by R. W. Peake
Macer stopped, then set the will down, and the next several heartbeats were spent in silence as each of them grappled with all that they had learned.
Alex broke the silence, asking, “Is that all?”
“Yes,” Macer responded immediately, but almost as quickly, added, “and no.” Nodding at Volusenus, Macer said evenly, “If Volusenus chooses to remain in situ, as it were, then yes, this is essentially done. But, if Volusenus chooses to accept Titus’ offer, there are more instructions.”
Alex nodded, but it was Titus who spoke up, saying, “Yes, for him, but not for us.” With that, he rose to his feet, with what might be called a dazed smile on his face. “If we’re done here, I’d like to get back to town. There’s a lot to…think about.”
“You mean there’s a lot to drink about,” Alex snapped, which caused a flush on his brother’s features.
“So?” His tone was defensive, but neither was he willing to back down, and Volusenus felt certain that this, like so much else between these two brothers who, he supposed, were something like cousins to him, revolved around the Breuci girl. “You know I’m grieving, Alex, and don’t say I’m not! I just…I just…” He shrugged helplessly, but Alex stopped him by standing up, reaching past Algaia and putting a hand on his arm, saying, “I understand, Titus. I do. You weren’t with him as long as I was. But,” he hardened his tone, “I still think you should forego going out into town tonight of all nights.”
Titus did not reply immediately, but his ire had already vanished, and after a moment, he gave Alex a nod, although Volusenus was somewhat surprised to see Alex’s brother sit back down. And now, there was no way for him to either deny or ignore the fact that he was the subject of the undivided attention of five people in the office, since he had glanced over earlier to see that Lucco was seated at his desk, pretending not to listen, although he also put this down to the clerk’s friendship with Alex.
“If you need time to think about this, Volusenus, it’s understandable,” Macer said gravely. Holding up a hand, he also admonished, “But I wouldn’t wait to leave the decision for too long. You know that we’re not going to be here long. Now that Segestes is under our control, the Propraetor’s going to want to move quickly to finish Arminius once and for all.”
This, Volusenus knew, was nothing more than the truth, yet for a reason he could not easily articulate, he felt hesitant in giving an answer. During his tossing and turning the night before, of all the emotions that flowed through him, most of them ebbed and surged like the tides, but there was one constant, and that was his anger. Anger at his mother, despite his father’s plea for understanding, but he held almost as much anger towards Pullus as he did with his mother, and it was this emotion that had formed the decision that Macer had warned him was coming. When he walked from his quarters to this meeting, he had done so with the choice already made, that he was going to turn down the offer of adoption. Now, however? He opened his mouth to irrevocably renounce the formal adoption, certain that he would rather continue living as Gnaeus Claudius Volusenus, even if he was acutely aware that there would be advantages to bearing the Pullus name as long as he was under the standard. While Volusenus was conscious of a theoretical life waiting for him after his twenty-year term was done, this was not part of any of his calculations, however, and he was about to announce his decision…yet nothing came out.
“I…I need to think about it,” he finally managed, ignoring the look of not just disappointment in Alex’s eyes, but the anger that was clearly there, which Macer and Titus seemed to share, since he felt all of their eyes on him.
“Certainly.” Macer’s voice had become formal, and decidedly cool. “It’s a big decision, no doubt, but please keep in mind my advice that sooner is better than later.”
“I will,” Volusenus assured him, then asked, “Is that all for now? I mean, until I give you my decision?”
“It is.” Macer nodded, whereupon they all stood up, made suddenly awkward as they came to the same conclusion at roughly the same time, that for the moment, their business was concluded.
Turning to Alex, Volusenus felt hesitant somehow, despite it actually being his responsibility, asking, “Alex, will you come and get me when it’s time to gather the ashes for the urn?”
Alex’s expression did not change, much, and he nodded, although Volusenus thought he detected the same coolness when the clerk replied, “Of course. I’ll come and get you.”
“Yes, well,” Macer took charge, “I’ve got a Cohort to run. Alex,” Macer leaned across the desk to offer his arm, which Alex accepted, then, turned and repeated the process, “Titus.” The younger brother looked embarrassed, but he followed Alex’s lead, then Macer turned to Algaia, picking up a small scroll that Volusenus had not seen on Macer’s desk. “Domina Algaia, this is your manumission document.”
“What about the money?” she asked instantly, and now Titus could not, or did not bother to disguise his disgust, making a snorting noise that caused her to wheel on him, hissing, “So? As if you’re not worried about the money too?”
“I care about a lot more than the money!” Titus shouted, and Volusenus could see he was not alone in recognizing that this statement had more meaning than it seemed on the surface.
“Enough!” Macer snapped. Addressing Algaia, “I’ll be giving the instructions on how each of you can draw the funds with the plutocrat that Titus used to Alex. Hopefully,” he finished sarcastically, “the two of you trust him.”
As Macer intended, this made both of them meekly agree that they were perfectly happy to rely on Alex, who looked as if he would have rather been anywhere else. Leading the way, Volusenus and the others filed out of Macer’s quarters, through the Cohort office and out to the street. Glancing up, Volusenus saw that there was at least a third part of a watch of daylight left, which surprised him, since it had not seemed that they had been closeted with Macer for two parts of a watch. They only walked together a short distance, in total silence, but when they reached the intersection, three of them turned in the direction of the main gate, leaving Volusenus to walk alone back to his quarters. Which, he thought gloomily, was probably best, considering how angry he was with himself, and he was at least honest enough to know that he had a bad habit of allowing his internal anger to flare outward.
His frame of mind was not helped in the slightest when, entering the Legion office, Krateros stood, with the demeanor that told Volusenus some potentially bad news was in the offing, which the clerk quickly confirmed by informing him, “The acting Pilus Prior requires you to report to his quarters immediately.”
Groaning softly, Volusenus asked, “Any idea why?”
“No, Centurion,” Krateros answered readily enough, then paused a beat, then added hesitantly, “Although I think that perhaps Optio Gillo’s little bird heard the right song.”
With this tantalizing but maddeningly unhelpful piece of information, Volusenus paused only long enough to quaff two cups of heavily watered wine, then turned and walked out, wondering what other surprises lay in store for him.
Vespillo had not moved into the quarters of the Pilus Prior, but Volusenus knew that this would be happening the next day. Unless, he thought suddenly, Vespillo was going to be passed over yet again; suddenly, he was not nearly as willing to walk into Vespillo’s quarters as he had been heartbeats earlier. Nevertheless, he ascended the stairs in two quick steps, rapped on the door, which was instantly opened by Demas, Vespillo’s clerk, evoking a gasp of surprise from Volusenus when he took in the blackened eye that was swollen nearly shut, the gashed lip, and a missing tooth that Volusenus was fairly certain had been present the last time he had been close enough to the clerk to see.
“Pluto’s cock, what happened to you?”
The smile that the clerk gave Volusenus was both humorless and clearly somewhat painful, judging from the wince doing so elicited, but his tone was one that any Centurion, or Roman for that matter, who worked with slaves would recognize as he answered, “I am
afraid I was a bit clumsy last night and tripped, Centurion.”
“Ah,” Volusenus nodded, as certain that Demas knew he was lying as he was about the clerk doing so, “that’s too bad.” Having exhausted the amount of time he was willing to devote to the fate of the clerk, he said, “I was told by Krateros that Centurion Vespillo wanted to see me.”
“Yes, sir.” Demas turned and led Volusenus through the office, but the Centurion did not miss the slight lifting of the clerk’s lip at his refusal to use the term “Pilus Prior” as he turned away, and he stood behind the clerk as he rapped on the door, with Vespillo barking something that prompted him to open it then step aside to let Volusenus enter.
Moving to the proper spot, Volusenus decided to play it safe and assume that he was facing the new Pilus Prior and began his salute, but Vespillo waved at him, saying sourly, “Yes, yes. No need for that. This won’t take long.” What Volusenus noticed first was that Vespillo was refusing to look anywhere in the vicinity of his face, and he felt his lip curling in disgust, certain that it was because of Demas’ condition that made Vespillo too ashamed to make eye contact. He learned he was wrong in the amount of time it took Vespillo to say, “You’ve been promoted to the rank of Quartus Pilus Posterior, effective immediately.”
Volusenus said nothing, but only because he was stunned, and frankly, had no idea what was expected of him. Consequently, he fell back on the ranker’s trick. “Sir? I’m sorry, but I’m not sure I understand.”
This at least evinced a reaction from Vespillo, who looked up at Volusenus with a sneer that exposed teeth lined with black decay as he snarled, “Oh, I think you do. You’re now the commander of the Second Century. My Century.”
Thinking that perhaps it would be a good idea to soothe the other Centurion’s feelings, “That must mean that your promotion to Pilus Prior is official, yes?”
Vespillo laughed, but it was without any humor, although he did acknowledge, “It seems that way. But,” his voice dropped to a whisper, making Volusenus wonder if he was supposed to hear the words, “it’s just as likely Fortuna is going piss all over me again.”
In one last attempt to repair whatever damage there was between the two, Volusenus offered, “I do appreciate the honor you do me, Pilus Prior. I swear I won’t let you down.”
Vespillo glared at him, coming to his feet, staring at Volusenus with an intensity that made it seem as if he was trying to peer into the younger Centurion’s very soul, then he finally snapped, “It wasn’t my decision, Volusenus, trust me. You would have been my last choice to be my second in command.”
This stung Volusenus, but he forced himself to remain calm, and to his ears, his voice sounded even as he asked, “May I ask whose decision it was?”
“Who do you think?” Vespillo gave another harsh bark, then made a show of pretending to ponder as he said, “Now who ranks above a Pilus Fucking Prior?”
“Primus Pilus Sacrovir?” Volusenus was no less bewildered than a moment earlier. “Why would he do that, sir?”
“How should I know?” Vespillo spat, then modified his tone somewhat as he muttered, “The Primus Pilus has chosen not to divulge his reasons. But,” now he smiled, but it held no warmth or even the kind of tone one would expect when informing a subordinate of a promotion, “if you’re feeling like Fortuna favors you, you can ask him directly.” While Volusenus was still confused, he also understood that this was not a suggestion on Vespillo’s part, which he confirmed. “As soon as you and I are done, you’re to report to the Primus Pilus. He’d like to have a little…chat with you.”
Volusenus felt the uncoiling in his stomach, but he controlled it as he asked, “Was there anything else, sir?”
Looking slightly disappointed, Vespillo did manage a shake of his head, giving a dismissive wave before pointedly returning his attention to the tablet on his desk, yet despite the informality, Volusenus nevertheless performed the proper procedure for leaving a superior’s presence. This time, at least, Vespillo did return the salute, although it was perfunctory, and he barely glanced up at the younger man. However, something warned Volusenus, so that when he was just a step from reaching the door and Vespillo called his name, he was not surprised.
Turning about, he saw that Vespillo was now looking at him with an intensity that was unsettling, although his tone was even as he asked, “So have you made a decision yet?”
“A decision, sir?” Volusenus asked, trying to sound puzzled, although he was certain he knew what was being asked.
“Yes,” Vespillo snapped. Then, for reasons Volusenus could only guess at, the older man decided a different tactic was in order, so he smiled again, but if anything, it put Volusenus even more on his guard. “I’m referring to the decision about whether you’re going to accept Pullus’ offer of adoption.”
It took a great deal of effort for Volusenus to keep from looking as annoyed as he felt, yet somehow, he managed to ask blandly, “Who told you that there was such an offer, sir?”
“Nobody,” Vespillo answered with a shrug. “I just made an assumption that since the secret’s out, he had probably thought about that and changed his will.”
“That,” Volusenus countered, still struggling to maintain his composure, “is quite an assumption, sir.”
“Maybe,” Vespillo replied dismissively, “but I don’t think so. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“In a way,” Volusenus agreed cautiously, his mind racing as he tried to determine exactly what Vespillo’s aim was; it was not out of the realm of possibility that this was just an aspect of Vespillo’s character since, from the day Volusenus had arrived, he had witnessed Vespillo doing his best to stir up emotions and passions among the Cohort for no discernible purpose. It was with this in mind that he added, “But I don’t have any decision to make.”
As he was about to learn, this gave Vespillo an opening, and he pounced. Making a show of puzzlement, he said, “But I thought that you were with Pilus Prior Macer, hearing Pullus’ will.”
“I was,” Volusenus acknowledged, mainly because he knew there was no point in denying it.
“And you’re saying that the man who, if what I’m hearing is true, you just learned is your father didn’t make an offer of adoption in his will?”
He was trapped, and what was worse, Volusenus could see by Vespillo’s triumphant expression that the Pilus Prior knew it, and it was that smug look that caused Volusenus’ beast to stretch itself, although at least this time, he was aware of crossing the distance back to Vespillo’s desk, who, he was savagely pleased to see, suddenly appeared anything but smug, his eyes darting wildly as if searching for a safe place to hide. For an instant, he thought about leaping up onto Vespillo’s desk but managed to restrain himself, although he did walk up and slam into it with his legs hard enough that it shoved the desk back several inches. And, as he intended, since Vespillo sat with his back to the far wall of his private quarters, Volusenus’ bulk hitting the desk and moving it effectively pinned Vespillo, leaving him no way to extricate himself.
Leaning forward, Volusenus was sufficiently in control not to do more than that, and he kept his voice low, although he was fairly certain that, in Demas, who he knew was probably standing with his ear pressed to the door, he had a likely ally, but there was no mistaking the menace in his voice as he warned Vespillo, “The contents of Pilus Prior Pullus’ will is no business of yours, nor is whatever decision there might be for me to make. Is that clear...sir?”
Vespillo held both hands out, patting the air in the same manner a man might try to calm a horse or some other beast, and this gesture pleased Volusenus.
“I meant no offense, Volusenus,” Vespillo answered, but when Volusenus did not immediately reply, choosing to just fix him with a cold stare, his voice took on a wheedling air, “I’m just saying that, if you were to be given that choice, there are a lot of advantages that come with the Pullus name. Surely you know that!”
Taking a deep breath, Volusenus agreed, “Yes, I’m awa
re that, if that offer was made, it would require me to seriously consider it.”
Volusenus had no way of knowing, but, despite Vespillo being understandably afraid of the larger, younger man, this gave Vespillo another opening, and he again wasted no time.
“Volusenus,” he began, adopting the kind of tone that Volusenus imagined Vespillo thought a kindly uncle might use, “I know you don’t trust me, but think of it this way. You didn’t know that Titus Pullus was your father until yesterday, was it?”
“Yes,” Volusenus answered tersely, his eyes never wavering from Vespillo’s, and the older man knew that his time was running out to make his case.
“So it stands to reason that you may not know as much about Titus Pullus as you might have thought,” Vespillo reasoned. “And if,” he emphasized, “he did offer adoption in his will, shouldn’t you know as much as possible what that entails?”