by R. W. Peake
“Why is that so bad?” Pullus asked. “Did you tell Macerinus that this was just between you two?”
Volusenus hesitated just an instant before admitting, “No, I didn’t. But,” he insisted, “that still doesn’t make it right. He’s my Signifer! I should be able to trust him.”
“You should,” Pullus seemingly agreed. Then he asked pointedly, “So are you saying you don’t trust Macerinus anymore? That you want to replace him?”
Volusenus visibly started at hearing it put this way, and he exclaimed, “Pluto’s balls, no, Pilus Prior!” Shaking his head, he sighed and said ruefully, “And you’re right. It doesn’t really matter.” He chuckled, then added, “Neither of them know my mother, and she’s the one I’m worried about.”
Mention of Giulia caused Pullus to shift in his chair as he instinctively glanced about the taverna, but the other occupants were far more interested in their own conversations to be paying attention to an uncomfortable Centurion and speculate why Volusenus mentioning his mother caused him to squirm. As expected, the Dancing Faun was packed, which was completely understandable, both by Pullus and the proprietor of the place who, as so many owners of such establishments, had marched under the standard until he had lost an arm just below the elbow. And, because Aulus Turbo had once marched in the Fourth Cohort, serving in the Fifth Century until he was cashiered out after his wound, this taverna was the unofficial spot for Pullus and his men. Now, Pullus and Volusenus were sitting together at a table in the corner that was reserved for the officers, although by this point in the impromptu celebration, the other Centurions and Optios had begun circulating among their own men, standing for and sharing drinks with their Centuries, leaving the two largest officers to sit, alone.
Returning to the original subject, Pullus tried to sound casual as he pressed Volusenus, “So, is it true? You plan on staying in past your first enlistment?”
Volusenus did not reply immediately, stalling for time by staring into his cup, then with a shrug replied, “Yes. At least, I think so.” He looked up at Pullus and finished frankly, “It just seems to be the right thing to do.”
Pullus regarded him for a long moment, but while his expression gave nothing away, his mind was racing as he realized that Volusenus was not the only one in a quandary. When he had overheard Macerinus and Gemellus, his initial reaction had been one of happiness at the thought that his son would be essentially carrying on a tradition that would now extend back four generations…even if he was unaware that he was doing so. But now, when he was confronted with the possibility that Volusenus intended to do that very thing, and he might have the ability to nudge him into making that decision, Pullus hesitated. He was caught completely by surprise by the sudden appearance of the voice, faintly but clearly asking, Are you sure this is what you want for your son?
This was what prompted him to caution, “It is a big decision, Gnaeus. And,” he added, “it’s not one you have to make right away.”
“That’s true,” Volusenus acknowledged, but Pullus saw that he was still troubled.
“Let me ask you this,” Pullus decided to try another approach. “What’s the reason for your hesitance?”
As he suspected it might, this seemed to startle Volusenus, the younger man looking up sharply from his cup, and he frowned in thought.
“Actually,” he answered, speaking slowly, “I don’t really know.”
“Is it about the money?” Pullus asked, but when he saw Volusenus did not comprehend the question, he elaborated, “You’re the only child, yes?” Volusenus nodded, and Pullus ignored the sudden tightness in his chest as he pretended to be dispassionate as he continued, “And your father died a few years ago, which means that you’ll inherit everything.”
“That’s true,” Volusenus seemingly agreed, then pointed out, “but that’s been true since he died. I could take control of his estate any time I choose. I’ve just decided that I’d rather not bother with it. Besides,” he chuckled, his tone turning rueful, “my mother is a lot better at managing money than I am.”
Pullus came perilously close to breaking his promise to Giulia, although it was inadvertent, immediately responding, “I know…” Realizing his error, he instantly added, “…that was the case with my mother.”
Volusenus did not react, at least in a manner that betrayed he had caught the slight pause, saying only, “I think that might be the case with a lot of women.” Sighing, he returned to the more immediate subject, “But no, it’s not about the money.”
Hiding his relief, Pullus pressed on, “If it’s not about that, then is it about being able to live a life that most of…” He almost said “us” but realized the hypocrisy in that, given that he was certain that his family fortune dwarfed that of the Volusenus family, or at least it had before his brother Gaius mismanaged it so miserably, so he waved a hand at the other celebrants, “…them would kill to have? Is that what you miss?”
“Actually,” Volusenus replied, with an expression of slight surprise, “I’ve never really thought about that. And,” he shook his head, “now that I am, I can’t say that it is.”
“So if it’s not the money or the benefits that come with it, what’s the cause for your hesitation about this being the life you want?”
For the first time, Volusenus looked, if not embarrassed, then a bit chagrined, but he did answer Pullus, “Honestly, I think it has to do with my mother.” He took a quick swallow of wine, then mumbled, “It just bothers me that if I stay in, she’ll be worried all the time.” As he said this, he had hunched over his cup, and now he glanced up at Pullus, scowling as he added, “Go ahead and say it, Pilus Prior. I’m a mama’s boy.”
Pullus smiled at Volusenus, but to the younger man, it was not in a teasing way; if anything, he thought, Pullus looks sad, although he had no idea why he would be.
Volusenus’ assessment was accurate, but Pullus forced himself to at least appear as if he did not feel like he had been stabbed deep in his vitals as he replied, “Gnaeus, there’s nothing wrong with loving your mother. I’m sure she’s a…lovely woman, and she wants you to be happy.”
This, Volusenus acknowledged to himself, was accurate, and he agreed, “That’s true.”
“And,” Pullus pointed out, “here’s what I know about mothers. You remember that I had a brother.” Volusenus nodded, and Pullus ignored the sudden stab of pain he always experienced when Sextus came up as he continued, “He and I were the only two under the standard, but my mother worried about my brothers Gaius and Septimus just as much.” He lifted his cup to his lips, then before he took a swallow, finished, “It was just about different things.”
As Pullus drained his cup, Volusenus considered this, then began to nod thoughtfully.
“That makes sense,” he allowed, then gave Pullus a grin. “And the gods know if I go back home, I’m likely to bring my bad habits back with me.” Pullus laughed at this as Volusenus continued, “Now that I think about it, I think my mother would probably be more worried about me back in the civilian life knowing all that I know now.”
They fell silent then, both seemingly content to survey the scene surrounding them. While the patrons were mostly male, there were nevertheless a fair number of women, all of them working, and most of those were either sitting or straddling their particular customer. Not surprisingly, the atmosphere was raucous, and both men knew that it would only grow increasingly so as the night progressed and the wine continued flowing, as men either settled or collected their debts from wagers and arguments lost during their foray into Chatti territory. And, just as inevitably, there would be disagreements; early on, they were verbal in nature and were usually settled peacefully. That was what Pullus and Volusenus were watching now, as two men they both recognized belonged to the Second Century were standing facing each other, their faces just inches apart as they were bellowing back and forth.
“What,” Volusenus asked with idle amusement, “do you suppose that’s about?”
Before Pullus could
answer, one of the men turned slightly and pointed dramatically down at a woman who was straddling the bench, watching with avid, and both Centurions could see, amused interest; the fact that she had bared her breasts, and was jiggling them enticingly in a clear attempt to incite the two men further was the most informative aspect of this scene.
“Isn’t that the bitch who calls herself Chloe?” Volusenus pointed at the woman. “She does this kind of cac all the time.”
“I think so,” Pullus agreed, although he was forced to squint a bit to make her out more clearly.
“She did this to two of my boys from the Eighth Section,” Volusenus said disgustedly. “They were close comrades, and Bestia almost stabbed Perperna because of it. I had to write Bestia up and he got five lashes for it.”
“When was this?” Pullus demanded, but Volusenus understood and assured him, “It was before you became Pilus Prior. Macer signed off on it.”
Pullus grunted, turning his attention back to the small drama, but it was Volusenus, who, seeing that things were becoming more heated, started to rise from his chair, glancing at Pullus as he did so, asking, “Shouldn’t we do something?”
Pullus made no move, shaking his head and pointing to where Vespillo was sitting, alone, in the corner opposite from their spot.
“No, they’re from his Century, he needs to do something about it,” Pullus said flatly, but this did not dissuade Volusenus, who pointed out, “But you’re their Pilus Prior.”
This served to jerk Pullus’ attention away from the two men and he glared at Volusenus for a moment, which prompted the younger man to drop back into his seat, albeit reluctantly.
Satisfied he had made his point, Pullus spoke in a softer tone, explaining, “Normally, I would, Gnaeus. But I don’t have to tell you that Vespillo has been a rock in my caliga, and,” he added forcefully, “a detriment to the Cohort.” This was something Volusenus could not argue, and when he nodded his understanding, Pullus continued to explain, “I need to build a case to get rid of him. So,” he indicated the two arguing men, “no, I’m not going to do anything…yet.”
Fortunately for the two rankers, and disappointingly to Pullus, Chloe obviously became bored with the game, because she suddenly stood up, tucked her breasts back under her shift, and wandered off to another table, where four men were playing dice, dropping into the lap of one of them and leaving the two abandoned comrades standing, both of them looking sheepish and unsure what exactly they had almost come to blows about.
“Fucking whores,” Pullus muttered in disgust, and Volusenus laughed as he reached over and refilled his cup from the jug. Now that the diversion was over, Pullus returned to the subject they had been discussing; it was his intention that Volusenus’ future would be settled tonight, so he picked back up by saying casually, “It sounds like you’ve actually made up your mind to stay in. Am I reading that correctly?”
Volusenus’ cup was halfway to his lips, and it stopped suddenly. Then he set it down as he stared at it thoughtfully. The moment seemed to drag out, and as often happened to Pullus in battle, the other sounds and all the activity surrounding them faded dramatically as he concentrated on his son’s face. It was only when Volusenus began to slowly nod that he realized he had been holding his breath.
“Yes,” Volusenus answered slowly, still frowning as he looked up from his cup to meet Pullus’ eyes, “I suppose I have.” Saying it aloud seemed to be what Volusenus needed, because his tone became firm, “Yes, I’ve decided this is the life I want.”
It took a tremendous effort on Pullus’ part to keep from reacting in the manner that he really wanted to, with an exuberant bellow.
Instead, he settled on smiling then turned to signal Turbo as he said, “That calls for another jug, I think. Don’t you?”
“As long as you’re buying,” Volusenus answered cheerfully.
It was about a third of a watch later when, after the replacement jug had been drained, and the third was about halfway empty, the door at the far end of the taverna opened, and several men entered. Volusenus was not completely drunk, but he was well on his way, while Pullus, whose tolerance for massive amounts of wine was yet another part of his legend, was just exhibiting the early stages of intoxication, meaning that it was Pullus who took notice first, then suddenly realized that this was not just a case of late arrivals from the Fourth. For as long as anyone could remember, it was an unwritten rule that every Cohort had their own taverna in the towns outside the camp where they were permanently stationed, and the Dancing Faun had been the Fourth’s since its opening about eighteen months after the 1st arrived in Ubiorum. This practice had been adopted as a way to keep men from the punishment list for brawling with men from other Cohorts, and for the most part, it was accepted and agreed to by the proprietors of these establishments, mainly out of self-preservation. Simply put, whenever men from different Cohorts mixed, it was practically inevitable that the destruction they wrought was not just on each other, but on the furniture of the establishment, and almost as often, the employees and those other patrons who were not attached to that Cohort. That was why, when Pullus looked in their direction and saw that they were not men of the Fourth, he straightened in his chair, suddenly wary. It prompted Volusenus to glance over at him, somewhat blearily, but the expression on Pullus’ face helped cut through the mild haze in his mind, and he followed Pullus’ gaze.
It did take him an extra heartbeat, but then he gasped, “Wait! Are those the bastards from the 15th?”
“Two of them are,” Pullus confirmed, but while it was obvious that the interlopers, of which Pullus counted a half-dozen, were clearly looking for someone, he made no move from his spot, although he did not take his eyes away as he addressed Volusenus. “And it looks like they brought some friends.”
Three of the men were carrying viti, while the other three were wearing the soldier’s tunic with the white stripe sewn to one shoulder, but it took them several heartbeats before one of them, an Optio, finally turned to face in their direction. Volusenus saw the man stiffen, then nudge one of the Centurions, who looked over sharply, but Volusenus, who had returned to his Century immediately following the incident and was marching them away when the two Centurions had confronted Pullus, was uncertain whether he placed any of them as being those Centurions.
Keeping his eyes on them, he asked Pullus in a low voice, “Do you recognize them? Are any of them the Sextus Pilus Prior or the Princeps Posterior?”
Pullus, like Volusenus, did not look away, watching as the six men seemed suddenly uncertain what to do now that they had spotted the two of them, but he answered tersely, “Yes. They’re both here.”
Then, before he could say anything more, one of the Centurions broke from the group and began walking towards their corner; it was at that moment that Volusenus became aware that the noise level had dramatically subsided, and he saw more heads turning with every step the leader took.
Pullus picked up his cup and lifted it to his lips, using it as cover to ask Volusenus quietly, “You in for this?”
It required an effort on Volusenus’ part to not offer a sharp retort or even betray that he had heard, not wanting to warn the approaching men; instead, he matched Pullus’ tone. “Do you really have to ask?”
Pullus gave a slight smile as he set the cup down, but while Volusenus made to rise out of his chair, the older man used his left hand, which was under the table, to surreptitiously pull him back down.
“Salve,” Pullus said conversationally, “Pilus Prior…Furnius, isn’t it? What brings our comrades in the 15th here to The Dancing Faun?”
“You know why,” the now-identified Furnius snapped, then jerked a thumb at his party. “The lads here are…upset that that big bastard there,” he pointed directly at Volusenus with his vitus, “placed hands on one of ours without being punished for it!”
Before Pullus could intervene again, Volusenus shot up from his chair so quickly, it toppled over backwards, making a clattering sound that he was di
mly aware was the loudest now that men were no longer even making a pretense of doing anything other than watching.
“What did you call me?” Volusenus asked, and he was surprised at how calm he sounded.
Pullus had remained seated, but he made no attempt to hide his amusement at the sudden shifting of Furnius’ comrades at the sight of Volusenus on his feet. Surely, he thought, they knew how big he is, but he assumed that since only Furnius and the Princeps Posterior, who was standing just behind his Pilus Prior, had seen him from a distance, they had miscalculated just how imposing his son was. Or more likely, Furnius had downplayed exactly what these men were biting off, which Pullus was confident would prove to be far more than they could chew.
“You heard me,” Furnius replied tightly, and Pullus noticed how tightly he was clenching his vitus, which prompted him to act.
Heaving a sigh that he was certain was audible to them, he stood up himself, shifting slightly so he was directly to Volusenus’ right, and he pointed down at the twisted vine stick. “What do you plan on doing with that? You already outnumber us, and now you’re waving that thing around?” For the first time, Pullus showed any emotion, his voice turning hard and flat. “Because you’re likely to get it shoved right up your ass if you keep it up.”
Furnius flushed, his lips tightening, but then he gave a curt nod and made a display of laying the vitus on the nearest table, which happened to be occupied by men of Volusenus’ Century, all of whom wore expressions of eager anticipation at the prospect of a brawl; the fact that it would be between Centurions made the prospect even more exciting. Turning partially, Furnius made a gesture with his head, and the other two Centurions followed suit, although the Princeps Posterior did not look particularly happy. This also served as a signal, because from across the room, Structus suddenly stood up, followed by Cornutus, who had been sitting at the same table. Gillo, who was sitting at the table next to the two Centurions, also stood, along with Clustuminus and they began navigating their way through a room that had grown completely silent. Two of Furnius’ party whirled about, their fists clenched, but Pullus held up a hand, and while they were clearly reluctant, they understood, and more importantly, obeyed their Pilus Prior.