by R. W. Peake
“Carbo?” he spoke quietly. “Can you hear me?”
There was no response, and Pullus increased his volume, to no avail, then with reluctance, shook the man’s shoulder, but while the eyelids did flutter, this was the only response.
Feeling somewhat foolish, Pullus nevertheless spoke to Carbo, for several moments, thanking him for his service, for the manner in which he fulfilled his duties, and more than anything, for his passionate loyalty to his Cohort, Century, and to his comrades. As he spoke, he felt the tears coming, and he realized this was the first time he had cried for a ranker who had died in battle under his command, wondering why this was the case. Certainly, he had men under him in the Sixth who he knew better, and some of them he had been quite fond of, yet for some reason, in a short period of time, Carbo seemed to have come to represent all of the men under the standard who had died. By the time he was through, and he extracted the coin from his purse, placing it on Carbo’s chest since he was still, technically, alive, his face was wet with tears, which Alex saw but said nothing about. Standing up, Pullus walked back to where Alex was waiting, placed the lamp back on the stool, then stepped out of Charon’s Boat.
“Let’s go.”
It was all he said, and in total silence, he and Alex left the hospital, walking back to the Fourth’s area, with Pullus wondering what awaited him.
Much to everyone’s surprise, across all the ranks, Germanicus kept his army in the same camp for more than a week. The frustration that stemmed from this decision varied, however, and this was related more to a man’s relative spot in the hierarchy of command than from anything else. For the men of the ranks, they tended to be more relieved, although most of them at least tried to keep that hidden from their officers. Over the intervening years between the Varus massacre and this moment, Arminius’ reputation had steadily grown, despite the fact that there had been precious little actual battle between the Legions and the forces of the Cherusci chieftain, and what clashes there had been were little more than skirmishes. Nevertheless, for the average ranker in Germanicus’ army, despite the confidence they held in their commander, they wanted as little to do with Arminius as possible without invoking a charge of outright cowardice. For the Centurions and Optios, it was slightly different, but the fact was that it varied widely, from Legion to Legion, Cohort to Cohort, and Century to Century, and in the Fourth Cohort, it was not much different. Pullus, Structus, and Gillo were frustrated by the decision, while Vespillo did not do much to hide his relief, and despite the fact that Pullus tried to be charitable in his view toward the Pilus Prior, that this feeling was based in concern for the men of his Cohort, it was a futile battle to do so. It was not until late the day after the battle that Pullus finally learned the extent of his actions that, although certain fragments had come back to him, he was still largely unaware of, and it had started with Tetarfenus, who he had summoned to his tent.
The Signifer was clearly uneasy, but he sipped the cup of unwatered wine that Alex had poured for him, seemingly surprised when the clerk did not leave, then after a long moment finally said, “I suppose you want to know what I saw yesterday.” Pullus just nodded, and Tetarfenus, frowning down into his cup, began, “You had just ordered us to go to the run because those cunni were coming at us and there wasn’t time for another volley. We came together, and, you know, it was the usual fucking mess, but one big bastard caught me out and put me off my feet…”
“Wait,” Pullus interrupted, his eyes narrowing, though not in suspicion. He smacked his desk with the flat of his hand, exclaiming, “Now I remember! And,” he grinned at his Signifer, “you’re right. He caught you good.” The grin faded as more came back to him, and Pullus added, “But then I put paid to him, didn’t I?”
While Tetarfenus did not particularly care for the apparent humor his Centurion found in his near demise, he did not hesitate to confirm, “Yes you did, sir. Before he could get on top of me and fuck me good, you stuck him through the guts.” Now the Signifer did smile, but it was a grim one as he recalled, “And he didn’t seem much interested in trying to finish me.” He took another sip, then went on, “But when you did that, something just seemed to happen to you, because once you helped me up, instead of getting back in your spot, you just…” Tetarfenus stopped, trying to think of the right way to put it, finally only able to offer, “…went wading into those bastards like you were Felix the Thracian trying to win his freedom or something.”
Pullus listened silently, and while his demeanor did not express it, inwardly, he was extremely agitated as his mind tried to snatch at the fragments and bits of memories that seemed to go drifting across his conscious mind and put them into some cohesive order that would either support or deny Tetarfenus’ version.
When Pullus did not say anything one way or another, the Signifer took this as permission to continue, “Well, before long, you had gotten yourself about four or five men deep into their midst, and I know I wasn’t alone in thinking you were well and truly fucked. Saloninus came up from his spot to take over when he saw you, and he brought the boys from the Tenth Section with him to help cut a path to you.”
He stopped then, and after a couple heartbeats, Pullus demanded, “Well? Did he? Is that why I’m still here?”
“No,” Tetarfenus shook his head, “he didn’t, but it was because he didn’t need to.” Now he shrugged, somewhat at a loss how to explain what, even a day later, seemed unexplainable. Finally, he said, “Those Cherusci cunni turned their attention on you right enough, but none of them could get near you. Unless,” he chuckled, “they wanted to die. And, Centurion,” Tetarfenus made a point to look Pullus in the eye, “a lot of them wanted to. At least, they wanted to be the man in their tribe who cut down the big arrogant Roman bastard…” Suddenly, the Signifer stopped, a look of horror on his face as the implication, the real implication of one of the favorite terms Legionaries used for each other hit him, and he gasped, “…Centurion, I…I apologize! I meant no…”
Pullus was actually more amused than anything, although he acknowledged the flare of anger that the word had invoked, but he also knew that it was unintentional, and he waved a hand at Tetarfenus, assuring him, “No offense taken.” He grinned at the other man, saying, “And I am…big, after all.”
While the laugh that came from Tetarfenus was genuine, it was more from relief than any other cause, and he picked up his story. “Yes, well, as I was saying, they got so worked up about the fact that you were standing right in their midst and they couldn’t do anything about it that it was like they almost forgot the rest of us were there. So,” he shrugged again, “what Saloninus did was use the Tenth Section boys to make those bastards pay and cut down the fuckers who were more worried about you and not us, and before you know it, they broke and ran like rabbits. That,” Tetarfenus finished, “is what started it. Before you could count to fifty, the rest of them down the line from us on either side were doing the same thing because the rest of us were right behind the boys from the Tenth Section. We cut our way to where those other bastards were trying to finish the 14th, and the same thing happened. Once we were on the rest of that mob’s flanks and rear, they knew it was over, I suppose, and they didn’t waste any time getting out of there.”
Pullus listened to this, yet it was still mostly bits and pieces as far as what he remembered, although he did recall how he felt in the moment, understanding that it was essentially the same thing he had experienced in his first battle…and on the day his father had died.
Shaking his head, he finally broke his silence by arguing, “That doesn’t sound like I’m the one who made it happen. It was Saloninus and the lads from the Tenth who did it.”
“They certainly helped,” Tetarfenus seemingly agreed, then countered, “but you got it started. And,” he hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, “it wasn’t just that you waded in like you did, Centurion. Do you know how many bodies we counted around you?” When Pullus shook his head, he said quietly, “Twenty-two, Centurion. Yo
u killed twenty-two of those animal fuckers. Twenty-two of Arminius’ men.” Shaking his head, he added, “I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve only heard of one man doing anything like that before. And,” Tetarfenus’ voice dropped to almost a whisper, “I’d tell you who it was, but I suspect you know the answer.”
At this, Pullus looked not to his Signifer but to Alex, who did not say anything, although he did give the Centurions a slight nod. There was a long silence then, as each of them seemed content to sip from their cups, Pullus obviously deep in thought.
Finally, he broke the silence by saying quietly, “Thank you, Tetarfenus. That helps a great deal. Although,” he grimaced, “I still don’t remember much of it.” He regarded the Signifer for a heartbeat before he asked, “Have you heard anything about what Vespillo is up to? About me, I mean?”
“Only that he was going to write you up for dereliction of your duty,” Tetarfenus replied, Pullus responding with a gasp of shock, while Alex came to his feet, but Pullus noticed that the Signifer did not seem overly alarmed, or concerned, and in fact, Pullus had missed the Signifer’s use of the past tense.
“Tetarfenus,” Pullus said suspiciously, “that’s a charge that can get me flogged and busted to the ranks, at the very least, but you don’t seem very upset about that. Why?” He tried to sound joking, but it was not very successful, “Are you hoping for a new Centurion?”
It obviously had not occurred to Tetarfenus that the placid manner in which he delivered this news could be viewed in this light, and he came to his feet in clear alarm. “By the gods, no, Centurion! I swear it! It’s not that.” Despite the fact that it was just the three of them, the Signifer lowered his voice to just above a whisper, informing Pullus, “It’s just that nothing is going to come of it, not anymore.”
“How could you know that?”
It was the first time Alex had spoken, and he made no attempt to hide his suspicion, but Tetarfenus, who might have taken exception that a freedman clerk was speaking to him in such a manner, clearly did not fault him for the question.
“Because,” he explained calmly, “I was part of a group of the officers of the Cohort who went to pay a visit to the Pilus Prior.” While he tried to sound offhanded about it, there was no mistaking the tone of satisfaction in his voice as he said, “We made it clear that if he went through with what he had planned, we were all willing to go as a group to the Primus Pilus and let him know that he didn’t have our support, and that we thought this was personal on the part of the Pilus Prior.”
Pullus let out a barely audible gasp, and he exchanged a look with Alex, seeing the same range of emotions in his clerk’s face; it was only with some difficulty that he managed, “I…I don’t know what to say, Tetarfenus, I truly don’t. Other than…thank you. And,” he added, “thank the others for me as well, won’t you? I’m not sure it’s wise that I do it myself.”
Pullus had made a guess about this, but it was a shrewd one, because there was no mistaking the look of relief on the Signifer’s face as he said, “Thank you, Centurion. That is much appreciated, and I’m speaking for the rest of us.”
Pullus stood to offer his arm to Tetarfenus, then saw him out of his private quarters before coming back to his desk and collapsing onto his stool, which audibly cracked as his weight hit it, causing Alex to wince.
“One day,” the clerk said dryly, “that thing is going to have had enough. And,” he grinned, “I’ll laugh when it does.”
Pullus gave him a mock glare, but his mind was elsewhere, and after a moment’s silence, he asked Alex, “Did you know about that? That they went to Vespillo?”
“Not specifically, no,” Alex answered, somewhat evasively, his eyes on his cup. “But this morning, I did overhear Saloninus and Tetarfenus talking about it, although I wasn’t sure exactly what they had done about it.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Pullus asked pointedly, but Alex was anything but apologetic, retorting, “Not until I knew what was going on, because if I told you based just on that, what are the chances you would have gone charging off and making things worse?”
As soon as the words were out, Pullus knew Alex was speaking the truth, and that he would almost undoubtedly have done exactly that, so he held up a hand, saying apologetically, “Yes, you’re right, Alex. I probably would have.” With that settled, Pullus turned his mind to another matter. With a forced casualness, he asked, “So what Tetarfenus said about my father. Did you ever see his…episodes?”
“No,” Alex shook his head, “I never did. Gods know I heard about them, but I never saw them.”
“I wish I had talked to him more about this…whatever it is,” Pullus said wistfully. “It would just be nice to know more about it. We really only talked about it once, and I realized later that I had more questions about it than answers, but I always told myself that once we had the time, I’d ask him about it.”
Alex did not respond immediately, but Pullus was now too busy staring morosely into his cup to notice for several heartbeats, and when he finally did look up, he saw Alex bore a peculiar expression, as if he was trying to decide something.
Finally, Alex began with what, to Pullus, seemed a tangential topic, “I suppose you know by now what was in that box you left with your mother?” When Pullus nodded, he asked, “Did you ever happen to look in that other box? The one that’s in the wagon right now?”
“No,” Pullus replied, then added, “I thought it was just his library or something like that.”
Alex shook his head, but he was coming to his feet as he did so.
“I’ll be right back,” was all he said, then before Pullus could say anything one way or another, he was gone.
Pullus occupied himself by halfheartedly working on the day’s report, although most of his inner attention was still on trying to piece everything from the day before now that Tetarfenus had given him his account of what had taken place. Just in the moments since the Signifer had left, more of the fragments had come back to him, although it was still more in the way of how he felt than actual images. He did recall an instant where he saw himself essentially dispatch two Cherusci with one motion of his gladius, but what was the most mysterious thing to him was how, even without his vitus, he somehow survived with not as much as a scratch, although he had found two bruises once he finally stripped off his armor and tunic. From the shape of the one along his ribcage, he assumed that he had been struck by the shaft of a spear or axe, but the one on his thigh was round, and he thought it might have been from the boss of a shield, although this was located somewhat low for something like that. Any further attempt on his part to decipher things was interrupted when Alex pushed through the flap, puffing slightly from the exertion that was caused by his cargo, which Pullus instantly recognized as the box.
Setting it down on the desk, Alex pointed to it and said quietly, “I think you might want to take a look at these.”
Pullus stood so that he could look down into the box after Alex pulled the lid off, and the first thing he noticed was that these scrolls were clearly newer than those he had left with his mother. Reaching down, he was about to pick one, when Alex stopped him.
Pointing to another one, he said only, “I’d start with that one.”
Pullus, while he was puzzled, did as Alex suggested, but then when the clerk turned to leave, Pullus asked, “Where are you going?”
“I think,” Alex answered quietly, “you should read that on your own.”
Before Pullus could reply, he pushed through the flap, and Pullus heard him say something to Demetrios. He thought about calling him back, then shrugged, thinking that it did not really matter if Alex were there or not. When he sat back down, he did remember to do so more carefully, grinning to himself as he did, knowing that Alex was correct; one day, he would crush that stool. He unrolled the scroll carefully, but he was completely unprepared for the words that seemed to leap off the parchment at him, instantly recognizing the hand in which it was written.
He was still reading when the call to retire sounded, his meal sitting on the desk completely untouched and forgotten, only stopping well after midnight when he could not keep his eyes open any longer.
Despite the revelation that not only had Pullus’ great-grandfather, but his own father had left an account of their lives behind, as important as it was to the young Centurion, the events of the larger world meant that he had to ration his time accordingly. For several days, the camp was rife with rumors, which changed almost by the watch. First, it was that Germanicus had received some sort of urgent news from Rome that precluded him from leading the army deeper into Germania, and it did not take long for this to transform into dire talk that there had been another revolt by the Legions in Pannonia. This was dismissed as fabricated by the next day, where it became accepted as fact that the Propraetor was simply waiting for the lightly wounded men to recuperate to the point they could march, whereupon the campaign would resume. It was on the third day that a rumor that the cause was because the new Princeps had reaffirmed the practice first instituted by Divus Augustus that only the Princeps could name a new Primus Pilus for the 14th, and this had the advantage of being plausible, which meant that it lasted for the next two days. Not until a full week had passed was there a meeting of the Centurions, held in the forum, and it marked the first time that Pullus had caught even a glimpse of the Propraetor, but his manner and demeanor appeared unchanged as he mounted the portable rostrum, and Pullus did not get the sense he was harried or dealing with anything more than the normal pressures of a Legate leading an army on campaign, although these, Pullus knew as well as he could, were considerable. Germanicus was dressed only in his tunic, although like all members of the Senatorial order, it bore a purple stripe, and naturally, the fabric was of a quality that none but the highest ranking Centurions could afford.
