remember exactly when it happened, but I became aware he was clasping me in his arms, making me realize I had fallen to my knees, since this was the only way he could have done so. It was not more than a few heartbeats after that when I felt Sextus by my side, joining us in this quiet, private moment of reunion. For the first time since I arrived in Siscia as a tiro, I felt safe, surrounded by my family who I knew loved me well. As one would expect, it is another moment I cherish in my memory, even with everything that occurred afterward.
Since my pass was not for overnight, I had to return to camp, but before I did, Diocles turned to Sextus.
"Didn't you bring something for your brother?"
Sextus slapped his forehead, exclaiming, "By the gods, yes! How could I have forgotten?"
"Because I knocked you silly," I told him, but the obscene gesture he made was one we had started exchanging when we were children and, as always, it made us both laugh.
He excused himself and walked into the other room and I heard him rummaging about, but Diocles refused to meet my curious gaze, mumbling something about me having to wait. Then Sextus reappeared, carrying a parcel wrapped in leather and bound with thongs. Once he got back into the light, my mind identified the shape of the package, and my heart suddenly started pounding, while at the same time, my mind admonished me it was undoubtedly not what I thought it might be. Except, it was exactly what I thought it was.
"As you know," Sextus began, although his jaw was now so swollen it was hard to make him out, "when you left, Tata said that once you were promoted to Optio, he'd give you this. But then when he was re-reading Avus' account, which," he gave me a mock glare, "I still haven't been allowed to read, by the way, he noticed something he had missed." As he was talking, he was unwrapping the parcel and I noticed his hands were shaking, although no more or less than my entire body at that moment. "Our Avus didn't have this made when he was promoted. He was actually still a Gregarius. And he was the weapons instructor of his Century. So," with a flourish, he removed the final layer of leather, exposing the dark, gleaming blade of a sword that, despite being fifty years old at that time, is still the finest weapon on which I have ever laid eyes. "He decided to give it to you now instead of waiting. Besides," he flashed me a misshapen grin and pointed to my arm, "judging from that, you need all the extra help you can get."
Then he proffered me the sword, forged by a weapon smith in Gaul and carried against Rome's enemies by both my Avus and my father. It was in its sheath, and I experienced a twinge of sadness, understanding that there was no way I could use this particular one because it had been made for my Avus when he became Camp Prefect. The workmanship and quality of just the sheath alone represented probably two years' pay for a Gregarius; what was important, however, was what it protected, and I moved the blade to examine it in the lamplight. The metal of a Gallic sword is darker than a normal Spanish sword and there is a perceivable grain to the blade, consisting of whorls and wavy lines. There is no way I can accurately describe the emotion running through me when I gripped the sword, it having a larger, thicker handle than normal, and feeling how it perfectly matched my hand; I had never felt so connected to Titus Pullus as I did in that moment, holding his sword that fit as if it had been made for me. Running my thumb along it, I winced but gave a delighted laugh at the same time as the razor edge sliced into the fleshy pad, a thin line of blood appearing instantly.
"Well, I don't have to worry about sharpening it yet," I joked, before sucking the blood from my thumb.
I am only slightly ashamed to admit that after this, I was anxious to return to camp, for no other reason than I wanted to show my comrades what was a gift beyond measure. In particular, I was eager to show Titus Domitius, understanding that, in many ways, he had a similar connection to this blade as I did; in some ways, perhaps even stronger. If my Avus had not wielded this blade with a level of skill that even now, more than ten years since his retirement as Camp Prefect men still talked about in hushed whispers, my family certainly would not have a villa in Arelate; nor would they have what even I will admit is a good
problem to have, with more money than is expected of a member of the Head Count. Even with all of that, however, I knew that if it were not for this sword, Titus Domitius would not have existed, since the blade in my hand and wielded by my grandfather by adoption had saved the life of his grandfather by blood on numerous occasions. An act which my Avus would have been the first to acknowledge, Vibius Domitius had reciprocated several times as well; this is what men of the Legions, and close comrades in particular, do for each other. Although Diocles took my sudden departure in stride, my younger brother was clearly upset, but I promised him that it was temporary.
"You're going to be sick of me by the time I'm through with you," I promised him, but while I had a smile on my face, at the same time, I was deadly serious. I must also admit I thrust my chest out slightly as I drew myself to my full height and reminded him, "Remember, I'm now the weapons instructor for the First of the First. When it's time for you to enlist, nobody is going to be able to tell you're a tiro." Thinking of something, I added hastily, "At least on the training ground. Marching and making camp?" I just shrugged and while the grin I gave was not necessarily evil, it was such that I saw a shadow of concern flit across his face. "That's a different story."
Before I left, however, Diocles produced something from the satchel he carried slung over his shoulder, handing me a small scroll.
"It's from your father," he told me but he looked at my brother as he said, "And your father entrusted it to me because we both know what a snoop your brother is. He knew by the time you got it, Sextus would have it memorized."
Although Sextus protested, one did not have to know him very well to see it was half-hearted, as he gave the two of us a sheepish grin, misshapen as it was by the swelling on his face. Embracing one last time before I left, I promised I would return as soon as I could to see Birgit and their children, who I view as my nephews and nieces. They might not have been so by virtue of their blood, but the bond shared between my family and that of Diocles was formed from something much, much stronger than that. I barely remember making my way back to camp, and if someone had told me I was actually levitating off the ground, I would have believed them.
Titus Domitius was as impressed with the Gallic sword as I thought he would be, and the pair of us experienced a moment together as we both sat on my bunk, staring down at the sword in my lap.
Fingering the hilt, he murmured, "You know something, Titus?" I looked over at him, and I will always remember the expression on his face as he regarded me soberly. "You've got some huge boots to fill." I was about to assure him I was well aware of that, but he continued, "If I'm being honest, I wouldn't be in your place for all the money in the Temple of Saturn." He shook his head and while he spoke softly, I could easily hear the intensity behind his words. "Men are already jealous of you. And when they see that," he indicated the sword, "it's going to remind them who you're connected to, and they're going to be watching and waiting for the right moment when you stumble, just so they can be there to give you a shove."
The fact I did not immediately bristle at this suggestion that I might actually do that very thing, and instead considered his words carefully before I replied, is another moment where the man I am today can point and say this was one of my first steps along the path that has led me here.
"You're right," I finally replied and, frankly, I was as surprised as Domitius appeared to be at this admission. "And thank you for reminding me about that."
A silence fell between us, then he finally broke it by reminding me, "You know you can count on me, don't you? To watch your back, I mean?"
"I do," I assured him. "And…thank you, Titus. I can't tell you how much that means to me."
He seemed more embarrassed than anything, and he quickly looked away, but I saw a sheen to his eyes that made me feel happy and awkward in equal measure, especially since I felt the sting in my own.
"Maybe," he spoke suddenly, still looking down the length of the hut were our comrades were settling down for the night, "this is the way it's meant to be." He turned to look at me and finished, "Maybe we're just following the path that our grandfathers laid out for us."
To this day, I believe that Titus Domitius was speaking the truth.
Before I retired at the end of what had been an eventful day, I unrolled the scroll Diocles had handed to me, understanding its importance by virtue of the fact that my father's missive was not on a tablet but the more expensive, and more permanent, scroll. Swallowing down the lump in my throat at the sight of my father's script, I offered a prayer of thanks he at least had adopted the practice of my Avus, who had in fact copied it from Divus Julius, of putting a dot above the last word of every sentence; even with that aid, my father's handwriting is so cramped and close together it is difficult to discern one word from another. In many ways, it was a completely unremarkable letter; at least, so it would appear to anyone not familiar with my family and our mutual history together. By using seemingly obscure references to events that only had meaning to me, my family, and Diocles, my father expressed his concern for my brother and his behavior, admonishing me to keep an eye on him during this time he was waiting to enlist. He also reminded me to remain vigilant on my own behalf as well, and expressed his hope that the Gallic sword would be enough to protect me from my enemies, while at the same time pointing out that my new sword would be useless against those foes who were wearing the same uniform I did. And yet, it was his reference to the episode when I had ridden for help and been wounded, spending a painful, shivering, and ultimately terrifying night in a shallow cave with only Ocelus as my companion and protector that caused me the most pain. Not because of the memory it invoked in me, however, but from my father's account of what the ordeal was like for him, the torment of not knowing if his family was alive and the fear he felt, based on his intimate knowledge of the horrible things one man can inflict on another. All of this he mentioned for the first time in that letter and this was what caused his words to begin shimmering and dancing in front of me. As I tried to keep my composure, I realized that until this letter, we had never talked about this event and all the consequences that rippled outward from it. Even now, I still can easily remember the vivid image of my father's face when he came to visit me in the hospital in Siscia to tell me that I had, in fact, been in time, running into a cavalry patrol that managed to reach my family before the Latobici band could descend on them. That night, lying in my bunk, the memory was even fresher because of its proximity to the original event, and consequently, more painful to relive. Finishing the letter, I was only dimly aware at the time that this was the first time my father had ever talked to me about matters of a personal and intimate nature, reaching out through his words to express what it means to be a paterfamilias and the terrifying love a father has for his children. Not surprisingly, it took me some time to fall asleep, and when I awoke the next morning, it was with some chagrin as my comrades teased me about how I was still clutching the scroll from my father.
This was my world as the old year ended and the year of the Consulship of Tiberius Claudius Nero, his second, and Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso began. There was quite a bit of activity during those winter months as the 8th Legion brought itself back to strength and the new replacements were trained to at least the point where the veterans were reasonably sure the tiros presented more of a danger to the enemy than to themselves, or most importantly, to us. Probably the most notable, and definitely the happiest, event for the entire Army of Pannonia was the rotation of the Legate back to Rome. Competing for the honor of most joyous occasion was that he took Paullus with him and if the rumors were to be believed, the broad striper was not returning in a state even remotely resembling one of glory. Best of all, at least as far as I was concerned, was that of the Tribunes who remained behind for at least another season, Claudius was the most senior, becoming the Tribunis Laticlavus in Paullus' stead. However, although it provided some comfort knowing I had the promise of a highborn Roman to provide what help he could, I wa
s determined that, for the foreseeable future, I would avoid getting into the kind of trouble where I would need his aid. With every passing week, we rankers at least began getting more familiar with our new Primus Pilus, if not more comfortable, but some of us were cautiously pleased to see that, aside from his initial burst of greed in auctioning off some of the leadership posts, he did not seem to be all that intent on either resurrecting or replacing Urso's old business ventures. Within our Century, we were happy to see Titius take over as Signifer, replacing Flaccus, while we elected Fronto as Tesseraurius, which is the only post in a Century put to a vote. Once the Legate departed in late December, Tribune Claudius, left in temporary command as the new Legate traveled to Siscia, lifted the restriction of the 8th Legion regarding the liberty of the town. Those men with families, at least those willing to pay for the privilege, once more began spending their nights in Siscia, but while I did not go that far, I definitely began spending every spare moment in town.
In many ways, it was the most pleasant winter during my time under the standard, at least to this point. Although I had never given it much thought before, being surrounded by people who love you creates a sense of peace and contentment that, while not necessarily conducive to our profession, is refreshing if nothing else. I find myself chuckling now as I relate that my happiness was not universally shared; just as I had promised, Sextus became heartily sick of me, and I took a great deal of amusement in the stories both Diocles and Birgit told of his reaction whenever he heard my heavy tread ascending the stairs up to their apartment. The most memorable moment came one day when Diocles and Birgit were absent and Sextus had tried to bribe their children with candied plums if they convinced Uncle Titus that Uncle Sextus had gone out as well. As it went, it was a good plan; his mistake was not in the tactic, but in thinking that baby Scribonia, who was just toddling around, was too young to be bought. He quickly found out differently; although the other children, the oldest Alexandros, the second-oldest Gisela, and the third child who bore my name, although I knew even then it was for my Avus and not me, honored their bargain, young Scribonia did not hesitate in leading me directly into Sextus' room, pulling aside the cover that had been cunningly draped so that it hung down to the floor. Hiding under it was my brother, who glared at his toddling betrayer, his ears, or at least one of them, even redder than normal because I opted to use it as a handle to retrieve him from his refuge. By the end of that day, one sore ear was the least of his concerns; I had to help him limp back to the apartment, whereupon Birgit immediately descended and started cooing and fussing over him as if he were her own. The fact that they were separated by only about ten years in age was something of which I knew Sextus was acutely aware, and my sense at the time was that one source of frustration for my brother was that she did not view him in the same light. Truthfully, she only had eyes for Diocles; despite their difference in age, his diminutive size when compared to the Pullus family, and his seemingly meek exterior, Birgit saw Diocles in the same way that my Avus, my father, and I viewed him – as a giant in his own right. On the other hand, while Diocles seemed to accept the fact that Sextus was smitten with his wife with a somewhat annoyed indulgence, I did not miss those times when he thought I was not looking as he eyed the pair together as Sextus helped her with some task. Frankly, I understood; it had been impossible to get Sextus to lift a finger to do our daily chores, of which Diocles undoubtedly remembered, so seeing him hustling about carrying pails of water and helping her wring out clothes was a disturbing sight, even to me. Still, I did not worry about it overmuch, and fortunately, as Sextus became reacquainted with Siscia – we had left when he was just short of eight years old – he found other maidens who were more attainable. Actually, that is something of an understatement, and by the next spring, I had been forced to visit the homes of two different men whose daughters had succumbed to the charms of my brother. Fortunately, when Diocles and Sextus had come to Siscia, sewn into the lining of the Greek's cloak was not only enough to pay off the plutocrat two days short of the time when I would have been forced to pay almost double what I borrowed, something he was extremely unhappy about, it was more than enough to assuage the outrage of the fathers.