by R. W. Peake
Consequently, Pullus decided on a modified version of the truth, but he made a subtle change he hoped would help his cause, saying, “It was right after you gave us our orders. When I returned to the Cohort to relay them, Vespillo openly disparaged them. And,” he gave a shrug, “I took exception to it.”
“Yes,” Sacrovir replied dryly, “obviously, you did. But,” his tone sharpened, and he gave Pullus the kind of look that was designed to remind his Centurion who he was, “when you say he ‘disparaged’ them, what does that mean? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
Pullus groaned inwardly, recognizing that Sacrovir was not going to let this lie, and he explained, “Vespillo said that if we hadn’t been worried about the women, children, and old people, their warriors wouldn’t have gotten away.”
Sacrovir did not seem surprised, nodding his head as he said, “So it wasn’t my orders he disparaged, it was Germanicus’.” Pullus did not reply verbally but nodded his head, suddenly deciding to look down at his caligae, while Sacrovir stared at him for a long moment. Finally, the Primus Pilus heaved a sigh before he continued, “Pullus, I understand your loyalty to Germanicus, and why you feel compelled to defend him after serving as his Primus Pilus.” Suddenly, something seemed to occur to Sacrovir, and while his tone had been, if not cordial, at least not hostile, that changed as he asked, “Are you licking Germanicus’ ass hoping that he’ll name you Primus Pilus at some point in the future?” Pullus’ initial reaction was one of shock, his head coming up sharply to look Sacrovir in the eye, but it was barely a heartbeat later that his expression hardened, and while he did not make any overt move that could be considered aggressive, Sacrovir shifted uncomfortably in his chair nonetheless, suddenly and acutely aware that he had roused Pullus’ anger, and he raised a hand in a mollifying gesture, “I apologize, Pullus. I spoke…hastily, without thinking about how it might sound to you.” Despite knowing what needed to be done, it was still difficult for a Primus Pilus to make this sort of concession to a subordinate, but he forced himself to finish, “I know you better than that. I know that it has nothing to do with what I just said.”
Pullus had not uttered a word, but he continued to stare at Sacrovir for an interminably long span before his massive chest dropped as he exhaled, and he said evenly, “There’s no need to apologize, Primus Pilus. You have the right to ask any question you want of me. But,” he finished pointedly, “no, that’s not why I felt compelled to deal with Vespillo…the way I did.”
Sacrovir was thankful that Pullus had mentioned Vespillo’s name, because not only was it safer ground, he was certain that what he was about to say, while not exactly pleasing Pullus, would at least give him some hope.
“Back to Vespillo,” Sacrovir moved on. “I wanted to tell you I’ve made a decision about your Pilus Posterior.”
Now it was Pullus who was shifting about on his stool, and his tone was wary as he asked, “Oh? What decision is that, sir?”
“I’ve decided that I’m moving him out of the Fourth Cohort,” Sacrovir replied. Then, prompted by the sudden change in Pullus’ demeanor, he held up a hand, “Not,” he cautioned, “immediately. That would cause too much of a disruption in the operation of your Cohort, and in whatever Cohort I decide to put him in. But once this campaign is over and we’re back in winter quarters, I’ll be moving him.”
This clearly disappointed Pullus, but he also nodded in understanding as he said, “That makes sense, sir. In the middle of a campaign isn’t a good time for something like that.” His brow furrowed as something occurred to him, and he asked Sacrovir, “Does Vespillo know this?”
“No.” Sacrovir shook his head. “And,” he said in a tone Pullus recognized, “he’s not going to until we’re back in Ubiorum and this business is finished.” While he felt certain that he had made his point, Sacrovir still felt compelled to say, “Is that understood?” Pullus nodded but said nothing, which prompted Sacrovir to fill the silence to add, “Honestly, Pullus, this has been coming for some time. I was aware of all the things he was doing to undermine Macer, but while I knew he wouldn’t like my decision to promote you to Pilus Prior, I had hoped that he’d be professional enough to accept it. And,” while it was not to flatter Pullus, he still felt compelled to finish, “to recognize that you’re the better Centurion, and one of my best in the entire Legion.”
If this was a few years earlier, hearing this kind of thing would have gratified Pullus; he was now at an age to recognize his own flaws and, knowing that his vanity and pride in his reputation was a fundamental and glaring one, he had learned to caution himself in such moments not to let it distract him. Nevertheless, it still was always nice to hear praise, especially from a superior, even if it did not have the same impact anymore.
However, when Pullus thanked Sacrovir, the Primus Pilus waved it off, saying shortly, “Don’t thank me for stating the obvious, Pullus.” For the first time since Pullus arrived, one corner of his mouth curved upward in what Pullus had learned was his version of a smile as he finished, “But don’t let it go to your head. It’s big enough as it is.”
Pullus laughed dutifully, but Sacrovir was already standing, and after an exchange of salutes, Pullus exited the office, leaving the Primus Pilus to drop back into his seat and moodily stare off into the distance. Although the matter with Vespillo had certainly been the main reason for making Pullus stay behind, it was not the only one, and he realized that what Macer had said about Pullus being…off in some way was the truth. Regardless of the cause, which Sacrovir did not know because Macer had only divulged the truth to Germanicus, as Primus Pilus, he had fifty-eight other Centurions, sixty Optios, and several thousand men to worry about, so he could not spend more time than he already had on the travails of Titus Pullus, no matter how valuable he was to the Legion.
The next morning, Germanicus’ army went to work building a bridge across the Adrana. While it was not nearly the width or depth of the Rhenus, only men Pullus and Volusenus’ height could cross it without swimming, and then the water would come up to their neck. The current was not particularly swift, but on the day following the razing of Mattium, Germanicus had sent his cavalry out, scouring the area in both directions along the river, looking for boats that could be used to create a pontoon bridge. While he was not particularly surprised that the Chatti had managed to secure all the watercraft and either destroyed or brought them to the opposite side of the river, Germanicus was still disappointed. In simple terms, while it did not pose an engineering challenge like Divus Julius’ bridge across the Rhenus a half-century earlier, it was still not an insignificant undertaking, and it would take more time to build than a simple pontoon bridge. The one blessing was that there was no lack of raw materials, the forest just south of the camp providing the needed timber, and the predominant sound starting shortly after dawn was the ringing of axes as men of the 5th were given the task of felling trees. Although nothing was said officially, the word that spread through the camp like wildfire was that the selection of the Alaudae was not random, that it was considered a punishment, but nobody seemed to know what their transgression had been. Otherwise, while each of the other two Legions provided a Cohort as security, the rest of the men were given the day to loaf as the engineering Immunes, under the direction of Germanicus Praefectus Fabrorum, none other than the Tribune Gaetulicus, prepared the near bank for the future bridge. Nobody was surprised when the alert was sounded that denoted that the enemy had been sighted, in the form of a handful of Chatti who, with understandable caution, emerged from the undergrowth a hundred paces from the opposite riverbank to observe what their foes were doing. Equally unsurprising was that this roused some of the idling men, and they made their way through the ruins of the town to catch a glimpse of the barbarians, and as usually happened, what ensued was an exchange of taunts, jeers, and promises that grew increasingly lurid, none of which either side understood, aside from the camp Latin phrases that the Chatti knew, or the German curses the Legionaries knew, and, o
f course, the lewd gestures.
More out of boredom than anything, Pullus, Volusenus, and Structus had strolled out of the camp, where they were now standing together, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a combination of amusement and disgust, summed up by Volusenus, who commented, “Why do they even bother? It’s not like they understand each other.”
Even as he said this, an equally inevitable event occurred, when one of the Chatti turned about and pulled up his tunic to bare his backside, pulling apart his cheeks, and Structus nudged Volusenus as he laughed. “I’m betting they understand that.”
Volusenus chuckled, but he missed Pullus’ sidelong glance that was equally amused, except it was for a different reason, which he explained, “My father told me how his first Pilus Prior used to say the same thing all the time.”
It was Structus who, by virtue of his longer tenure under the standard, was more familiar with the history of the Legions, and Pullus’ former Optio said, “Wait, I’m trying to remember.” He paused briefly, then snapped his fingers, “Your father got started in the Equestrians, right?” Pullus nodded, and Structus thought some more, “And, he was in the…?”
“Second Cohort,” Pullus supplied, curious to see just how much Structus knew, who nodded as he continued, “Right, Second Cohort. And the Pilus Prior was…wait, don’t tell me. He retired and was an Evocatus, but he was your grandfather’s best friend.” When nothing came, Pullus opened his mouth to supply it, when Structus crowed, “Scribonius! That’s it, isn’t it? Quintus Scribonius?”
“Sextus,” Pullus corrected, “but yes. Sextus Scribonius. He was my father’s Pilus Prior, and like you say, my grandfather’s best friend. Or,” he amended, while Structus and Volusenus, who was avidly attentive and curious to know more, listened intently, “one of them, anyway.”
Structus frowned, muttering more to himself, “Why did I think his name was Quintus?”
“Because,” Pullus explained, “there was a third friend, and his name was Quintus, Quintus Balbus.”
This clearly made Structus feel better, and in something of an attempt to show off his knowledge to Volusenus, who he liked well enough but had become slightly jealous of now that he had grown close to Pullus, he informed Volusenus, “Quintus Balbus was in the 10th too, and he became Evocatus so that he and Scribonius could continue serving with Prefect Pullus.”
Now both father and his unwitting son were equally impressed, and they exchanged a glance over Structus’ head, Pullus grinning at Volusenus, but he addressed his old Optio, “I must say, Structus, you know almost as much about my grandfather as I do.”
“Ha!” Structus laughed, but it was obvious he was pleased. “I doubt that, Pilus Prior. Still,” he shrugged and said modestly, “Besides, there are a fair number of the boys who know more than I do, but they’re all older than me.”
“Did you ever see my grandfather?” Pullus asked curiously, but his guess was confirmed when Structus shook his head.
“No, he died a couple years before I was born,” Structus answered.
Volusenus saw that this had an impact on Pullus, although the older man did not say anything, choosing to return his attention back to the river, where the exchange between Roman and Chatti had now devolved into little more than a contest to see who could expose themselves in the most vulgar manner possible, prompting a snort of disgust from Pullus.
“I wish one of these fucking idiots got an arrow in their ass,” he muttered but was turning to walk away as he said it. “That way, they’d stop acting like idiots.”
While he had not indicated they should follow him, both Structus and Volusenus turned to walk with him, as Structus commented, “Yes, they would…for a day. Then Publius would offer up a wager to do it again and some idiot would take him up on it. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “maybe if one of them got an arrow through their cock and balls, that might do it.”
“Oh, it would,” Volusenus surprised himself by speaking, but he could not suppress the grin as he finished, “It would work for two days instead of just one.”
As he hoped, this made both Structus and Pullus laugh, and they made their way back to the camp; each of them would have cause to remember this conversation.
By nightfall, the pilings for the first two sets of piers had been laid by employing what had become the Roman standard of using the large wicker baskets, filling them with rocks and dropping them into the water, where they sat on the riverbottom and served as the supports for the wooden pilings. The framing elements of the bridge were fastened to the pilings, although the laying of the deck planks had yet to be done, but one did not need to be an expert to know what it was being built. That this had all been accomplished under the watchful eyes of the Chatti had, at first, created an air of tense watchfulness, along with the display of taunting, but by the end of the day, both sides had become bored with each other, the novelty of screaming insults having expired before the sun was midway through the sky. When the next day dawned, it was the turn of the Fourth of the 1st to stand watch, but as soon as Pullus was informed by Sacrovir that, not only were they going to be responsible for the area around the bridge, that Gaetulicus had promised Germanicus that the bridge would be across the river by sunset, he understood that there would not be much standing around with the only adversary being boredom. His meeting with the Centurions and Optios was short, every one of them knowing the instant they entered his quarters that this would not be a routine day.
“We’re going to rotate the duty of protecting the Immunes doing the work,” he explained after he had filled them in on the bare details. “I talked to Gaetulicus and he said that they should be ready to drop the piers for the pilings midriver by the beginning of third watch. And,” he said grimly, “that will be within range of their archers.” Glancing down at the tablet on which he had taken his notes, he added, “Germanicus has ordered every scorpion to be deployed on the riverbank, so that will help make those cunni keep their heads down, but you’ve all seen how thick the underbrush is, so they’re going to have a lot of cover.” Snapping the tablet shut, he concluded, “This is the dirty end of the sponge, but Germanicus chose us because he trusts us.”
His eyes went directly to Vespillo, who had rejoined the Century, but whether it was because his jaw was still too swollen or he had learned from his error, what mattered to Pullus was that the Pilus Posterior uttered not a peep, choosing instead to stare at his feet.
It was actually Gillo, who was walking out with Titus Fabricius, who had remained as the First Century’s Optio when Macer was promoted and been replaced by Pullus, who Volusenus overheard muttering, “Germanicus trusts Pullus, but that means we have to pay for it.”
Volusenus waited until they were out of the tent and Fabricius had walked the short distance to the First’s row of tents before he reached out from behind and grabbed Gillo’s arm, causing the Optio to yelp in surprise and not a little pain.
“I thought,” Volusenus spoke quietly, but Gillo correctly interpreted the tone as the warning that it was, “we had reached an understanding, Gillo. I thought you would know better by now than to say something stupid that would reflect on me. And,” he added menacingly, “especially when it’s disloyal to the Pilus Prior, and to the Legate.”
While it was true that, on Volusenus’ arrival as a green Centurion, and a paid man at that, Numerius Gillo had been running the Century as his own personal bank account, extorting his men through threats of punishment, that was not the only challenge Volusenus had faced, because it was also true that, at first, Gillo had been openly contemptuous of Volusenus, despite his massive size and strength. As the Optio quickly learned, it was a mistake he swore he would never make again, after Volusenus beat him almost as badly as Pullus would beat Volusenus not long afterward.
“I’m sorry, Centurion.” Gillo could adopt an obsequious tone and manner, and he used it to maximum effect now. “I won’t do it again. I swear on the black stone!”
“See that you don’t,” Voluse
nus growled. Then, in a completely conversational tone, he continued, “Get the men formed up, Gillo. Like the Pilus Prior says, today’s going to be a big day.”
Gillo saluted but said nothing, and whether the wince as he did so was feigned or not, it still made Volusenus happy to see it.
For all of his faults, especially his taste for pornography, Volusenus thought with some amusement, Gaetulicus clearly knew his business, because it was almost exactly noon when the two large wicker baskets that would be placed in the middle of the river were dragged down to the riverbank. Since there had been no boats available, Gaetulicus had ordered the construction of two large rafts, made of logs lashed together and perfectly square, and of a sufficient size that a dozen men could stand on it, along with the materials that would be needed for the work. Eight of those men on each raft would be from the Fourth, whose only job was to provide a screen of shields to protect the four Immunes as they muscled the baskets off the raft and lowered them into the water using ropes in order to place them exactly where they were supposed to go on the riverbottom. However, in a democratic but completely unmilitary manner, Pullus had left it to Fortuna in deciding whose Century would be the first out on the rafts, drawing straws, and it was Structus who drew the short one, which was met by the normal grumbling from the losers. Pullus granted one small favor, allowing the Fifth to leave their javelins behind; even if the Chatti braved the scorpions and rushed to the river’s edge, they would be just out of javelin range, but the one thing that the Fourth had faith in, men and officers alike, was the power of the scorpions. Then, just before the first two sections of the Fifth Century took their spots on their respective rafts, there was a shout from the direction of the camp. Pullus, who was standing with Structus, while the other Centuries were arrayed in a formation facing the river, turned to see four men trotting in their direction, but it was what two of them were carrying that caught his eye.