by R. W. Peake
“What is what?” Alex looked up from his bowl in surprise. “I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes,” Pullus answered, “and you’re not saying whatever it is very loudly.”
While he wanted to rattle Alex, it was only to the degree to get him to reveal whatever Pullus was certain was on his mind; he was completely unprepared for the shade of white Alex turned as he stared at Pullus with rounded eyes that made him look much younger, like a young boy who has been frightened by something.
Alarmed, Pullus rose from his seat, leaning across the table to grab Alex’s arm, “What is it, Alex? What’s wrong?”
This served to yank Alex back to the present, his color returning, and he even gave a shaky laugh, assuring Pullus, “I’m fine, Gnaeus. It’s just that your father used to say that, and I mean exactly that, and in that same way. He hated silences when he was certain that someone had something on their mind.” Shaking his head, he grabbed for his cup, took a deep swallow, then finished, “It’s like it was him and not you speaking, that’s all.”
While this unsettled Pullus, he was not quite as certain as Alex that there was something otherworldly about it, pointing out, “I’m sure I heard him say something like that at some point.”
“Maybe,” Alex agreed without any real enthusiasm, but when he resumed eating, Pullus was not fooled.
“But you didn’t answer the question. What’s going on? I can tell something’s bothering you.”
“I wouldn’t say it bothered me, exactly,” Alex replied, but he put his spoon down and sat back to regard Pullus thoughtfully. “It’s just that there are a lot of things you should know, and one in particular about your family.”
Then, for the next several moments, Alex informed the newest member of the Pullus family about their current situation, focusing mostly on what had occurred between Titus Pullus and his brother Gaius, and in doing so, filled in the gaps that had been left by his father’s explanation a few nights earlier. Which, Pullus thought, seems like ten years ago. It was not until he mentioned the Breuci girl Algaia, and how she had become enmeshed with his family that Pullus saw Alex show any emotion, and he got an idea of how deeply Alex’s feelings ran for the girl. He also understood in this moment why Algaia had seemed so affected by his father’s death, and it made sense that she would feel this way for the man who had rescued her from what had to be an awful existence. Alex did not go into any level of detail about Gaius’ predilection for inflicting pain, particularly on the helpless, but it was enough for Pullus to feel a distinct revulsion for one of his uncles. Septimus, on the other hand, was spoken of in, if not quite glowing terms, very close to it, along with Titus Pullus’ decision that Septimus be put in control of the family business. It was when Alex got to the particulars of what was involved with the family fortune that, despite having told himself the money did not matter, Pullus felt a stab of disappointment as, with barely concealed anger, Alex described the fiasco of Gaius’ venture to essentially double the entire family fortune but cutting it by more than half instead. Certainly, his father had alluded to this after his return from Arelate and the other time the subject came up, but hearing the specifics of it made it seem more real to Pullus.
“So,” he asked, feeling awkward for doing so, “how much money are we talking about, in total?”
“That,” Alex admitted, “is a really good question. Right now, I can only guess. I did get a letter from Septimus who told me that he had finished selling off all of the slaves…”
“Sold them off?” Pullus interrupted. “Why would they do that? Slaves are valuable. I mean,” he thought to add, “when your father was telling me in general terms about everything, he said that his parents…my grandparents,” he corrected, feeling odd as he did so, “didn’t want to own slaves, but I didn’t realize that it ran so deeply that he was serious about getting rid of them.”
Alex did not reply immediately, sitting back and giving Pullus a long, level look, but his voice was emotionless as he said, “Your father was respecting the wishes of both your grandfather and grandmother that our family didn’t own slaves, no matter how…valuable they might have been.” This was a straightforward enough answer, but Pullus still did not really understand, and when he said as much, for the first time, Alex spoke to him sharply, pointing to the two boxes that had been shoved under Pullus’ cot as he said, “That’s why you need to read those, Gnaeus. The answers to almost every question you’re going to have about your family is in them.”
Pullus gave them a dismissive glance, but seeing Alex expected some sort of reply, said vaguely, “I will as soon as I have a chance. I don’t really like reading very much.” Before Alex could make more of this, he returned to the subject at hand, “All right, so Septimus sold the slaves, or most of them. What else?”
Alex thought for a moment, then continued, “Gaius has vanished, at least the last I heard. But,” he warned Pullus, “as soon as he hears about your father, I expect him to show up and cause trouble for Septimus and Miriam, her children, and my brother Gaius.” When Pullus looked slightly confused, Alex realized something, and he actually pointed to the spot under the cot, except at the other box as he said, “Actually, you need to read what’s in both of those boxes, Gnaeus. And, if you want to know more about your father, I’d actually start with that box instead of the first one.”
This did interest Pullus more, but just slightly, and he was more intent on trying to untangle the knots of kinship to his new family, realizing how straightforward matters had been with the family of his mother, and of Quintus Volusenus. Giulia was an only child, while Quintus had a sibling, but it was a sister, and he was aware that he had two cousins, but they were both girls. His mother and Quintus had never had children, and he knew that the man he had thought was his father blamed her for this, claiming that he had fathered several illegitimate offspring. He only said these things when he was drunk, and the fact that none of these supposed half-siblings had ever materialized, while his mother could obviously bear children since he was living proof of that, meant that he was certain his father had been sterile. This Pullus family, however, was another matter entirely, so he had Alex explain things, learning that young Gaius Pullus was his first cousin, by virtue of the fact that he was Titus’ brother Sextus’ child. That the boy was also Alex’s half-brother by virtue of his mother Birgit’s union with Sextus, Pullus saw as Alex was telling him, was something that Alex was clearly torn about, and he made a mental note to himself to stay away from that subject for a time, until both of them became more accustomed to each other and their roles, both professionally and in the familial sense.
When Alex returned back to the family business, he mentioned to Pullus, “I do know that Tiberius Dolabella is, or was looking into finding the man that gulled Gaius out of the money, but now that he’s dead, that will probably lead nowhere.”
“Not that there would be anything I could do about it here anyway,” Pullus mused, but he was surprised when Alex did not reply immediately, and he glanced up to see what he would learn was the mirror image of his father Diocles’ thoughtful expression.
“Not necessarily,” Alex countered. “Once we’re done with Arminius, I suspect that you’d be allowed to take leave to transport your father’s ashes to the family tomb in Arelate.”
This had never occurred to Pullus, and it hit him harder than he expected, a sudden lump forming in his throat at the thought of not only making this journey, but meeting people who, until a few days earlier, he had no idea shared his blood. And, he admitted, he was extremely curious to know more about them.
“It’s certainly something to think about,” Pullus admitted, “but first, we have to take care of Arminius. And,” he stood from the table, “we’ve got some things to do since we’re leaving in the morning.”
Germanicus was nowhere to be seen in the predawn of the next day, when the 1st Legion departed their real home of Ubiorum to head for Mogontiacum, something that Pullus thought was, if Alex’s informatio
n was correct and he was not doing this to punish the Legion, a mistake on Germanicus’ part by not being present for the departure. It was not the Legion in its entirety that was marching south along the Rhenus; the wagons transporting both the wounded and the heavy baggage of the Legion were loaded aboard the transport barges that would make the upstream trip, just as it had happened when this campaign season began. Their progress would be slower than the marching men, but the wounded would be saved the wear and reopening of wounds brought on by the jolting of the wagons as they traversed roads which, while certainly improved even in Pullus’ relatively short time with the Legion, were still not fully Romanized. There had been talk of this being the great project of the entire Army of the Rhenus when the campaign season was over, but there had been such talk before, and Pullus would believe it when they were actually out in the open doing the work. If anyone had been moved to ask him, Gnaeus Pullus was probably one of the only men who was happy that they were marching and not lounging about on barges as slaves sweated and toiled to fight the upstream current, because it gave him other things to occupy his mind, such as making sure men did not lag and were properly punished when they did something like drop one of their javelins. By the end of the first day, even with being distracted by the march, he had come to the realization that he was no less conflicted about confronting his mother and what he would say to her, even if they had time for him to do so. His instinct told him they would have sufficient time, that Caecina would allow the men to have at least one night in Mogontiacum, and he knew from experience that, when they were within a day’s march, the grumbling that was going on now would evaporate as the prospect of debauching in the larger town of Mogontiacum took over the imaginations and attention of the men, just like always. What he would do if that moment came, he still had no idea, and it was on the third night of the march, the day before they reached Mogontiacum, that Pullus summoned Alex into his private quarters, ostensibly for the evening meal, but when he broached the subject that was on his mind, there was no surprise in his clerk’s demeanor.
“You’ve obviously thought about it a lot,” Alex began, speaking softly, because instead of a wooden wall, there was only a layer of canvas separating them from Demetrios, who was supposedly eating his own evening meal, and Pullus was struck with the regret that he had not sent the other clerk on an imaginary errand. “So,” he continued, “what are you thinking?”
“That I don’t want to talk to her right now,” Pullus replied immediately and honestly. “I’m still angry, and I’m afraid that I might lose my temper.”
“That,” Alex acknowledged with a wry tone that made Pullus offer him a rueful grin, “is certainly a concern.” Suddenly, he dropped his gaze, seemingly interested in his bowl, but Pullus understood why when he asked, “Has anyone said anything to you about this adoption being because he’s really your father?”
“No,” Pullus replied, somewhat stiffly, though he immediately recognized that Alex’s question was appropriate and important. “I’ve heard some muttering about it, but nobody has had the courage to bring it up to my face.”
“At some point, Gnaeus, you’re going to have face that this adoption isn’t just because Uncle Titus was fond of you, and I can promise you that most of the men have eyes and enough of a brain to figure out the truth. And how long do you think it’s going to be before Publius runs his mouth to all his friends when they’re out in town and the wine is flowing?”
“Not long,” Pullus sighed.
He knew Alex was telling him the unvarnished truth, as bitter as it may have been, which meant that someone, probably another Centurion, was going to make an intemperate remark about his mother, or a joking reference to how his father impregnated an Equestrian woman, and none of them would care about the specifics of the matter. And, he was forced to admit, Alex’s concern about his reaction was justified, knowing himself well enough to understand that even if it was the Primus Pilus who made some slighting reference, or even worse, made the kind of barbed joke that was the fodder for humor among men of all ranks under the standard, he would probably be unable to control himself.
“I do have a suggestion,” Alex offered, and when Pullus nodded for him to continue, his mouth was set in a grim line as he explained, “I think it’s inevitable that someone is going to say something. But I think that, depending on who it is, you’re going to have to think of a way to keep your temper under control until the right moment.”
“The right moment?” Pullus frowned. “When could there possibly be a right moment?”
“It would have to be outside camp,” Alex spoke carefully, “and it would have to be someone who is of exactly the same rank as you. Obviously, it can’t be a Pilus Prior or,” Alex actually shuddered, “gods forbid, the Primus Pilus or a Tribune.” Suddenly, Alex bit back a curse, and Pullus could see he was suddenly more troubled than he had been a moment before, learning why when the clerk pointed out, “And of all the men who are the most likely to say something offensive, it’s going to be a Tribune.”
“But none of them know about this,” Pullus protested. “I’m not important enough for someone like a Tribune to notice.”
The look Alex gave him was perilously close to pity, and the clerk understood that Pullus would not respond well, so he managed to say patiently, “I know that it’s new to you, but the Pullus name is still an important one under the standard. Now,” he admitted, “no Tribune is likely to be so interested in your business that they’re going to be nosing around the Praetorium searching through every document that mentions your new name, but the instant they hear a ranker or an officer gossiping about it, they’re going to recognize the name. And then…”
He did not need to finish, Pullus doing it for him with a half-groaned, “Then they’ll be more than happy to show off for their mentula Tribune friends by rubbing it in my face.”
Both of them knew, at least in an academic sense, that Tribunes had been making sport of belittling and mocking their social and military inferiors since long before the first Titus Pullus had joined the dilectus of the 10th Legion so many years before, and there was no reason to believe that would stop now.
“That’s why you need to have what I’m about to suggest happen before anyone in the Praetorium gets wind of it,” Alex continued, but when he said nothing more, Pullus demanded, “Well? What is this magic thing I’m supposed to do? With,” he added sarcastically, “a man of my own rank, and out in town so that I don’t get scourged for it?”
“You’ll need,” Alex did not hesitate to reply, but his voice turned grim, “to make an example of someone in a way that makes anyone with an idea to get under your skin about it have second thoughts.”
Pullus did not grasp Alex’s meaning immediately, but the clerk remained quiet, and he saw the dawning of recognition grow on Pullus’ face.
“Ah,” he finally said softly, “you mean I’ll need to beat someone half to death.”
“Half,” Alex replied, “will do, but three-quarters of the way would be better.”
At first, Pullus thought he was making a joke, albeit a grim one, but one glance at Alex’s expression told him that he was completely serious, which, as Alex hoped, had more of an impact on Pullus than might have occurred otherwise. While he said nothing, Pullus gave Alex a slight nod that indicated he accepted Alex’s reasoning.
Turning to the practical matter, Pullus asked, “How is this supposed to happen?”
“That,” Alex admitted, “I’m not sure about, but let me think about it.” With this, he stood, but before he left Pullus’ presence, he asked, “And? What about when we get to Mogontiacum?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Pullus sighed.
Alex was about to urge Pullus to make a decision, then thought better of it; he had already planted enough seeds for one night, he reasoned.
The 1st Legion marched into Mogontiacum in the middle of the afternoon of the next day, but the men were not given the liberty of the town, although as the officers qu
ickly learned, this was due more to the unsettled nature of affairs in the Praetorium than from any real plan. Essentially, the difficulty in coordinating what would turn out to be a three-pronged attack as the final campaign against Arminius began meant that there was considerable confusion about exactly when Caecina would lead his force of four Legions out of the gates of Mogontiacum, so the men were not given the liberty of the town when they arrived. This suited Pullus perfectly, while the next day was spent in finally addressing the situation with the Third Cohort, when the barges transporting the wounded and heavy baggage arrived, with the camp physician and medici assessing which men were fit to return to duty in time for the campaign. While this did not directly impact the Fourth Cohort, since men would not be drawn from a Cohort from the first line to plump up the Third, it engendered more delay, but Pullus convinced himself that he still had too much to do to go into Mogontiacum to see his mother that night. The disgraced Tertius Pilus Prior had been replaced by the Pilus Posterior, whose Century was one of the two who stood fast and were not overwhelmed or fled at Arminius’ desperate attempt to stop Germanicus from absconding with his wife and father-in-law. The Centurion Trigeminus that Pullus had been unable to save and was the indirect cause of the seismic upheaval in his life was replaced as well, along with the two other Centurions who had been demoted, one back to Optio and the other all the way back to Gregarius, although, at the direction of Germanicus, Caecina had ordered that the flogging that was part of their punishment be stayed for the moment. In order to spread the strain of replacing those men of the Third and Fourth Cohort who had either died or were still too severely wounded to return to duty, rather than just from the Tenth Cohort, men were drawn from the Eighth and Ninth as well, but this only impacted Pullus’ former Century, and Structus’ Fifth. What was not made clear by Sacrovir, mainly because he did not know, was whether these transfers would be permanent, or were for only the duration of the coming campaign. The Second Century had not sustained any deaths and only a handful of wounds, none of them serious, while his old Century received four men, which still made them shorthanded in five sections, although some of the original members were in the hospital and would return, barring an infection or some other setback. Despite it not involving his Century directly, this was the excuse Pullus offered himself for not going into Mogontiacum, but Alex was not fooled in the slightest, which Pullus learned when he brought the Centurion his evening meal. To this point, Pullus still had not been not quite comfortable enough with Alex’s presence to have the clerk eat with him, but if this upset Alex, he bore it with silence, and once he handed the bowl and loaf to Pullus, he turned to go, then stopped and turned around.