by R. W. Peake
“We have a problem, Pullus,” he began, turning slightly to indicate the German, but then said nothing more, looking at Sacrovir instead.
Knowing his Primus Pilus as well as he did, Pullus saw the flicker of irritation, but Sacrovir did not hesitate, saying sourly, “It turns out that Segestes has a larger family than we expected. Or,” now he turned to glare at the German, “he’s trying to put one over on us to slow us down!”
If the now-identified Segestes was offended, he did not show it, answering calmly in accented but very good Latin, “Centurion, why would I want to slow us down? I am the one who asked for your help.”
Germanicus interjected, but while he was more polite, Pullus recognized the doubt in his voice as he pointed out, “We just find it hard to believe that you have so many blood relations, Segestes.”
“I do not,” Segestes admitted, but, ignoring Sacrovir’s snort of disgust, he explained, “but Arminius took several men who are bound to me by oath when he left. And,” he continued calmly, “they entrusted me with their families. If we leave them behind, there is little doubt that Arminius will slaughter them.”
“Wait,” Pullus broke in. “Doesn’t that mean that he’s just as likely to execute those men who are with him?”
“It does,” Segestes agreed, but while he had to tilt his head up to do so, Pullus respected the man for looking him directly in the eye as he asked, “But if you were in their position, Centurion, would you not want your family to be safe, even if you know that your life is forfeit?”
That, Pullus instantly understood, was the simple truth, and he expressed his tacit acceptance of Segestes’ explanation by asking, “How many people are we talking about?”
Now Segestes hesitated, and Pullus understood why when he finally replied, “Perhaps one hundred.”
“One hundred?” Pullus gasped, but then Sacrovir interjected with a laugh that held no humor, “Oh, Pullus, you haven’t heard the worst of it.” Turning to Segestes, the Primus Pilus ordered, “Tell him.”
For the first time, Segestes looked uncomfortable, but he did answer readily enough, “A large number of these people would be unable to keep up on foot. That,” he indicated the wagons, “is why we have so many wagons.”
“What’s a substantial number?” Pullus asked, but he was unprepared for the answer, which Segestes provided unhappily, “At least half of them, Centurion.”
“Pluto’s cock,” he exclaimed, without thinking, but this elicited a rueful laugh from Germanicus.
“Pluto’s cock, indeed, Pullus,” he agreed, although the smile did not last long. “But what do you think?”
Suddenly, Pullus did not want to continue speaking in front of Segestes, and he had gotten the strong impression from the manner in which some of the women who had drifted back closer to the wagon that they understood more Latin than was comfortable for any of them.
“Sir? May we speak privately?”
Germanicus nodded, and without saying anything, Pullus turned and began walking away from the wagon, counting on the onlookers to have the same reaction as the first time, and his faith was rewarded as, once again, the civilians scrambled to get out of the way. He did not stop until he was twenty paces away and waited until Germanicus and Sacrovir joined him, leaving Segestes to stand in his spot, holding his arms up in a placating manner, presumably explaining that all was well.
Germanicus grinned as he walked up, telling Pullus, “At least looking like you just walked out of the Forum Boarium has its benefits.” The grin vanished, and he asked soberly, “What do you think we have to do?”
“Excuse me, Propraetor,” Sacrovir interjected stiffly, clearly offended, although he did his best to sound respectful, “but while I know that you have a…history with the Pilus Prior here, ultimately, isn’t this a decision for yourself and the Primus Pilus?”
Germanicus replied immediately, answering flatly, “Actually, Primus Pilus, it’s my decision and mine alone. And, as you acknowledge, Pullus and I have a relationship, and I trust his judgement.” He had said this looking at Pullus, but now he turned to regard Sacrovir with the kind of cold gaze that, in Pullus’ experience, was a rarity for Germanicus, and in doing so, for one of the few times since their association, Pullus was reminded of Tiberius. “I trust that you have no more objection to that. Do you, Primus Pilus?”
“No, sir.” Sacrovir was no fool, immediately breaking eye contact, but when Germanicus turned back to the large Centurion, Pullus saw the look of poisonous anger on the Primus Pilus’ face as he took advantage of being out of Germanicus’ vision, and he had to stifle a groan, knowing there would be some sort of reckoning.
“Well, Pullus? What do you think?”
“I think we don’t have any choice, sir,” Pullus answered honestly, trying not to glance over at Sacrovir, although the Primus Pilus did not make any comment, enabling Pullus to continue, “Segestes is right. If we leave those people who aren’t related by blood but by oath behind, we’ll never be trusted again.” Shaking his head, he finished, “I think we have to load up some wagons.”
Germanicus nodded, informing Pullus that he had already reached this conclusion, but, since Sacrovir objected, wanted to get another opinion.
“How many people do you think we can get into those wagons?” He did address this to Sacrovir, who did not hesitate to answer Germanicus, “Twenty people, sir. So, three wagons maximum, maybe two if we pack them in really tightly.”
When Pullus saw Germanicus was inclined to accept this, he realized he could not remain silent, but he satisfied himself with clearing his throat.
As he hoped, and feared, this got Germanicus’ attention, turning away from Sacrovir, enabling the Primus Pilus to resume his glaring while their commander said, a trifle impatiently, “Yes, Pullus? You don’t agree?”
“No, sir, I don’t,” he answered quietly but without hesitation. Then, before Sacrovir could object, he argued, “Twenty people to a wagon would be fine…if that was all it was, but I am guessing that these people have some sort of baggage?”
Germanicus opened his mouth, but Sacrovir beat him to it.
“Surely you’re not suggesting that we let these barbarians bring their trinkets and comforts with them!”
This was the moment that Pullus realized the depth of Sacrovir’s anger, because, while he had never warmed to the man, Pullus admitted that he was a competent Primus Pilus; more importantly, he was an experienced hand in Germania and knew that this was not the case, that Germans, no matter the tribe, carried far fewer belongings when they traveled, especially under these conditions.
Before he could stop himself, however, Pullus shot back, “These aren’t our patricians, Primus Pilus. They’re not traveling with their carpets and busts and their supply of lark’s tongues.”
Hearing his words aloud made Pullus wince, but as usual, the gods protected him because instead of getting angry, Germanicus gave a short, barking laugh, then said ruefully, “That bolt hit a bit too close to home, Pullus.” His smile quickly vanished again, and he continued soberly, “But I take your point. We can’t expect them to leave everything behind. Although,” at this, he turned to Sacrovir, and Pullus suspected this was meant as more of a peace offering to the Primus Pilus, “you’re correct as well, Sacrovir. We’re going to have to make sure they only bring absolutely essential items.” Not waiting to see how Sacrovir reacted, Germanicus turned back to Pullus. “How many would you suggest, Pullus?”
When Pullus raised his objection, his thought had been that the load needed to be cut in half. “Putting twenty people on them, even if we made them leave everything behind, is likely to overload those wagons and slow us down in the process.” However, while he had every intention of saying ten, what came out of his mouth was, “I think fifteen at most, sir.”
Maybe that will shut Sacrovir up, he thought as he waited for Germanicus to consider this, but when he turned to the Primus Pilus, Pullus braced himself for another argument, which meant he was in for a su
rprise when Sacrovir said immediately, “I agree that fifteen will be better than twenty, sir. Provided,” he added, “we make Segestes’ people pare down their baggage.”
With this decided, Germanicus led them back to where the Cherusci civilians were waiting to hear their fate with Sacrovir just behind him, but when Pullus moved to follow, Sacrovir snapped, “I believe the Propraetor has what he needs from you, Pullus. And,” he stopped and examined Pullus with the kind of disdain that Pullus used when he was breaking in new tirones, “get that filth cleaned off of you. I don’t know how you got like that, and,” he added quickly, “I don’t want to know, but I expect my Pili Priores not to look as if they’ve been rolling around on the floor of a butcher shop. Is that understood? Now go wait with the other Pili Priores until we’re ready to issue orders.”
Gritting his teeth, Pullus snapped to intente, and barked out, “I understand and will obey, sir.”
Then, risking his wrath, Pullus spun away from his Primus Pilus, intent on getting away as fast as he could before he blurted something out that he would regret, walking over to the three other Centurions whose Cohorts had participated in what, to this point, had been a successful venture of raiding the camp. He was not particularly surprised when the reactions of Maluginensis and Clepsina was essentially the same as Macer’s, despite the fact that Macer had warned them.
“Pluto’s balls, Pullus,” Clepsina laughed as he spoke, but there was a tinge of nervousness to it, making Pullus wonder if the Legionaries who had witnessed what he done had already spread word of it throughout the ranks, “what did you do? Go rolling in…”
“No,” Pullus cut him off, more weary than irritated, “I didn’t trip and fall in a butcher shop or whatever clever thing you thought of to say.”
He had not meant it to sound as harsh as it did, but neither was he in a mood to apologize, which Macer seemed to sense, because he cut in to ask his friend, “What’s next, Titus?”
As briefly as he could, Pullus explained the dilemma facing Germanicus, and by extension, all of the men under his command. He saw that none of them were happy, but it was Maluginensis who was obviously the most nervous.
“They’re going to slow us down too much,” he protested, his eyes darting to the others as he tried to gauge support. “And how do we know that that cunnus Arminius isn’t going to come back?” Shaking his head, he said adamantly, “Fuck this. We need to go talk to the Propraetor.”
This was not unusual on the part of the Tertius Pilus Prior, but just because they were accustomed to it did not mean it was any less tiresome, and now Pullus did not bother to hide his disdain.
“You lead the way, Maluginensis, we’ll be along shortly.” His tone was scornful, so much so that he felt Macer nudge him in a silent warning, but he was in no mood to be politic. Pointing down at the smaller Centurion, Pullus continued his harangue. “And in case you missed it, I just walked away from talking to the Propraetor and the Primus Pilus. Do you want to guess what they had to say?” When Maluginensis did not reply, suddenly interested in looking at the ground, Pullus felt the anger returning, and he actually took a step towards the man he secretly blamed for what had happened to him shortly before, demanding, “Well? Are you mute now?”
“That’s enough, Pullus.” Macer spoke quietly, but the use of his nomen warned Pullus that Macer was speaking as the senior Centurion among the Pili Priores, so he relented…to a point, taking a step back to where he had been standing an instant earlier, although he continued to glare at the other Pilus Prior.
The silence was awkward, but fortunately, it did not last long, when Sacrovir bellowed to them to join him and Germanicus. Not surprisingly, Maluginensis was the first to respond, moving so quickly that, despite himself, Pullus had to grin, which Macer caught.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” He sighed, but said nothing else, and Pullus was not inclined to say any more either.
By the time Pullus returned with the others, Segestes had gotten the people who would be accompanying them rushing to wherever they had been spending the night, and some of them were already hurrying back to the wagons that they were going to be taking with them, which Germanicus had delegated to Sacrovir, who in turn had his Optio selecting those wagons that would be coming with them. Despite his antipathy towards Maluginensis, Pullus actually shared his pessimism that being slowed so much would give Arminius an opportunity to catch them before they reached the safety of the Rhenus. Everything, he thought glumly, depends on Arminius not getting word until it’s too late.
This quickly proved to be a hope that was, if not completely forlorn, at least highly unlikely to come to fruition. Perhaps the only thing that could be said was that they determined this was the probable case fairly early on. The first indicator was when, as the Cohorts converged and a quick tally of Cherusci dead and wounded was taken, there were far fewer bodies than the number that had been reported by Gaesorix’s men as remaining in the camp. They had been adamant that there had been at least two thousand Cherusci warriors left behind when Arminius departed, but once every Cohort had reported, there were only six hundred dead bodies, while there were more than five hundred women and children who had been rounded up and were now being guarded by two Centuries of the Fifth Cohort. Even then, there had been concern but no alarm, and Pullus was of a like mind with the Primus Pilus, Macer, and Clepsina that the rest had fled east, where the three Cohorts and the bulk of the cavalry were waiting for them and prepared for this eventuality. Their belief that this was the case lasted just long enough for the shouted alert that the three Cohorts were returning, and it did not take an expert to see that, if they had done any fighting at all, it had been extremely brief and one-sided. However, while Pullus initially followed Macer and his fellow Pili Priores as they headed for the Sextus Pilus Prior, just before they met Mucianus at the head of the column, Pullus’ eye was drawn to the sight of a party of horsemen who were trotting up the side of the three marching Cohorts, instantly recognizing Gaesorix by the manner in which the Batavian sat his saddle. Veering off from the others, he signaled the Prefect, who nodded and nudged his horse in his direction while saying something to his companions, who remained on their original course, but when Pullus saw his friend open his mouth when he drew closer, he held up a hand.
“Save it,” he called out when Gaesorix was still a half-dozen paces away. “I know what I look like, trust me.”
“What?” Gaesorix did his best to act innocent, but he immediately broke into a laugh, pointing down at Pullus. “All I was going to say is that I’ve never seen you look better.”
“Ah, that’s very funny.” Pullus tried to sound sour, but he could not stop the grin, although when he did so, he felt some of the remaining dried blood flaking off his face. He thrust that from his mind, turning serious as he said, “It looks like you bastards got to kill a lot more Cherusci than we did.”
“Oh?” The Batavian was clearly surprised, and he shook his head as he assured Pullus, “I seriously doubt that, Titus. I talked to Munacius, and he said no more than a hundred of those bastards got past you and the others, and we didn’t catch nearly that many.”
Pullus felt a stab of alarm but did not let that show, asking, “How many did you and your boys round up?”
“That,” Gaesorix admitted, “I don’t know with any certainty, because most of them are still out there. But it can’t be more than fifty or so.”
“Juno’s cunnus,” Pullus muttered, trying to keep the leaden ball that had formed in his stomach from growing, but his curse both alarmed and alerted Gaesorix that something was amiss, so he nudged his horse closer, dropping his voice so that the men of the returning Cohorts could not hear. “Titus, what is it?”
“I don’t know,” Pullus admitted, although there was a certainty growing within him that he actually did know. Before he said anything more, he decided he needed to get some answers, so he said, “I’ll go with you to talk to Germanicus.”
Gaesorix searched Pullus’ fa
ce, and he knew the giant Roman well enough that if Pullus was concerned, there was good reason.
“All right,” he agreed, then turned his horse, and while Pullus trotted back in the direction of the Legion standard, Gaesorix rode alongside him, his horse moving at a quick walk.
“You could have given me a ride, you selfish bastard,” Pullus puffed, but Gaesorix was completely unrepentant.
“Not when you’re covered with only the gods know whose blood,” he laughed. “Besides, you’d kill my horse.”
“As I recall,” Pullus pointed out, knowing that he could not spare the breath as he realized that Germanicus had moved from the spot around the wagons and was not immediately visible, but was still unable to resist, “I let you ride behind me once.”
“That was different,” Gaesorix countered, still unruffled. “Remember why you had to carry me?”
“Not really,” Pullus lied; it was true that it had been many years earlier, but while they had long before patched up their relationship, it was still not something to joke about, even now.
Thankfully, he quickly spotted Germanicus and slowed to a walk to catch his breath. It was true that this was urgent, but his pride would not allow him to appear winded from what was a short trot. Mucianus, along with the other Pili Priores, had just reached the Propraetor, but it was Sacrovir and Maluginensis that Pullus was most worried about, knowing that they needed to be present for what he was about to do. Germanicus’ eye was naturally drawn to Gaesorix, and when he gestured to him, the Batavian spurred ahead, arriving just before Pullus so that by the time he swung out of the saddle, they were able to walk up to Germanicus side by side.