by R. W. Peake
Not surprisingly, Alex, Titus, and the girl immediately became more interested, moving to gather around him, but it was Alex who, with an audible quaver in his voice, asked, “And? Will you tell us?”
He had made no plan to do so; in fact, he had been certain this was a conversation he needed to have with Macer alone, so he was almost as surprised as the three of them when he answered impulsively, “Come with me.”
He was not through speaking when he turned and began striding away from the forum, heading for what he fervently hoped would be the final moment of a very trying, confusing day.
Macer was still at his desk, but Lucco had curled up in the corner of the office reserved for him, although he leapt up quickly when the knock on the door came. This time, however, Volusenus did not wait for someone to open it, doing so himself, and entering the outer office.
“He’s up,” was all that Lucco said, but when Volusenus headed for the inner door, the clerk cut him off, saying frostily, “It’s my duty to let the Pilus Prior know he has visitors.”
Volusenus was too surprised to be angry, then he heard a muffled cough behind him, whirling about to catch Alex trying to wipe the grin from his face, although neither Titus nor Algaia even made the attempt.
“I’m glad you’re laughing,” he tried to growl, but while he was irritated, he was also amused, though clearly not to the extent as his companions.
Fortunately, Lucco was gone less than a couple heartbeats, calling to them that Macer was prepared to receive them. Volusenus naturally led the way, briefly thinking of saying something to Lucco that put a fright into the clerk, but he was not in the proper frame of mind, and even winked at him as he walked past.
Macer was standing, but when Volusenus tried to present himself properly, he waved his hand, saying tiredly, “It’s late, so we don’t have to waste time on that.” He looked a bit surprised to see Alex and the others file past, but when he opened his mouth, Volusenus, anticipating the question, assured him, “They’re here because I asked them to be. They deserve to hear my decision.”
“So you’ve made it already?” Macer exclaimed, clearly startled. “I thought you’d want to sleep on it at least.”
Suddenly, his expression transformed, subtly but noticeably, his mouth thinning down into a line that made him look especially grim, and Volusenus guessed that Macer believed he had divined the answer.
Which, he saw immediately, made the most sense, and it was because of this and his regard for Macer that Volusenus blurted out, “I’ve decided to accept the adoption…with conditions.”
The shouts of surprise and joy from not just the three members of the Pullus party, but from Macer himself drowned out the last words, although he was the one who recovered the quickest.
While he was still smiling, Volusenus heard the caution in Macer’s voice as the Pilus Prior asked, “Sorry, you said conditions? What conditions?”
Realizing that he had misspoken, Volusenus quickly replied, “Actually, there’s only one.”
As noisy as it had gotten, the silence had returned just as rapidly, and he could feel the tension of the others, though Macer asked calmly enough, “And what might that be?”
“My…father stipulated that while I keep my praenomen, I will adopt the name Porcinianus Pullus.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “And, while I understand why this was important to him, I’m afraid that I can’t do that.”
“But why?” This did not come from Macer, or Alex, but Titus, and while it was not his place, Volusenus did not begrudge him asking.
“Because the man I think of as my father. Or,” he amended, “I did until yesterday, never mistreated me or even showed that he suspected that I was not his real son.” Shaking his head, Volusenus said flatly, “I’m not going to disrespect his memory that way. So,” he actually turned back to face Macer as he finished, “I will accept the adoption as long as I can style my name in the same manner that my grandfather, my real grandfather did when he was adopted by the Prefect. I’ll be called Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus.”
“But that’s not what Uncle Titus wanted!” Titus did not shout, exactly, but the strain he was feeling was clearly audible. Addressing Macer, he insisted, “Isn’t that right? That’s what his will says, and his wishes should be respected!”
Macer understandably looked as if the idea of being anywhere else than this spot was a more enjoyable prospect, but he looked Volusenus directly in the eye as he said helplessly, “That is what the will says, Gnaeus. I don’t know if I can accept those terms and still be able to say I honored Titus’ wishes.”
“I think,” Algaia spoke up, ignoring the glare from Titus, “that Gnaeus should be able to call himself whatever he wants!”
“Says the freedwoman who was a slave a watch ago,” Titus sneered, then without any warning, Alex turned and grabbed a fistful of his brother’s tunic, thrusting his face a matter of inches away as he snarled, “You mean just like our mother and father, Titus? Is that what you mean? It hasn’t been that long ago that you learned the truth about them yourself! Or have you forgotten?”
Titus had flushed a dark color, and for a moment, it appeared as if he planned on fighting his brother; instead, he went limp as muttered, “No, I haven’t forgotten.”
“So you keep your mouth shut,” Alex snapped, releasing Titus’ tunic by thrusting him away, and his brother staggered slightly. Turning back to face Volusenus and Macer, he asked calmly, “May I say something?” Volusenus nodded, Macer doing the same, and he took a couple of breaths to regain his composure so that, when he spoke, it was in calmly measured tones that, aside from his brother, none of them heard the eerie similarity to his father Diocles. “While I know that Uncle Titus wanted Gnaeus to take the Porcinianus nomen, Ithink that he wouldn’t consider it something that would bar Gnaeus from accepting the adoption.”
From behind him, Titus made a spluttering noise, which Macer cut off with a raised hand, although he kept his attention on Alex, asking him, “And how can you be certain about this, Alex?”
“I can’t,” Alex admitted, “not to any degree. But what did his will say about his gladius?”
“That even if Volusenus didn’t accept the adoption, he could keep the gladius,” Macer replied readily enough, but with a deep frown, clearly not seeing the connection, which he affirmed by arguing, “But that doesn’t have anything to do with the name.”
“I think it does.” Alex still sounded calm, but more than that, he was sounding more confident in his reasoning with every word he uttered. “What mattered to Uncle Titus was the end result. Like with the gladius, what mattered is that it’s still used to fight the enemies of Rome. Ultimately, it’s not the Porcinianus part of the name that’s as important as the Pullus part.” Shrugging, he finished by simply saying, “I think he’d grumble about it, but he certainly wouldn’t stop it from happening.”
There was a brief silence as the listeners digested this, but Volusenus’ eyes never left Macer, understanding that, ultimately, as the executor of Pullus’ will, his word mattered most.
“That,” Macer acknowledged, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at his feet, “is a good point.” He stopped, then took a breath and lifted his head to look Volusenus in the eye as he said, “Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus it is.”
For a second time, there was a commotion, as the other three gathered around Volusenus, while he was in what could only be called something of a daze as he accepted the arm Titus offered, then a hug from Algaia that made him uncomfortably aware of the feeling of her body against his and hoping that Alex did not notice. Fortunately, at that moment, he was talking excitedly with Macer, who waited for the girl to extricate herself before offering his own arm.
“What now?” Volusenus asked, then added, “You said there were other matters that could only be discussed after my decision.”
“There are,” Macer agreed, then shook his head. “But that can wait until tomorrow or even the next couple of days. Right now,” he yawned
in a way that sent a clear message, “I’m getting some sleep, and I suggest you do the same.”
“There is one other thing that can’t wait,” Alex spoke up, but when the others groaned, he assured them, “It won’t take long.”
Even with that, Volusenus did not relish the idea, yawns, like laughter, being contagious, and he asked, “Can it wait?”
“I doubt,” Alex replied, “you’re going to want to wait once you see what it is.”
And, as the newly named Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus would learn, as he usually was, Alex was right.
Titus and Algaia left Macer’s quarters, heading into town, while Alex headed to the quarters of the Quartus Pilus Prior, telling Volusenus, “I’ll be at your quarters right away.”
As he entered the Century office, Krateros had returned from wherever he had been and was informed of the change, which prompted the clerk to ask, “Do you want me to start addressing you by Pullus immediately, Centurion?”
Of all the things that occurred during that long, trying, and strange day, it was Krateros’ simple question that he would always remember as the moment where he began to cope with the full ramifications that came with not just the death of his father, but his subsequent adoption.
“That,” he admitted, “is a good question, Krateros.” He thought for a moment, then with a grave nod, he said, “Yes, I suppose now is as good a time to start as any.”
“As you command, Centurion Pullus,” Krateros replied solemnly, but while it was certainly a sober moment, Pullus felt a grin spread across his face.
Before he could respond in any other manner, a knock came and Krateros hurried over, which proved to be a good thing because it was Alex, who was staggering under the load of what looked like two wooden boxes, but it was what was lying atop the boxes that Pullus’ eye was drawn to, and he instantly understood that Alex had been correct.
“You were right,” he admitted to Alex, crossing the room, but the only reason he took one of the boxes was because it was the one the gladius was resting on, and the look he gave inside was cursory, seeing just more than a dozen tightly wrapped scrolls, which he dropped on the floor with a clattering crash.
This prompted a sharp cry from Alex, who warned, “Those are actually very valuable, Gnaeus.”
“All right. Sorry,” Pullus mumbled absently, but he was barely paying attention, instead focused on the darkly gleaming, oiled blade of the portion of the gladius he withdrew from the scabbard.
“No, I mean it, Gnaeus,” Alex insisted, and to demonstrate, he set the second box on top of the first with an exaggerated care. “You’re going to want to keep these safe.”
Pullus glanced down, still barely interested, trying to tamp down the excitement that was coursing through him as he wrapped and rewrapped his fingers around the hilt of the gladius, which he assumed Alex had taken the time and effort to clean and oil, trying to determine if it was as perfect a fit as it felt, and wondering if this was some sort of sign from the gods. Even the extra indentation carved in the dense walnut that accommodated the unconventional Vinician grip was in the right spot, and as far as he could tell at that moment, it was exactly the width of his thumb as well. As preoccupied as he was, Volusenus saw the lines of fatigue making Alex look older than his years, and it was this that made Volusenus recognize what an ordeal the man he was beginning to think of as a relative of some sort had been through. How hard, he wondered, have the last two days been on him? Was he weeping as he wiped the blood and gore of the last enemies Titus Pullus had slain from this gladius, that I was so eager to grab, like a child getting a present on his name day? The manner in which he had so thoughtlessly behaved, not thinking of what this moment really meant from anyone’s perspective but his own, and what it must have been like for Alex to hand over what was perhaps the most potent symbol of what the legacy of Titus Pullus meant assailed Volusenus with an almost palpable force. A sense of shame and the wish he could move time back, all the way back to the moment when, acting as impulsively as he always seemed to do, he had initiated the series of events that had led them here was what prompted Volusenus’ sudden decision, thinking that nothing he did would compensate, but he could at least try to do so.
“What’s next for you, Alex? Has Vespillo said anything about whether he’s going to keep you on as the chief clerk for the Cohort?” Volusenus asked suddenly.
“Yes,” Alex replied, yet in a tone that made it difficult to interpret the feeling behind the words, “and no, I won’t be the chief clerk.”
“Ah,” Volusenus nodded, thinking he knew what Alex meant, “so you’re going to be the junior clerk to Demas. I suppose that makes sense.”
He was surprised when Alex shook his head. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean that the Pilus Prior has informed me that he doesn’t need me in any role at all.”
Exchanging a surprised look with Krateros, Volusenus exclaimed, “That doesn’t make any sense. Yes, I can see why he might make you second to Demas, but not at all? You know how things run!”
The look Alex gave him was bitterly amused, and he said, “Be that as it may, the Pilus Prior made it clear that he doesn’t want me around. And,” he added, and now he did not hide his disdain, “he told me that the Cohort needs a ‘lot of work,’” his mimicry would have normally impressed both of the listening men, but they were more intent on what he was saying, “to meet his standards.”
“This is already the best fucking Cohort in the Legion!” Volusenus snapped, his anger now stirred by what he viewed as Vespillo’s insult to Pullus, a feeling that Alex clearly shared. There was a brief silence, then Volusenus asked, “Did he give you any ideas about what this work we supposedly need to do is?”
“No,” Alex sighed, “he didn’t. So now I have to find a spot if I want to stay with the Legion.”
“Do you?” Volusenus asked, having made the decision a matter of heartbeats earlier, and when Alex nodded, he did not hesitate. “Then you don’t need to look any further. I’m being moved up to the Second Century, and I need a clerk.” He did think to look at Krateros, and he was being sincere when he apologized, “I’m sorry, Krateros. I would love to have you with me since you know how I like to run things, but you’re going to have to stay here.”
Krateros did not look at all surprised; whether the look of disappointment was feigned, Volusenus would never know, but the clerk assured him, “I assumed as much, Centurion, since we haven’t had a chance to replace Philo.”
The mention of the missing clerk, who had succumbed to a fever shortly before the campaign season had officially begun, made Volusenus feel slightly better, since he sincerely did regret not bringing Krateros.
However, his attention was back on Alex, who had yet to respond, but he was pleased to see that it was because Alex was clearly affected, in a good way, by his offer.
“I would be honored…Centurion Pullus,” he answered, but then he surprised the other man by adding, “on one condition.”
“Oh?” Volusenus was more surprised than affronted. “And what’s that?”
“That you don’t get yourself killed,” Alex responded, and while it was with a smile, the glint of the tears in his eyes emphasized that he was being serious. “Because I don’t think I can go through this again.”
“I’ll do everything I can to avoid that,” Volusenus promised, and while he thought of making light of it, something that he was certain Titus Pullus would have done, he sensed this was not the time. “But I will also swear on the black stone that I’ll do everything in my power to uphold my father’s legacy, and the legacy of his father and grandfather.”
There was a long moment of silence then, the two regarding each other, both of them understanding that this was far more than a simple transaction of taking on a new clerk, although Alex had a better idea of all that would entail, which prompted him to say, “So, when do we start?”
“Tomorrow morning, first call. Now,” Volusenus placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder, “I think we both could g
et some sleep.”
This was how the most momentous day, following the most momentous event that triggered it all, ended, for both of them.
Chapter Eleven
When Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus was wakened by Krateros, the last time the clerk would perform this duty, he knew in a general sense that he was in a totally different world. Which, he thought as he rose and dressed, begins with me thinking of myself as a Pullus and not a Volusenus.
The morning began routinely enough; Krateros had the food ready to break Pullus’ fast, but there was even less conversation than normal, mainly because the clerk realized there was no need for him to fill his Centurion in on anything that might have happened with the Sixth Century since it was no longer his responsibility. It was a process that a Legion underwent on a regular basis, and even if the men involved had not gone through it before, which was unlikely, every Century and Cohort around them had, so there were plenty of men to ask in the event there was a question. That process began even before Pullus was through eating, when there was a rap on the door, and a smiling Gillo entered the room. It was with real pleasure and a fair amount of pride that Pullus smiled back, standing up from his unfinished meal to stride over to Gillo to offer his arm.
“Salve Quartus Hastatus Posterior Gillo,” he intoned in an unwritten but long-running tradition of using the entire rank of a newly promoted man instead of the more customary, shorter versions.
“And salve to you, Quartus Pilus Posterior Volusen…” Gillo began, then his face turning bright red, blurted out, “Pluto’s balls, I knew I was going to cock that up. Sorry, Quartus Pilus Posterior Pullus. And, I am really sorry,” he finished with a mumble, but Pullus was completely unoffended.
Laughing, he slapped his new counterpart on the shoulder as he admitted, “How could I be angry at you when I know I’m going to be doing the same thing for the next few days?” Changing the subject, there was a corresponding alteration in his tone that was subtle but unmistakable as he asked Gillo, “Am I correct in assuming that you’re staying put? They’re not moving you to another Cohort?”