by R. W. Peake
It happened so rapidly that, even if Volusenus had been prepared, he would have been unable to do anything about it, despite being the only one in the right spot to intervene, placed as he was roughly between Vespillo and Pullus. However, it did serve as a reminder to Volusenus something that he had learned the first time he had faced Titus Pullus with the rudis, enduring the worst beating of his life to that point, how, despite his size, Pullus could move so quickly. Obviously, Vespillo did not see it coming, collapsing to the ground and out cold from the single punch that Pullus had launched that landed on the point of the Pilus Posterior’s chin, in a manner that Volusenus instantly connected to the last Chatti who had just been slain while running away. There was no immediate reaction, on Volusenus’ part, or by any of the other Centurions for that matter, but that was because they were in as much of a state of shock as he was. And, when he finally tore his eyes away from Vespillo’s body and glanced over at Pullus, Volusenus suddenly felt certain that their Pilus Prior was the most shocked of all of them.
“Pilus Prior,” he finally managed to gasp, “what did you do?”
No response was forthcoming from Pullus for at least the span of three or four heartbeats, then finally, he answered in a manner that made it seem like he was the one who had been knocked senseless and had just come to, saying slowly, “I don’t know why I did that.”
Without being told, Volusenus immediately noticed that the other Centurions had subtly but unmistakably shifted their position so that their backs were turned to the men of their Centuries, interposing their bodies in between them and the unconscious Centurion, which Volusenus assumed was an attempt to shield Pullus’ handiwork from view. Nothing was said, but there was a silent argument among them, in the form of glares, subtle head gestures and, finally, pointing down at Vespillo as they each urged someone else to help the prone man. Fortunately, he was not out long, and when his eyes fluttered open, then he began to move his arms, only then did Volusenus bend over and use his strength to haul Vespillo to his feet, while Cornutus reached out and grabbed their woozy counterpart by the arm.
“You all right?” Cornutus asked, and for an instant, Volusenus felt a flare of hope at the look of confusion on Vespillo’s face, which was strengthened when he stammered, “Wh..what happened?” Then, before anyone could answer, he reached up, touched his chin with a wince, and Volusenus could see the look in Vespillo’s eyes as the man remembered and he whirled on Pullus, thrusting a finger directly in the larger man’s face, hissing, “You struck another Centurion! By the Furies, you’ll pay for this!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Vespillo.” Structus’ voice was understandably quiet, but before Vespillo could react, Cornutus added, “You tripped and fell, Numerius. We all saw it.”
Spinning to face Cornutus, Vespillo’s eyes grew wide, and while he was clearly furious, to Volusenus, it appeared as if he was almost as scared as he was angry, although he kept his voice down as well as he said incredulously, “Are you mad, Lucius? You saw what happened!”
“Yes, he saw the same thing I did.” Volusenus decided it was time to add his voice. “You tripped and fell.”
This seemed to be enough to remove any vestige of fear, and Vespillo spat back, “Of course you take Pullus’ side! You’re his pet, you…you paid man.”
Usually, this would have been enough to raise Volusenus’ ire, if only because he was still sensitive about his status, yet for some reason, this time, it did not bother him, although before he could summon a response, it was the newest addition to the Cohort, Licinius, who contributed, “I didn’t see anything, one way or another.”
Pullus, who had remained silent during this exchange, still appeared slightly dazed to Volusenus, but more importantly Vespillo, realizing that he was outnumbered, muttered something unintelligible before he stalked away, heading back to his Century.
“Pilus Prior,” Volusenus’ spoke gently, “what did you say Germanicus wanted us to do now?”
As he had hoped, this seemed to bring Pullus back from wherever he was, and he sounded more like his normal self as he repeated, “We’re going back into the town and round up the rest of the villagers.”
In what was a minor blessing, because of the delay brought on by the small drama, the Fourth was too late to participate in the capture of the survivors, although to Volusenus, the sight of the small bodies sprawled in the mud, lying where they had been cut down when they were following Germanicus’ first order, was distressing enough. By the time the sun signaled that it was noon, the living inhabitants of what had been a good-sized town had been removed, while the bodies of the few warriors who had tried to defend their families, along with those family members who were cut down in the initial onslaught had been dragged into the nearest huts. Once this was accomplished, the huts were put to the torch, so that by the time the sun set, the town of Mattium was nothing but heaps of charred remains of buildings and their occupants.
Camp was constructed in the cleared area the Romans had crossed, which had the added benefit of ruining the strip of arable soil where the newly planted crops had been sown, but it created an unusual configuration where it was more rectangular in shape than the perfect square of the normal marching camp. By the time the ditches were dug, the turf walls raised from the spoil, the tents erected and all the other myriad tasks of making camp, Volusenus had forgotten about what had occurred between Pullus and Vespillo. Just after dusk, the Legion cornu sounded the call for the Pili Priores, while the normal rhythms of a Legion on campaign reasserted themselves, although because of the odd orientation, the Fourth was placed within earshot of the makeshift pen where the surviving women and children were being held while Germanicus decided what to do with them. Consequently, Volusenus found it hard to enjoy his evening meal, the keening and sobbing of the captives suppressing his appetite to the point he moodily picked at a piece of bread while leaving the bowl of soldier’s porridge mostly untouched. When he heard the rapping sound on the block of wood that hung outside the outer flap of every Centurion’s tent, he assumed that it was probably Alex, who like Gemellus with his promotion to Cohort Signifer, had become the chief clerk of the Cohort when Pullus moved to the First, summoning him to a meeting with Pullus. His first indication that this was not the case was that, while he could not hear the words, he knew that it was not Alex speaking to Krateros; when his clerk came to the partition between his private quarters and the Century office, Volusenus did not wait for him to announce himself and request entry, ordering him to enter.
“Centurion,” Krateros’ demeanor was sufficiently grave that Volusenus instantly determined something unusual was happening, “a runner from the praetorium came.”
Volusenus immediately became aware of the sudden thudding of his heart, although he tried to tell himself this was just a normal reaction to what was an unusual event, trying to sound as if this was a routine matter, asking, “And what did the runner want?”
Krateros hesitated; not much, but enough to notice before he answered, “The Legate requires your presence immediately.” Volusenus stifled a gasp, but when he stood and began walking over to the stand where his armor was hanging, his clerk assured him, “Actually, the runner said that you didn’t need to be in full uniform.”
This, he thought, can be looked at one of two ways. Maybe this was some informal matter and not what Volusenus dreaded in the form of the repercussions from Pullus striking Vespillo, but he did not really believe that. Nevertheless, he only snatched up his vitus, and while he considered turning around once he exited the tent and realized how chilly it was, he decided not to delay, knowing that he would not freeze to death in between his tent and the praetorium. It was fully dark, although it was becoming the time of year where even after the sun set, there was still a pale glow that meant that the torches helped but were not really necessary, and he saw that Structus was just ahead of him, heading in the same direction.
Breaking into a trot, Volusenus called his name, and Structu
s turned, stopping until Volusenus drew even with him, then they resumed walking as Volusenus asked, “Is this what I think it’s about?”
Structus did not need Volusenus to expand, and he nodded as he said, “That’s my guess.” Pointing ahead, he pointed to another figure, one of several who were walking down the Legion street, which was not unusual, but this man was carrying a vitus, just they were, and he commented, “I can’t be sure from this far away, but that looks like Licinius, so I think we’re all heading the same place.”
“Gods,” Volusenus groaned. “I hope this hasn’t made it all the way to Germanicus.”
They had just reached the forum, and they saw that it was, in fact, Licinius, who was stopped at the entrance to the praetorium by the two members of Germanicus’ bodyguard who bore the responsibility for guarding the headquarters tent whenever the Legate was present. It was obvious that Licinius was expected, as were Volusenus and Structus, although they at least did not have to undergo a delay at the entrance, so that the three Centurions walked into the large outer room together. Cornutus was already there, looking extremely nervous, but there was no sign of either Pullus or Vespillo, and Volusenus assumed that they were already standing in front of whoever it was had summoned them. His faint hope that Germanicus was not involved lasted only long enough for the duty Tribune, seated at the small desk placed directly in front of the hanging flap that served as the door to the Legate’s private office and quarters to look up, see them, and beckon to them, and as they approached, Volusenus recognized that it was the Tribune Gaetulicus, who Pullus had complimented for his taste in poetry.
“You’re expected,” the Tribune said peremptorily, although he did at least return their salutes, but as they filed past, Gaetulicus nodded at Volusenus in what he took to be a sign of recognition.
If that had been all he did, it would have been enough, but during the brief moment their eyes met, when Volusenus returned the nod, Gaetulicus, while not saying anything, gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, although before Volusenus could stop and try to ascertain what it meant, he was already past and following Licinius through the flap, which was being held open by the Tribune. Was he trying to warn me? he thought; or was he shaking his head in disapproval? Not, he quickly realized, that it mattered, and he did not hesitate to march up to Germanicus’ desk, following Licinius’ lead, while Structus and Cornutus stood on the opposite side of Volusenus. With a precision that was even more impressive because it had not been rehearsed, the four Centurions saluted Germanicus, who had been seated behind his desk but stood to receive and return it. Only then did Volusenus risk a glance around to see if either Pullus or Vespillo were present, but for whatever reason had been tucked in a corner somewhere.
As if divining his thoughts, Germanicus spoke for the first time, “I called you here without your Pilus Prior or the Pilus Posterior being present because I don’t want either of them to influence what you have to tell me.”
One thing was immediately obvious to Volusenus; there was no sign of the affable Roman nobleman who he had met when Pullus brought him to the praetorium, ostensibly to deliver a report that, as Volusenus now knew, Germanicus had already received. This thought triggered a sudden surge of concern as, unbidden, the next thought that came to him was to wonder whether his friendship with Pullus would now damage his career in some way. As quickly as the initial thought came, the wave of shame that followed was immediate; in a practical sense, it meant he almost missed the fact that Germanicus was continuing to talk.
“Obviously, this is a very serious matter,” his gaze was shifting as he spoke, although Volusenus mimicked his counterparts, all of whom had learned from their earliest days under the standard to stare at a spot above Germanicus’ head, so he was just conscious that the Legate’s face was turned towards his as he went on, “and it’s not one I take lightly. Especially,” he paused just an instant, then exhaled as he said, “after what happened last year. So,” his tone turned brisk, “I am going to ask each of you what happened between Pullus and Vespillo.” There was another hesitation, which caused Volusenus to risk a quick glance down at Germanicus, and he saw a frown on his face, but it became clear when he said, “I’ll start with you…Licinius, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” If Licinius took exception to not being recognized by the Legate, it was impossible to tell, his tone clipped and professional. “Quartus Princeps Prior Vibius Licinius, late of the Fifth Cohort.”
“Yes, right.” Germanicus did look somewhat embarrassed, though he did not offer an apology, asking instead, “So, what is your report?”
“Report, sir?” Licinius answered cautiously, and Volusenus had to stifle a groan, thinking this was neither the time nor the Legate with whom one should play the Stupid Legionary game.
“Yes, your report,” Germanicus snapped, and in confirmation of Volusenus’ fear, added, “and please don’t waste time playing games, Princeps Prior. Were you present when Pullus and Vespillo had their…disagreement?”
“Er, yes, sir,” Licinius answered, and for a brief moment, Volusenus was certain that he was going to continue to play the game, but the pause was apparently in Volusenus’ imagination since Germanicus’ expression did not change as Licinius said, “Although I’m not sure what you mean by ‘disagreement,’ but I was present when Pilus Posterior Vespillo tripped.”
“He…tripped?” Germanicus repeated, his tone dubious, although Volusenus was slightly heartened to see the corner of the Legate’s mouth twitch upward.
“Yes, sir,” Licinius assured him. “Even though,” he amended, “I didn’t see what caused him to trip, just that it clearly caught him by surprise, so he didn’t have a chance to catch himself.”
Germanicus looked from Licinius to Cornutus, who was standing on the opposite end, and demanded, “Is that true, Cornutus? Is that what you saw? That Vespillo tripped?”
“Yes, sir,” Cornutus answered quickly. “But, like Centurion Licinius, I didn’t see exactly what caused him to trip. I just saw him fall. Sir.”
Whatever humor Germanicus had found in this situation clearly vanished, as he started scowling now, and he turned next to Structus, repeating the question, receiving the same answer.
Finally, it was Volusenus’ turn, while Volusenus now was certain that the smile on Germanicus’ face had been a figment of his imagination.
“I suppose you’re going to say the same thing?” Germanicus asked sourly.
“That Vespillo tripped? Yes, sir,” Volusenus replied, hoping that his voice sounded as steady as he wanted it to. “But,” he added, causing Germanicus to look up sharply, his eyes narrowed, while inwardly Volusenus raged at himself, “while I didn’t actually see him trip either, I do remember what he was saying right before he did.”
On either side of him, Volusenus could sense Structus and Licinius suddenly going rigid, while the latter sucked in an audible breath, but Volusenus ignored what he assumed was some sort of warning.
“Oh?” Now, Germanicus’ expression became wary, as if he was concerned about what he might hear, although he asked, “And what was that?”
“That the reason the Chatti warriors got away was because you had us…” Suddenly, Volusenus was unsure how to put it, finally deciding on, “…busy with the women and children.”
All expression fled from Germanicus’ face, and he coldly stared up at Volusenus for several heartbeats, before he finally said, “Very well. I’ve received your reports, and now I’m going to have to think about this.”
It was Cornutus who ventured to ask, “Sir, what exactly is at issue here? What did Vespillo say?”
This elicited a snort from Germanicus, although he did not hesitate to answer, “Nothing much, but that’s because he has a broken jaw. He’s in the hospital right now.”
“Then,” Volusenus blurted out without thinking, “who said that the Pilus Prior punched Vespillo?”
He knew instantly that he had erred, suddenly realizing that not once had Germanicus or any
of the others said a word about Pullus punching Vespillo, and he saw by Germanicus’ reaction that this was not only by design, but he had angered the Legate.
Suddenly, Germanicus stood and snapped, “You’re dismissed.” However, when they all saluted, then took the step backward, Germanicus pointed at Volusenus and said, “Not you, Volusenus. You stay put.”
Volusenus was not sure which was worse—knowing that something bad was coming or the mixed looks of reproach and pity that his comrades gave him as they filed out—but he nevertheless remained standing, at intente. Since he was in this posture, he used his ears to judge when the others had left, signaled by the sound of the heavy leather flap falling back into place.
Germanicus pointed to a stool that had been placed off to the side, commanding, “Get that and sit down.”
He scrambled to comply, dropping down on the stool, and he was thankful that because of his height, he was at least able to look Germanicus in the eye as the Propraetor sat in his curule chair behind the desk. For a long moment, Germanicus just stared at him, his face inscrutable, giving Volusenus the sense that he was deciding something. Or, he thought suddenly, like he’s already decided and is trying to figure out how I’m going to take it, and before he could stop himself, his mind went careening along the possible avenues, none of them boding well for Pullus, and several of them not doing himself any good either.
“What’s going on with Pullus?”
The question did not register immediately, and Volusenus’ response was to shake his head, not as an answer but from confusion, prompting him to ask cautiously, “Sir?”
“I asked,” Germanicus answered patiently, “what is going on with your Pilus Prior?” Before Volusenus could respond, he said, “He hasn’t been himself lately; surely you see that.”
And, Volusenus knew, that was nothing more than the truth, and he admitted, “Yes, sir. I’ve noticed it as well. As far as why?” He shrugged his massive shoulders, finishing helplessly, “I wish I could tell you, sir, I really do. But I have no idea.”