by R. W. Peake
“No,” Gillo shook his head, “I’m staying put. Sacrovir told me that we don’t have the time for the normal business. He says we’re going to be marching in the next day or two.”
“He told me the same thing,” Pullus confirmed. “At least about marching anyway. So have you gotten your warrant yet?” When Gillo nodded, he asked, “Have you drawn what you need from the Quaestorium?”
“No, not yet,” Gillo answered, then hesitated before he explained, “I thought I’d stop here first and find out when you plan on moving over to the Second Century.”
Pullus laughed. “Pluto’s balls, Gillo. You’re in a hurry, aren’t you?”
The new Centurion’s color had returned to normal, but he reddened slightly again, and he protested, “I’ve been waiting for this a long time, Volus…fuck! Anyway,” he finished, “I’ve been waiting to be promoted for a long time now…Pullus.”
He emphasized the new name, and Pullus was struck by the thought that this might be more of an ordeal than he thought, though he said nothing about it.
Instead, he assured Gillo, “I don’t blame you a bit, Numerius.” He saw that the use of his praenomen pleased Gillo, since this was another of the small ways in which a man was welcomed into the Centurionate by his comrades. “And, to answer your question, I plan on having my clerk move my things immediately after morning formation.”
Gillo looked alarmed, surprising Pullus, but he quickly learned why when Gillo looked at Krateros as he protested, “You can’t take Krateros! I need him here now that that worthless piece of cac Philo died.”
Realizing his error, Pullus assured him, “Krateros is staying put, Numerius. I’m not talking about him.”
“Oh?” Gillo looked at him in surprise. “Did they find you a new clerk? They must have because I can’t imagine Vespillo is going to let Demas out of his sight. That bastard knows all of Vespillo’s secrets.”
It was an offhand remark, the kind of gossip that was exchanged between officers on almost a watch by watch basis, but Pullus was acutely uncomfortable, wondering if this was the sort of thing Sacrovir wanted him reporting to the Primus Pilus. Deciding in the moment that, even if it was, he would do no such thing, and he told Gillo, “No, it’s not Demas either, because you’re right. Vespillo is taking him up to the First. I’m talking about Alexandros Pullus.”
Gillo’s response was, in Pullus’ view, unusual, because there was no mistaking that Gillo had not expected this, regarding Pullus with a raised eyebrow.
“Really?” Gillo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I would have thought he’d be done with all this now that the Pilus Prior is gone.”
“Why do you say that?” Pullus was intensely curious, mainly because it was so unexpected.
“Because he may be a freedman, but he’s still attached to the Pullus family, isn’t he? And everyone knows that they’re rich.” Suddenly, Gillo seemed to realize the implications of what he was saying, and Pullus actually heard his sharp intake of breath, and now he looked up at Pullus with a sly smile. “And you’re the Pilus Prior’s heir now. That means you’re rich.”
Pullus was torn; he did not care for Gillo’s sudden change in attitude, and he was reminded that when he had arrived, Gillo had been even more avaricious than most Optios, which was why, when he had been a new paid man and known as Volusenus, he had been forced to beat Gillo one night in the bathhouse. Maybe, he thought with stab of concern, this had all been an act on Gillo’s part, but he shoved that worry away to be dealt with later.
Outwardly, he chose to laugh it off by reminding Gillo, “I was already rich when I got here, remember, Numerius?”
“Oh,” Gillo nodded, but he was not thrown off, leering at Pullus as he argued, “but there’s rich, and there’s rich, isn’t there?”
Thankfully, their exchange was cut off by the bucina that signaled the official start of the day, and Pullus hid his relief.
“Well, Centurion, it’s time to start a new day,” he told Gillo. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go meet my new Century. At least,” he thought to add, “you don’t have to learn who your lame and lazy are,” using the slang term officers used to describe those men who were malingerers who could conjure their way onto the sick and injured list, and the shirkers who managed to vanish whenever there was a work detail.
Gillo laughed at this, but he was exiting out onto the street, while Pullus hurried to his quarters to retrieve his vitus and strap on his baltea. It truly is, he thought as he moved at a trot, not wanting to be late for his first meeting with his new Century, a new day.
“As you all undoubtedly heard,” Pullus began his address to the men of the Second Century, just before they marched to the forum for the morning formation and to receive their daily orders, “I’m no longer known as Volusenus. No,” he shook his head emphatically, pointing at one of the men in the front rank who, naturally, he recognized but whose names he would have to learn, “stop pretending that you misbegotten bastards have no fucking idea what I’m talking about. But, while I understand how hard it would be for the boys in the Sixth to remember to call me by my new name,” he paused an instant, debating with himself whether this would make things harder or easier, then added, “my real name, it shouldn’t be nearly as hard for you bastards.” He raised his vitus as he smiled at them grimly. “But I have ways of encouraging you to remember that, don’t I?” Transforming the smile to a scowl, he warned them, “But don’t let it be said I’m not fair. Each of you has one chance. If you fuck up more than once, that’s when you get this.” He waved the vitus in their general direction.
Then, satisfied he had made his point, he bellowed the command to intente, beginning the process of marching to the forum. In most ways, it was no different than any other day spent in permanent camp, even with the prospect of whatever Germanicus had planned next, yet for Pullus, it seemed decidedly different. He almost made a mistake he had worried about the night before as he tried to fall asleep, by marching the Second to the spot the Sixth normally occupied, but thankfully, he caught himself in time where it was not blatantly obvious he was doing so, although he did not miss the sidelong glance from the Signifer, Sextus Tetarfenus, who, as far as Pullus knew, Vespillo had either not decided whether or not to take with him up to the First, or he had and Tetarfenus was staying put. He did not know much about Tetarfenus, but his initial reaction to the man had been one of suspicion, which he quickly realized was colored simply from his association with Vespillo. This, in turn, led him to ask himself what advice his father would offer, and he decided that he owed it not just to Tetarfenus, but to the rest of the Second Century, to give the man a chance and observe for himself whether he was worthy of continuing in this role. Just as Macer had done when he moved from the Fourth to the Second, then his father had done when he had brought Gemellus with him from the Third, his preference was to bring Macerinus, but he also had to weigh that against other factors, like the fact that Macerinus and Gillo were extremely close, and as familiar as the former Optio was with the men of the Century, he was still a new Centurion. As he knew from an experience that was often bitter and littered with errors of his own making, a new Centurion needed all the help he could get, and the Signifer was usually the man the Centurion relied on second only to his Optio. Or, in certain cases, if the Optio was a problem, the Signifer was the man a Centurion leaned on most heavily, which had been the case when Pullus had arrived, as Volusenus, and he had an Optio who had gotten accustomed to running the Century as a means to generate income for himself. This was one reason why Pullus really wanted Macerinus with him, because he had proven himself during those trying first few months when he had been battling with not just Gillo, but his father. The prospect of moving Macerinus, however, was currently out of his hands, although the thought did make him look over to his right, to where Vespillo had placed the First Century, but while Pullus was certain that the new Pilus Prior had seen him looking in his direction, he was staring straight ahead as they waited for the morning forma
tion to begin. It was not a snub, necessarily, although Pullus was certain there was some sort of message there, but the sound of the cornu cut off any other contemplation in that direction; without any thought, he snapped the command to intente, and the day began.
Somewhat unusually, Germanicus did not appear, which was something he normally did, even if it was just to conduct the ritual of informing the Primi Pili of their orders for the day. Instead, the four Primi Pili gathered together, and after a brief conference, they headed for their respective Legions, and as Sacrovir approached, just like every other man, Pullus studied the Primus Pilus, searching for a clue in his demeanor or expression about what the day might hold for them.
“Centurions, return your Centuries to their quarters! Pili Priores, then attend to me for further orders,” Sacrovir commanded, but despite the fact that this was normal, Pullus sensed there was something afoot, and he could tell just by the low hum of the men of the Second that they felt the same way.
“All right, shut your mouths,” he said, without bellowing but at just the right pitch and tenor to let the men know he was serious.
Issuing the series of necessary commands, he decided in the moment to forego his normal routine of allowing the men to return to their area on their own, which clearly caught his new command by surprise, since some of them, responding to what was an old habit, began to fall out of their spot in formation.
“I didn’t give you the order to leave formation, you cunni!” Pullus bellowed, his face a mask of fury that was completely contrived, since this was exactly what he wanted to happen. Pointing his vitus at the five rankers who had done so, he warned them, “You’re on fucking report! I don’t know your names right now, but I know your faces, and I’ll be sure to find out from Optio Saloninus what they are. This is a new day, ladies.” Only then did he smile, but it was the kind that Centurions used to let their men know the worst was coming, then he barked out the command to begin marching back to their area.
This was the first part of introducing himself to his new command, but while he had several small acts planned to get the men accustomed to what he expected from them, he was also certain that today would not be as routine as it had begun. Part of his conviction was based in knowing that Germanicus was not one to tarry, although he did wonder how the Propraetor intended to deal with the situation with the Third Cohort. Marching so soon, when a front-line Cohort had been chewed up so badly, even when it was a straightforward case of the Cohort suffering a high number of casualties in battle and not having been tainted by their shameful display, posed significant challenges. His assumption was that his Cohort would simply shift over, while the Fifth would be moved into the spot the Fourth normally occupied in the acies triplex, which was still the standard formation favored since the days of Divus Julius, and the Third would either be left behind or would serve in the same type of role that the Tenth Cohort normally did. This occupied his mind to the point that, when he marched the Century back to the Cohort street, he did not stop in the Second’s area, but headed straight for the Sixth’s.
“Centurion! Centurion Vol…Pullus!”
Looking over at the Signifer suddenly, Pullus was surprised to see the sharper features and large, hooked nose of Tetarfenus, who seemed to be trying to say something with his eyes and head, rolling the former while jerking the latter as if there was something behind…
“Juno’s cunnus,” Pullus muttered, then with obvious chagrin, immediately called a halt. It only took a glance to see that Tetarfenus had managed to warn him so that they were actually in the area of the Third Century and at least not all the way down the street, and he was acutely aware that the Third, having been allowed by Licinius to return to their quarters on their own, were now clustered around watching and trying unsuccessfully not to look amused at the results of Pullus’ preoccupation. Taking a breath, Pullus walked to the spot facing the men, who were still in formation, at intente, their expressions identical to their comrades, and he realized that this was a time for humor. “All right,” he began, “you’re not the only dozy bastards who have some learning to do.” Suddenly inspired, he said jocularly, “I suppose I was daydreaming about all that money that you bastards think my new family has, and how many whores and how much wine that would buy.”
As he hoped, this was met with a roar of laughter, which he allowed to go on slightly longer than necessary, then raised his vitus, pleased that they responded by falling silent immediately. Without any fanfare, he dismissed them to move back the short distance up the street to their quarters to consume their morning meal, and he was pleased to see that most, not all of them, but most moved at a trot, while he walked at a slower pace behind them.
“Thanks for that, Tetarfenus.” Pullus did not look over at the Signifer, but he saw the man shrug as he answered, “No need for that, Centurion. This sort of thing always happens when men move to new commands.” He gave a chuckle that did cause Pullus to glance over, and Tetarfenus said, “We had one silly bastard, Glabius, who came from the Tenth Cohort, and he loved his wine. So whenever he came back from town drunk as Pan, for the first fucking month, Centurion Vespillo had to send me or Herennius, that’s our Tesseraurius, over to his old Cohort and drag him back so he wouldn’t be counted absent.”
Pullus chuckled at this, knowing that this was actually not that uncommon, although it usually only took one time to correct the errant ranker’s mistake with a vitus, or more likely whatever implement the Optio favored, usually a section of turf cutter handle.
This was what prompted him to say, “A month, you say? So what section is this genius Glabius in? I think you might need to point him out to me.”
“Oh, he’s gone, Centurion,” Tetarfenus assured him, yet there was something in the way he said it that aroused Pullus, and he asked, “What happened to him?” Then, thinking he understood, added, “Ah. He was one of the mutineers, wasn’t he? One that got the chop?”
“No, this happened before the mutiny.” Tetarfenus paused, apparently trying to recall. “I think it was year before last, during the winter. He…vanished,” Tetarfenus said, but whereas before he had been willing to look up into Pullus’ eyes as they talked, now he looked straight ahead, his tone going flat and emotionless. “As far as anyone knows, he deserted. And,” the Signifer added, and this he did say directly to Pullus, “he was a worthless piece of cac, so it was a case of addition by subtraction if you take my meaning, Centurion.”
“I do,” Pullus assured him, then was moved to add, “and I was just curious, Tetarfenus, nothing more. I need to get to know the men.” They had reached the larger building that served as the Century office and Pullus’ new quarters, where they stopped. Pullus waited for a trio of rankers to go hustling by, laggards who he eyed coldly while twitching his vitus against his leg in a gesture recognized by every man under the standard as the silent warning it was. Once they were out of earshot, Pullus asked quietly, “What’s your situation, Tetarfenus? Why aren’t you in the First now? Or has Vespillo not made up his mind?”
The Signifer had gone rigid, his face taking on the neutral expression that told Pullus nothing, other than Tetarfenus was falling back on one of the staple tactics in the rankers’ bag of tricks to thwart or delay a superior’s line of inquiry.
“As far as I know, Centurion,” Tetarfenus replied flatly, “I’m staying here.”
Pullus hesitated, debating with himself for a heartbeat before asking, “What would you prefer, Tetarfenus? Do you want to stay here? Or would you like me to talk to the Pilus Prior?”
Pullus was unsure what to expect, and the look of alarm that crossed the Signifer’s face surprised him, but even more telling was the manner in which he gasped, then exclaimed, “Oh, no, Centurion! There’s no need for any of that! I’m perfectly fine with whatever the Pilus Prior decides, so there’s no need to bring it up with him.” He shook his head as he said in a pleading tone, “Please, Centurion. I’m proud to be with the Second and under your command, and the Pilus Prior h
as enough things on his mind without you bothering him about me.”
Pullus stared down at Tetarfenus, his mouth twisting into a frown as he tried to read the undercurrent at work in this seemingly innocuous conversation, then he finally shrugged, and said, “As you wish, Tetarfenus. But,” he tried not to sound too harsh, although there was really no way, “I also have some decisions to make. I’ve been considering bringing Signifer Macerinus with me, but I wanted to speak to you first and get an idea of what your situation was.” He took a deep breath, then plunged ahead, “So if I do that, and you’re demoted from Signifer, will that affect your decision about staying in the Second Century?”
“No, Centurion,” Tetarfenus answered flatly, and with no hesitation, which told Pullus enough that, with a nod of his head, he dismissed Tetarfenus, who turned and trotted to the quarters he shared with the other junior officers of the Century.
That, Pullus thought, is interesting.
He was not particularly surprised to see that Alex had managed to move his belongings into Vespillo’s old quarters, and Pullus was thankful to learn that they had been scrubbed out, either by Demas or more likely Vespillo’s body slave, a miserable, shrunken man of indeterminate age who, whenever he was asked, Vespillo vaguely said had been with him for many years. Vespillo was not slovenly by any means, but it still eased his mind that no extra work had to be done, and when he walked into the part of the hut that was his private quarters, Pullus did not do much more than nudge a few things in a slightly different spot and adjust the position of the inkwell, which Alex watched without comment.
It was as he was arranging his desk that Pullus began, “I need you to find out more about the Signifer, Alex.”