by R. W. Peake
Pullus looked at him in surprise, yet it was not for the reason Alex thought, because he answered without hesitation, “I’m not going to do anything. At least, I’m not going to withdraw from my agreement.”
Now it was Alex’s turn to visibly react, although it was more in disbelief as he stared at Pullus, certain that he had not heard correctly.
“What are you saying? That you’re willing to become a member of the Head Count?”
“Yes,” Pullus replied, again without any hesitation. Then, noticing Alex’s expression, he explained, “If this had happened a couple years ago, even after my father and I had become…close,” was the word he settled on, “I probably would have turned it down. I would have been flattered, but no,” he shook his head, “I wouldn’t have accepted it. Although,” he did grin at this, “if he’d made giving me his gladius a condition, I might have changed my mind.”
Alex chuckled at this, then he asked quietly, “So what changed?”
“That,” Pullus admitted, “is a good question, because honestly, when my mother brought it up, as I said, it was the first I ever thought about it.” Shrugging, he allowed, “I suppose that some of it is because he saved my life. Which,” he added, “is what my mother thinks is behind it, but it’s more than that.” He paused, frowning in thought as he searched for the right way to put it, settling on, “Maybe it’s just being exposed to these men and living in a world where a man’s value isn’t just measured by how much money he’s got has rubbed off. I’ve seen men with more honor and courage, and who are far cleverer than men of my class who have had every advantage and still are fucking idiots.”
Alex considered this, but while he harbored suspicions that Pullus was withholding something, he simply said, “As long as you’re sure you’re doing the right thing.”
“Not really,” Pullus answered honestly. “But it just…feels right, somehow.”
That all sounded fine to Alex, but, like Gnaeus, he was his father’s son, which was why he pointed out, “I understand that’s how you feel about it today, but what happens when you have children?”
Pullus surprised Alex by answering, “I thought about that as I walked back to camp. And, while I can’t say I won’t change my mind and regret it later, what I realized is that if the gods wanted me to stay an Equestrian, they would make that idea seem more important than it does. But,” he shrugged, “what I’ve been realizing over the last few days is that I’ve always been my father, my real father’s son, more than I’ve been Quintus Volusenus’. And,” he finished with a rueful tone, “my mother knew that long before I did.”
“Mothers,” Alex agreed, “usually do. That’s why my mother sent me with my uncle when I was only fifteen up here when he was transferred from Siscia, because she knew that I didn’t just want, but I needed to be tied to the Legions like my father was.”
Their conversation was cut off then by the bucina announcing the official beginning of the day, and without being told, Alex got up to bring his Centurion his meal, leaving Pullus to silently feel sorry for himself at the prospect of another day with no sleep.
Unfortunately for Alex’s plans, Pullus did not have the chance to go back into town, as the Legate Caecina led Pullus’ Legion, along with the 5th, 20th, and 21st Legion out of Mogontiacum, marching north and bound for the lands of the Bructeri, with the mission of subduing them and preventing their reinforcement of Arminius and his Cherusci. As far as the 1st was concerned, affairs were still somewhat unsettled with the Third Cohort, and there was much speculation among men of every rank of whether or not Sacrovir would shift the Fifth up to the first line while moving the Third to the second, or even the third. From the perspective of the Centurions of the other first line Cohorts, the newly promoted Pilus Prior, Tiberius Pompilius, seemed competent enough, and it was true that, of all the Third on the day of the attack by Arminius, his Century acquitted itself better than any other in the Cohort; however, there was more than one man who thought that this was not much of a distinction. The truth was that, until there was another fight, there would be doubt about the Third, which was why Pullus was one of those who believed that it would be prudent to remove them from the front line. Not, he understood, that his opinion mattered, and he certainly was not going to bring it up with Vespillo. When it came to the new Quartus Pilus Prior, Pullus was far from alone in his bemusement that, rather than being, if not overjoyed, or at least satisfied that Vespillo had finally achieved what they all knew had been his goal in being named Pilus Prior, he seemed anything but happy. In Pullus’ view, Vespillo was in an even worse mood than when he had been thwarted in his ambitions, and his sour mood was inflicted on his subordinates, although none suffered more than Pullus. Everything he did with the Second Century, it seemed, was suspect in Vespillo’s eyes, and a day did not go by without some cutting comment aimed at him or his performance of his duties. Naturally, Pullus bore this with silence, at least in Vespillo’s presence, although Alex would always quickly learn of yet another slight, but Pullus’ hope that once the campaign began in earnest, the Pilus Prior would relent in his constant criticism quickly proved in vain. This was why, on the second night of the march after a day spent marching drag, which always made tempers raw, as soon as Alex made sure Pullus’ meal was prepared, he slipped away and made his way to the Second Cohort’s area and the Pilus Prior’s tent. As he hoped, Alex was immediately ushered in to Macer’s office, finding the Centurion and Lucco taking their meal together as they engaged in desultory conversation about the day’s march.
Macer grinned at Alex as he asked, “So how was a day of wading in cac for your Centurion? Is he in a good mood?”
“What do you think?” Alex muttered, dropping onto the other stool, ignoring his best friend who, like his Centurion, seemed inordinately pleased at the idea of the Fourth Cohort stuck behind the baggage train. Which, Alex would have cheerfully acknowledged, he would be doing had the situation been reversed, but since he needed to get back, he broached the subject immediately, informing Macer, “But the reason I’m here is I need to talk to you about this situation between Vespillo and Gnaeus.”
Macer’s grin faded, and he actually dropped the crust of bread on his plate as he muttered, “Ah, yes. That.” He regarded Alex for a heartbeat, then asked grimly, “So it’s that bad?”
“It’s not just bad,” Alex affirmed, “it seems to be getting worse. And,” at this, he leapt to his feet so that he could pace in frustration as he admitted, “I can’t really understand why. We both know that Vespillo has wanted to be Pilus Prior, even before you came to the Cohort. And that was, what, nine years ago?”
“Closer to ten,” Macer confirmed. “But, yes, he’s wanted it for a long time.”
“So,” Alex almost shouted this, “why’s he so unhappy? And why is he after Gnaeus in particular?”
Macer was sitting there watching the clerk pacing, and he realized he needed to tread carefully.
“Are you saying that he’s treating Gnaeus differently from the other Centurions?”
Alex stopped moving to consider the question, understanding there was significance by the manner in which Macer posed it.
“No,” he admitted, “not differently, but it’s definitely a matter of degree.” Thinking another heartbeat, he explained, “If Vespillo makes some sort of comment to the other Centurions, he’s making three of the same kind to Gnaeus.”
“How is Pullus taking it?” Macer asked.
“So far, he’s managed to keep his mouth shut. But,” Alex fretted, “that’s actually part of the problem.”
“Oh? I’m not following.”
“I’ve been around Vespillo a long time,” Alex explained, “just as you have. And what’s the one thing that makes him stop needling someone?”
“When they stand up to him and give it right back,” Macer answered without hesitation, knowing this was the truth because, several years earlier when Macer was a newly arrived paid man, his Optio had made that point to him.
; And, Macer suddenly remembered, feeling a smile tugging at his lips at the memory, he had been reluctant to go along with the advice, until one day he lost his temper; from that day forward, Vespillo had treated Macer with what passed for respect. When Titus Pullus had been promoted to the Centurionate, Vespillo had avoided antagonizing him, at least for the most part, something that Macer’s former Optio never failed to point out with what he thought was an almost obscene amount of glee whenever he and Macer had talked about it. This time, however, was different, despite the fact that Gnaeus not only shared his father’s size and strength, and a growing reputation as a formidable man in a fight, because now Vespillo was a Pilus Prior.
This was what prompted Macer to give a slight groan as he realized, “But Pullus can’t give it back, can he?”
“No,” Alex replied grimly. “And what I’m worried about is that, the longer Vespillo goes without getting some sort of reaction from Gnaeus, he’s going to start saying things that Gnaeus can’t ignore. And I know what he’s likely to start bringing up the longer he goes without giving Vespillo what he wants.”
“What have the others done?” Lucco asked, which Alex recognized was a sensible question.
“The same thing as Gnaeus for the most part,” Alex answered, then he did grin. “Although I did hear from Optio Closus that when Vespillo said something to Structus that got under his skin, Structus brought up a time when they were out in town and Vespillo bought a whore that turned out to be not exactly what he thought.” He paused a beat, then said with a laugh, “The way Structus put it, the whore’s cock was bigger than Vespillo’s.”
Both Macer and Lucco erupted in laughter that lasted for several heartbeats, Alex’s friend actually doubling over and holding his stomach.
Finally, Macer wiped a tear away. “By the gods, I’d forgotten about that.” His mirth faded as he returned his attention to the larger problem. “Unfortunately, even if Gnaeus had something like that to hold against him, now he could never use it because Vespillo is his direct superior.” He fell silent for a span, then asked simply, “What do you need me to do?”
“You need to talk to Vespillo,” Alex answered immediately, since this was the reason that he had sought Macer out in the first place. “Not only did you have to deal with him for all those years, now you’re his equal, and some men would say that a Secundus Pilus Prior outranks a Quartus Pilus Prior.”
Macer understood that Alex was speaking the truth, as far as it went; there was certainly an unwritten rule that, in the labyrinthine chain of command between Pili Priores, the number of the Cohort mattered, but it had been Macer’s experience that this had always been put forth by those who were actually in lower numbered Cohorts, while it had been vigorously argued by men in higher numbered Cohorts. And, if he was being honest, one of the best things about having been moved up was that he did not have to deal with Numerius Vespillo.
“I’ll talk to him before we march tomorrow,” Macer told Alex, his mouth set in the kind of determined line that Alex recognized, which enabled him to leave with a bit of optimism.
Predictably, as Caecina’s column penetrated deeper into Germania, and they neared Bructeri lands, tensions rose, with the officers cracking down on talking on the march that they considered excessive, both because as usually happened, the men got too loud, and because a good story told by a comrade kept them distracted from their primary job of watching the underbrush for sign of an impending ambush. They were marching in armor already, Caecina having ordered it to be worn from the first day, although most men felt that it was more for symbolic reasons, but beginning the third day, the order was given that shields would be uncovered. This was the most potent sign to every man in the army that contact with the Bructeri, whose lands they were approaching from the southwest while a column led by Lucius Stertinius was approaching from the west, was imminent. On the fourth day from Mogontiacum, the 1st was the vanguard when, late in the day, they reached the Lupia, which marked the southern boundary of the Bructeri, and Caecina made the decision that, rather than crossing the river then erecting the camp, he would take advantage of the natural barrier of the river. To Pullus, and most of the other officers, for that matter, this was sending the wrong message, not to the Bructeri, but to their own men.
“It’s telling those cunni that we’re afraid of them, at least that’s how my boys see it,” Structus declared as he, Pullus, and Gillo stood watching their Centuries working on shaking out the picket stakes that had been gathered from their comrades. “I thought we were here to put them to the gladius and make them sorry they ever threw in with Arminius. What kind of message does this send?”
While Pullus agreed in spirit, he was not nearly as concerned that this would have much impact one way or another, but he held his counsel, leaving Gillo to commiserate, but it was not long before, glancing over his shoulder, Pullus’ former Optio changed the subject.
“Maybe once we get stuck in to these bastards, the Pilus Prior will get his vitus out of his ass.”
The manner in which he said it made Pullus believe that Gillo was hopeful but not optimistic that this would occur, while just the subject of Vespillo caused a sudden tightening in his stomach, and before he could stop himself, he replied bitterly, “I fucking doubt it. He’s only happy when he’s unhappy.”
Structus gave the large Centurion a sympathetic glance as he commented, “Yes, he’s been riding you harder than the rest of us, that’s certain. Why do you suppose that is?”
Before Pullus could reply, Gillo interjected, “It’s because Pullus took over his Century, and he’s worried that Saloninus or maybe Herennius,” he named the Tesseraurius, “will tell Pullus his secrets.”
Although this had been suggested before, Pullus felt that, while this was certainly part of it, there was more to Vespillo’s animosity than just his fear that either man, or even a ranker who might have knowledge, would impart that to him. He had spent a good deal of time thinking about it, and he had almost convinced himself that Vespillo’s hatred had as much to do with his father as with him.
Rather than mention this, instead, he chose to joke, “Does that mean I need to worry about my old Optio telling tales?”
Gillo grinned up at him. “If I had anything, I would have already used it. But you were fucking boring as a Centurion.”
This prompted a laugh from both Structus and Pullus, and they returned their attention back to the men.
“Oy!” Gillo suddenly bellowed, pointing his vitus at a pair of rankers that Pullus knew very well, two of the more accomplished shirkers from his time in the Sixth. “If you two don’t get back to fucking work, I’ll stripe you so bloody that you’ll be begging those fucking Germans to put you out of your misery!”
While both Structus and Pullus were looking on with expressions that signaled their solidarity with Gillo, once they turned away, all three were grinning broadly, and Pullus chuckled. “I’m just glad they’re your problem now and not mine.”
The task of placing the picket stakes in the 1st’s section of the camp was completed shortly after this, whereupon the men were marched to their areas, the slaves having erected the tents and started the fires. Before any of the Centurions had the opportunity for their meal, however, the cornu at the praetorium sounded the signal that indicated all Centurions were to come to the forum, which meant Pullus in particular was in a foul mood; he lived in a state of almost constant hunger, so meals were even more important to him than most men, and the prospect of whatever it was the Legate had decided to share barely mattered to him. It also meant that he was not in a particularly sociable frame of mind, although as normally happened, he walked with the other five Centurions towards the forum. Such was his distraction, he missed Cornutus calling him by name, but he did not miss Vespillo’s voice, with its nasal quality that, to his ears, made it sound like his Pilus Prior was always whining.
“Don’t waste your time, Cornutus. His head is in the clouds,” Vespillo called out, more loudly than necessar
y so that the other groups of Centurions who were using the Porta Praetoria to make their way to the forum looked over. “He’s probably busy counting his new Tata’s money and figuring out how much he’ll need to pay to cash out of the Legion so he can run off to that villa in Arelate and fuck his new slaves.”
It was only because Gillo reacted more quickly than Pullus, grabbing his former Centurion by the back of his harness, that saved Pullus, and while it almost jerked Gillo off his feet in doing so, it was enough to not only arrest the big man’s motion, it served to yank him from the precipice of his rage. From Gillo’s perspective, at least judging by the look of fury that Pullus gave him, it was not particularly appreciated, while Vespillo tried to pretend that his own sudden lurch away from Pullus was due to clumsiness and not fear, although the expression on his face gave the lie to that. It did serve to quell any talk, the final few dozen paces covered in silence as they stopped a short distance away from the portable rostrum. In meetings like this, there was not a formation as such, although the officers of each Legion congregated together, with the Centurions from each Cohort tending to stand with each other, but this was not required, and Pullus wasted no time in separating himself from his Cohort to head towards Macer and his Centurions of the Second.
Before he did, however, he leaned down to mutter in Gillo’s ear, “Thank you for that. I’d have fucked myself good and proper.”
“No worries,” Gillo replied instantly, but he did not move his head or indicate that he was addressing Pullus. “We’ve got to stick together against that devious bastard.”
“What do you suppose he’s up to?” Pullus asked, but Gillo could only shrug, then Pullus wandered off as the last of the officers arrived from the various parts of the camp.
When he came and stood next to Macer, he whispered what had happened, prompting a groan from Macer, which Pullus mistook as irritation at Pullus, but then Macer said, “Pluto’s cock, I apologize, Gnaeus.”
