by R. W. Peake
Sentius was closest to the flap, and as he watched me sheathe my blade, he commented dryly, “Well, at least there’s no blood on it.”
“No,” I agreed, trying to hide the tremor in my own hand, which matched the shaking of my legs, “not this time anyway.”
Cornutus gave a shaky laugh. “Juno’s cunnus, Pullus! I thought you were going to kill that bastard.”
“So did he,” Volusenus said before I could respond, “and his friends. That’s what mattered.” Turning to me, he gave me a grin as he told me, “Honestly, I don’t know what I was thinking stepping up next to you like that.”
“I’m glad you did,” I told him frankly. “That’s what convinced them.”
Volusenus looked doubtful, but I was being honest.
“Well, that’s all well and good,” Sentius interjected sourly, “but now you’re just as fucked as we are.”
Turning back to the Pilus Prior, I scanned the faces and noticed something.
“Where’s the Primus Pilus?” I asked Sentius. “Is he in his quarters?”
“Not here.” Sentius shook his head. “We don’t know where he is.”
“Then why are you all here?” Vespillo asked, and I was as curious as he was, but the answer was simple and obvious.
“We all thought he’d be here,” Sentius answered, “but now that we’re here, none of us are willing to go out there. Not,” he jerked his thumb in the direction of the flap, “with that bunch out there, howling for blood.”
“They let us in,” Volusenus protested, “and all we had to do was show them our blades.”
Sentius shot the young Centurion a bitterly amused look, and he pointed out, “That’s because they’ve got us where they want us. That’s why they let you in, you fool.”
Volusenus’ face flushed, showing another similarity between us, but he did not offer a retort, probably because he realized, as I had the instant Sentius said it, that this was the likely cause. Only then did I think to scan the faces in the office, and I started to worry when I realized there was one in particular who was missing.
“Where’s Macer?” I asked, but Sentius could only shake his head in response.
“I haven’t seen him. And I haven’t seen Clepsina either.”
This finally prompted an attempt to take a more accurate count, and once finished, it was determined that the highest ranking Centurion among us was the Primus Hastatus Prior, Gnaeus Varo, who showed absolutely no interest in organizing us or in taking command, meaning that it devolved on to Sentius’ shoulders. There were two other Pili Priores missing besides Macer and Clepsina, and while there was some discussion about organizing ourselves and leaving the Legion office to search for them, Sentius was adamant that we do no such thing.
“Listen to them out there,” he argued. “They’re not calming down; they’re getting more worked up. Anyone wearing a crest is going to be a target.” He paused then, his face grave as he added, “And if we’re being honest with ourselves, some of those bastards are definitely Optios, and,” he took a breath, “I know at least one Centurion in my Cohort is probably with them as well.”
While neither I nor any of us could dispute that this was highly possible, I was equally certain that Marcus Macer was not one of them, but I also quickly realized that only five of us going to search for him would prove to be dangerous to all of us. After a whispered discussion, the Fourth’s Centurions unanimously agreed that we could do nothing unless a good number of the other Centurions and Optios present went with us. One glance around told us none of them were disposed to budge from this spot, choosing what I considered the flimsy protection of a layer of canvas, although it was more the strength in numbers that was the deciding factor for them. One by one, men had dropped to the ground, making themselves as comfortable as possible, trying to hold conversations while, outside, our Legion went mad. Not long after we settled down, the smell of smoke came drifting under the flap.
For the second night running, there was no sleep to be had, and even if I had wanted to, I knew I would have been unable to do so. About a watch before dawn, the noise outside finally subsided, as even men who had been whipped into a frenzy by the discovery of our destination could not maintain their outrage. Still, when Sentius announced that we would leave the Legion office, we did so with our weapons drawn, at least those of us who carried them. About half of the officers had thought to wear their baltea and harness, but only a dozen of us were wearing our armor as well, which not surprisingly meant that we led the way. Stepping out into the beginning of a day that none of us had any idea what it would bring, I first braced to be met by the same mob that had been surrounding us most of the night, but they were nowhere to be seen. I had also prepared myself to see the charred remnants of tents; indeed, I was resigned to the idea that those tents belonging to Centurions would be their target. However, I, and judging by the surprised exclamations of the others, was pleasantly relieved to see that the lines of tents were unbroken and intact. More importantly, personally speaking, I sent Alex to check and he quickly returned to report that our quarters had been undisturbed. This did not explain the cause of the smell of smoke, and it was one of the Optios who, as we stood examining our surroundings, noticed and correctly deduced the cause.
“They pulled all the palisade stakes,” he called out, and when we turned as a group to see where he was pointing, we saw for ourselves that this was the case.
“That must have been what we smelled burning last night,” Sentius concluded.
“Yes, but where?” someone behind me asked. “I don’t see any signs of a fire.”
I believe we all reached the same conclusion at roughly the same time, but it was Sentius who said aloud, “The forum. They must have brought them to the forum.”
“Maybe that’s where everyone is now,” Varo suggested, but personally, I thought it unlikely, believing that it would be next to impossible for us not to hear them, even from where we were.
Our view, naturally, was blocked by the tents of the Centuries and Cohorts, and which started to disgorge their occupants even as we milled about, trying to decide what to do. Those rankers who were emerging naturally saw us standing there, but while they did not resume their shouting at seeing us, there was the same hostility in their gazes.
“If we’re going to do something, we need to do it now,” I spoke up, and Sentius grunted in agreement. Turning to address the group, he spoke just loudly enough to be heard, “Right, we’re going to head to the forum now. Any of you whose tent is on the way, if it looks possible, you should duck in and at least grab your weapons, but armor as well would be better. But,” he warned, “if it looks like any of these bastards are going to try and stop you, don’t try. We don’t want to start a brawl if we can avoid it.”
Waiting only long enough for a mumbled chorus of agreement, Sentius then turned his attention towards arranging us in a semblance of a formation, putting those of us who were armed and armored on the outside of our group, while the others were put in between us.
Turning to me, Sentius gave me a sour grin, saying, “You know where your spot is, right?” Nodding at Volusenus, “And him?”
Sighing, I did not reply, simply stepping into the spot Sentius indicated, while Volusenus did the same, except this time, he was to my right. This did not take long, but even in this short span of time, more men had left their tents to come out into the streets, another unusual sign, since during this time of early morning, rankers can almost always be found in front of their tents, stoking the fire from the night before in preparation for breaking their fast, or heading to the latrines. Although I was leading the way, I did not give any command, just began walking, and while I did not draw my gladius, I kept my hand near the hilt by hooking my thumb in my baltea as I led the group. I also did not look anywhere but directly ahead, though I kept watch for any sudden movement by any of the men lining the street. In a manner similar to the night before, this time, the rankers seemed content to stand on either side of the
street, but while none of them made an overt move, nor even made the kind of threatening gestures they had displayed the night before, they were far from silent.
“We’re not marching another step!”
“Go tell the Legate to go fuck himself!”
“We’ve had enough!”
Such was the nature of the calls and taunts, to which I said not a word, nor did anyone else in the group; I believe we all sensed that, while relatively calm compared to the night before, the margin of error was razor-thin, and an untoward response could ignite another demonstration. Reaching the intersection, I took a left down the street that headed directly to the forum, and once we did, we could see the top of the praetorium, prompting a collective sigh of relief.
“That must be where the Pilus Prior is,” Volusenus said softly, to which I nodded and added, “And the Primus Pilus.”
“I wonder where Neratius is?” Sentius, who was immediately behind me, asked, though I do not think he was looking for an answer from any of us.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” I replied, but as soon as I said it, I regretted it, because I could see that the street ahead was now completely blocked by men.
Most of them were facing the forum, but one of them hanging at the back of the mob must have sensed us coming, because before we could react in any way, the majority turned about to watch us approach. I slowed down, more to give us time for a quick discussion about how to proceed, but before we were through, someone in the crowd blocking our path must have given an order, because once more, those men stepped aside. For the first time since this had all begun, I suddenly experienced a sensation that had, in the past, warned me of danger, a combination of what I would call an itch in my right hand and a tingling sensation that ran up my spine, resulting in the tiny hairs on the back of my neck to stand erect.
“What are you waiting for?” Sentius demanded. “They’re letting us through. We need to get to the praetorium, now!”
I have spent much time in reflecting on these moments, wondering if there was anything I could have or should have done differently, but despite my best efforts, I have been unable to come up with an action that would have altered the outcome. Nevertheless, I must bear some responsibility for essentially walking us into an ambush; that it was at the hands of our own men made it no less so.
Piecing matters together after a battle, even one such as this when it is between combatants who normally fight side by side, is always difficult, and as far as I know, nobody ever determined if what took place was planned, or if it was a spontaneous combustion of a combination of rage and frustration that was triggered by the identity of one of the men of our party.
Once the rankers stepped aside, after Sentius gave me what I considered an order, I resumed walking, Volusenus still to my right, and without thinking, I muttered so that only he could hear, “I don’t like this. Something’s wrong. Be ready.”
“Ready for what?” He matched my tone, barely above a whisper, but honestly, I could not tell him.
Not that it mattered, because we were less than halfway through the crowd when, above the low murmuring of the men, I heard a man shout something; specifically, a name.
“Look! There! It’s that cunnus Cinna! I see you, you bastard!”
That was the last intelligible thing we heard, because of an eruption of sound from the lungs of dozens of men, which accompanied a sudden flurry of movement that originated behind me to my left. Before I could stop myself from reacting, I turned to see the cause, just in time to see a half-dozen men lunge at the man behind me, an Optio from the Fourth of the Third, one of those wearing armor. They were not after him, however, only knocking him aside to seize one of the Centurions only wearing their tunic, the Septimus Pilus Prior, Tiberius Cinna. Before the Optio could react, two rankers had grabbed Cinna by each arm and were viciously yanking him back into the mob, although I did not see the ending of this, because one of the men to my immediate front must have seen his own chance. Suddenly, I felt a terrific impact in my midsection, simultaneously turning and looking down to see that a ranker had thought to tackle me, though he only knocked me back perhaps a half-step while he caromed off my mail-covered body, staggering back to land on his ass. Actually, it would have been more humorous than anything, but any amusement I might have felt vanished in the time it took for a ranker next to him to lash out with what I recognized as a spade handle, which he aimed at my head, though he missed by a substantial margin. Despite the fact that I was wearing my helmet, I could tell that if the blow had landed, it would have stunned me, yet even as it was happening, I could see the man’s heart was not in it, and I assumed he had been swept up in this instantaneous explosion of anger. Behind me, I heard the alarmed and frightened shout of Cinna, yet despite the efforts of the Optio who had been knocked aside, the men who had grabbed the Septimus Pilus Prior pulled him deeper into the mob. As alarming as this was, we had our own troubles, because there were others among us that the men had decided to seize, one of them being another Centurion who was on Volusenus’ side but two men removed, except this Centurion, from the Ninth Cohort, having a heartbeat’s more warning, was attempting to draw his gladius, except that before he could, he was struck in the head…and he was not wearing a helmet. Meanwhile, the ranker who had attempted to tackle me had scrambled to his feet, but when he lunged again, it was Volusenus who, taking a short step in front of me, felled the man with one punch, made more impressive that it was with his left hand, and he was clutching his vitus as he did so. I would have thanked him, but another man launched his own wild swing at me, forcing me to turn my head, and while he missed, it was a much closer miss than the first attempt with the cudgel. Pandemonium reigned, the next span of time just a series of fleeting memories, composed of fragments of what happened, which I consider as the moment when the revolt of the 1st and 20th truly began. Honestly, I have no idea why I did not draw my gladius and begin laying into these men, despite them technically being part of the Roman army. All the anger and frustration, the causes of which ranged from the extension of enlistments, the excessive use of monetary fines, and if I am being honest, the drudgery of their lives for the previous four years, when instead of marching and avenging Varus and his Legions, they had been in garrison, which is never a good thing for fighting men – all of it came boiling out at this moment. Nevertheless, I will step into Charon’s boat certain that, without the agitation by those men of the emergency dilectus, like Publius Atilius Pusio, who were by far the angriest, most bitter, and frankly, the most experienced in agitating large groups of men, this revolt would not have happened. Only in retrospect did the scope of the mistake the Princeps made in the aftermath of the Varus disaster become clear, and it culminated in what was taking place at this moment. In effect, all the Princeps had done was to remove those men who had proven to be the ablest, most persistent troublemakers from the city of Rome…and transplanted them into the ranks of his Legions, where they merely continued their activities, finding a receptive audience in their comrades. None of this mattered in the moment; even if my heart was with the mutineers, we had to try to fight our way to the praetorium where, thanks to my height, I could see what I was certain was the entire complement of the Legate’s bodyguard, arrayed in full armor, with their weapons drawn, and protecting the headquarters tent.
“Follow me!” I bellowed, then using the combination of my vitus, my right fist, and the tricks I had been taught by Vulso in the art of fighting dirty, I pushed and shoved my way forward, with Volusenus protecting my right in the same manner.
There was certainly no way to tell at the time, although I heard later that, whether it was out of respect for my lineage, my size, or as I would like to believe, the reputation I had earned on my own, the men who stood in my path were clearly half-hearted in their attempts to stop me. Volusenus had not built enough of a reputation to be known by men from other Cohorts, or other Legions, but immediately afterward, he acknowledged he had experienced much the same thing. Personally
, I think it was not only his size, but the fact that he had knocked a man senseless with one blow and made it look easy that helped him keep up with my progress. The men behind us were not so fortunate; again, it was only putting it together later that we learned that, while nine of those men immediately behind us managed to maintain a tight enough cohesion with Volusenus and me that they made it with us to the tent, there was a separation between the last of these nine and the men immediately behind them. I was only dimly aware that something bad was happening, but I did not dare turn to look. The men in my path may not have been willing to fully commit themselves to attacking me, seeming to be content to make lunging feints, or in a couple of instances, poking the ends of their clubs in the general direction of my face, but there was still no way I was going to risk turning around to see what was happening.
Volusenus, however, did, because he shouted, “They just grabbed Sentius and an Optio!”
