by R. W. Peake
“This,” he said, and I could hear the anger there, “is from Regillensus. He says,” Sacrovir’s lips curled into a sneer, “it’s a safe conduct pass that will be recognized by any of the mutineers.”
This did not make sense to me, and I asked him, “But why would we need that just to get out of camp?”
“Because,” Sacrovir answered bitterly, “they’ve sent out patrols out into the surrounding area.”
“Patrols?” Asprenas broke in incredulously, and in this I was of a like mind. “For what?”
“To gather supplies,” Sacrovir answered. “At least,” he added, “that’s what Regillensus says they’re for, just to find food. But I’m willing to bet a thousand sesterces that they’ll be coming back with a lot more than just food.”
It took a moment for me to realize what he meant, but when I did, I felt my stomach twist.
“Women.” I breathed the word, to which he gave a grim nod.
“That’s my guess,” Sacrovir answered, “although when I pressed Regillensus, he wouldn’t admit as much. But he did give me a cac-eating grin. And,” he added with a touch of outraged indignation, “he winked at me. Like we were best fucking comrades! I swear on the black stone,” Sacrovir’s tone turned savage, “I’m going to gut that cocksucker.”
“We should tell the Legate,” Asprenas said, but when he turned to go, Sacrovir stopped him by assuring the Tribune that he would do that himself.
From his reaction, I got the strong sense that Asprenas was trying to delay, which was why I took it upon myself to thrust out my arm, just as Volusenus had done to me, saying, “We’ll be leaving now, Primus Pilus.”
“Mars and…” the Primus Pilus began what was our ritual before battle, then stopped himself with a self-conscious smile, “…actually, I don’t think that’s the proper blessing for this. Hopefully, neither of you will have to draw your gladius.” Suddenly, he seemed to realize how this might be taken by the Tribune, so he said hastily, “But, Tribune, if you do, Pullus here is the best man in the 1st with the gladius, and one of the best I’ve ever seen during my time under the standard.”
Rather than settle the youngster down, this only served to make him puff up, and he replied stiffly, “I thank you, Primus Pilus, but I can take care of myself, I assure you.”
I stifled a sigh, then, there was no more waiting. Before I stepped outside, I turned to see Macer, Alex, and Volusenus, along with the other Centurions of the Fourth, standing there watching us, and I gave them a brief wave, which they returned. Then, I led Asprenas out into the forum.
Chapter Six
While I was somewhat expecting some sort of ordeal exiting the camp, it was not for the reason I thought it would be. I had envisaged that the men would be sure to crowd us, moving out of the way slowly if at all, and otherwise enjoying exercising what had to be a heady feeling, of being the ones in complete control at the moment and doing everything they could to demonstrate their power. Although it did take some doing for Asprenas and me, each of us guiding our spare horse, to make our way from the forum towards the Porta Praetoria, and it was because there were men in the way, it was not because the men were surly. Simply put, it appeared that at least half of both Legions were drunk, and men were staggering about in the Cohort streets, acting more as if it was a festival than a mutiny. Fortunately, at that moment, Asprenas seemed content to allow me to lead the way, so I nudged my horse, a sturdy chestnut that I had chosen because of its size, through the throngs of men who were shouting, singing songs, and cursing anyone and everyone who wore the transverse crest. Honestly, it was somewhat amusing, since most of the time, these men had their backs turned as they boasted to their equally inebriated friends about what they would do if they had the chance to face a Centurion, any Centurion, man to man. Until, at least, the man facing my direction, seeing me coming, either shoved or grabbed his friend to turn him around to see, not only a Centurion, but a mounted one, a very large mounted one at that, and more than once, the comrade who had alerted the boasting man tried to convince the braggart to make good his threat to thrash anyone wearing the transverse crest. I was being careful not to get impatient, and was as gentle as possible guiding my horse through the crowd, not wanting to ignite some sort of incident, because I had absolutely no faith that waving a wax tablet would keep us out of trouble. Just one time did I stop, and that was because I spotted a man I knew, and he had already seen me. Stepping directly into my path was Pusio, holding a wineskin and sneering up at me, full of liquid courage, as insolent as always.
“Salve, Centurion!” he cried out with a gaiety that made it clear how much he was enjoying himself, which he confirmed, “It is a truly wonderful day, isn’t it?”
“It certainly seems to be for you.” I tried to keep my voice level and not betray any real emotion.
“That it is, that it is!” he crowed, then waved his wineskin around him at his fellow mutineers. “A glorious day for true citizens of Rome, when we reclaim our rights!” And, as I expected, the smile and false cheerfulness vanished as if it had never been there, and he pointed up at me as he snarled, “And you just may be one of those who we seek justice from!”
Now I knew that I could not afford to indulge my temper at this moment, but oh, it was difficult. Somehow, I managed, and making an exaggerated show that I was not moving towards him in an aggressive fashion, I walked my horse slowly up to him where he stood, glaring up at me.
“Pusio,” I did not raise my voice, nor did I particularly give it any inflection, “you and I are going to talk about this again. But right now, I have somewhere to be.”
Then, without waiting for an answer, I urged the horse on, and we continued through the camp. Finally, we made it to the gate, where one mystery was cleared up, albeit in a grisly fashion. It was Asprenas who noticed, just after we passed through the gate, and he happened to look down in the ditch.
“By the gods! Centurion! Centurion Pullus!”
His voice was sharp with alarm, and I whirled the horse about, my free hand dropping to my gladius, fully expecting that some of the mutineers had decided to come after us, but to my initial puzzlement, Asprenas was not looking back into the camp, but down into the ditch. Since I seriously doubted that there were men hiding there waiting to spring a trap, I was more curious than anything; I was certainly not prepared for the sight that met my eyes when I reached the Tribune’s side. Following his gaze, it took a moment for my mind to comprehend what I was seeing; there were easily two dozen men lying or sitting semi-upright in the ditch, all of them bloody. It was not as much the blood as it was the similarity of their wounds, all on the backs of these men that told me the story. Then, one of the men who was sitting upright, hunched over with his bleeding torn back already drawing flies, although the blood had dried, turned dull eyes up at us.
“Pilus Prior Sentius!” I gasped more than said his name, and then I was swinging down off my mount, dropping down into the ditch to hurry over to him.
“Salve, Pullus,” he croaked. “I’d get on my feet, but I don’t think I can.”
“What happened?” I asked, without thinking, then before I could stop myself, I went on, “I mean, after…”
Suddenly, I stopped, not even wanting to say it aloud, but it was even worse because his eyes were on my face, searching it for any hint of how I truly felt.
“After they did this?” He lifted a hand listlessly, weakly waving it in the direction of his back. “They dragged me out here and threw me in the ditch. They said,” for the first time, he showed some emotion, his eyes filling with tears which, while understandable, did not make me any more comfortable, “if I tried to come back into the camp, they’d kill me.” Then, more quickly than I would have imagined possible, a hand shot out and grabbed my arm with a surprising strength, as he whispered, “Where are you going, Pullus? Why did they let you leave?” When I told him why, a look of desperate hope came into his eyes, and he rasped, “Take me with you! I can ride!” He leaned slightly to look pa
st me, although even that caused a groan to escape from his lips, but with his other hand, he pointed up and exclaimed, “You have a spare horse! You can get me out of here!”
“Pilus Prior,” I tried to be gentle, “you’re in no condition to ride.”
“Just try me!” he shot back, a flash of anger that reminded me of the man who, perhaps two full watches before, had been the Secundus Pilus Prior of the 1st Legion. “I’ll show you! I can ride!” His voice cracked, and his body seemed to convulse, which turned into a wracking sob, as he begged me, “Please, Pullus! If you leave me here, I’ll die!”
“Take me too!”
“Don’t leave me!”
Within a heartbeat, the voices of the other wretches who had been dragged out and dumped into the ditch like so much refuse rang out, all of them crying to me for rescue. That was the moment I realized I had made a terrible error, yet there was no way for me to undo my action of dropping down into this ditch.
“I…I can’t,” I told Sentius. “We’re under orders, and we have to find Germanicus as quickly as possible. We can’t be slowed…”
“I said I won’t slow you down!” Sentius pleaded. “I swear it, Pullus!” I must confess I was tempted, but then Sentius said something that changed everything. Refusing to relinquish his hold on my arm, he lowered his voice and whispered urgently, “Pullus, I can pay you!”
“Pay me?” I had not been expecting this, but he clearly misinterpreted my confusion for interest.
“Yes!” He nodded emphatically. “I can pay you! Fifty thousand sesterces! I’ll have my plutocrat hand you the money the instant we get back to Ubiorum!”
I was flabbergasted, so much so that I could only dumbly repeat, “Fifty thousand sesterces?”
Once more mistaking me, now there was no hesitation as he said, “All right, one hundred thousand!”
“How,” I asked, more to give me a moment to think, “could you possibly have that much money?” I got my answer, not verbally; nevertheless, it was in an unmistakable fashion, as the sudden look of guilt flashed across the Pilus Prior’s face, and in the span of a breath, everything fell into place. “You’ve been extorting your men?” I gasped, still not quite believing it. “Your own Cohort?”
Perhaps, just perhaps, if he had maintained his composure, had denied it, I might have at least dragged him out of the ditch and helped him in some way, but instantly. his face changed, his mouth twisting into a sneer as he snapped, “Oh, don’t play games with me, Pullus! You,” he jabbed a finger up in the direction of my face, “of all people!” My face must have registered my surprise, which he once again mistook, because he went on, “Oh, I know how rich you are! Everyone knows it! And you’re trying to tell me that someone with as much money as you didn’t earn it the same way I did?”
I could not trust myself to speak immediately, taking a deep breath instead before shaking my head, and telling him, “I didn’t do anything like that. I didn’t have to,” I hurried on before he could offer a retort, “because my Avus earned it, the honest way. And, he passed it on to my father, who passed it on to me.”
Now I recoiled at the idea of this man touching me, and I yanked my arm from his grasp, and without another word, I turned to walk away. He made a lunge for my legs, but I had anticipated this and stepped lightly out of his reach, causing him to let out a frustrated half-snarl, half-groan.
“Don’t you leave me, Pullus!” he shouted, but I still did not respond, climbing up out of the ditch, where Asprenas, looking more bemused than anything, still sat his horse.
I did not say anything to the Tribune, simply threw myself into the saddle, and without a backward glance, urged my horse forward. We could hear not just Sentius, but several of the men, screaming at us as we departed, cursing us to all manner of torments for deserting them, and I wondered how many of the men in that ditch were actually like Sentius, and to what degree. Their voices faded quickly enough, but I was not in the mood for conversation after that, and thankfully, Asprenas was wise enough not to try. Either that or, more likely, he did not relish the idea of having to speak to a man of my class.
Only once did we run into one of those patrols Sacrovir had warned us about, and just as he had predicted, along with the livestock and sacks of grain, there were a half-dozen women with them, all of them bound and, in our manner, roped together by the neck. Thankfully, the commander of this bunch, wearing a filthy tunic with a white Optio’s stripe, was not a man I recognized from our Legion, and he confirmed that he was with the 20th. If I had run across someone from my own Legion, and he had been an Optio or, even worse, a Centurion, I knew myself well enough to know that I would be unable to show the kind of restraint I had with Pusio, especially if it was Structus.
After perusing the tablet with an almost comical slowness, he handed it back, then nodded his head at Asprenas, asking, “I suppose he’s the one carrying our demands?”
“I am,” the Tribune answered stiffly, though he did not say anything else.
“Maybe,” the Optio, who looked like one of those men who always bear the appearance of needing a bath, even after they have just stepped out of one, “I should take a look at that list, and see what’s what.” He grinned up at me, showing a mouth missing its share of teeth. “Just to make sure that the boys back in camp didn’t forget anything.”
“You will do no such thing!” Asprenas snapped, and this time, I could not stifle a groan.
“Says who?” the Optio sneered. “You? Apparently, you’ve forgotten something, boy. You being a Tribune isn’t worth a mound of cac anymore. We,” he made an expansive gesture at his comrades, numbering about a half-Century, although I assumed that there were more men about, probably searching a nearby farm, “are the ones in command here. So,” he pointed directly at the Tribune, “if I say you get down off that horse and give me that fucking list, you’ll do it!”
Sensing that matters were rapidly spinning out of control, I spoke up, but I did not address the Optio.
“What do you boys think?” I called out, trying to be genial. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to delay us? We’re on our way to Germanicus, just like Regillensus said. And the quicker we get there, the quicker Germanicus comes and gives you what you want.” Giving an elaborate shrug, I jerked my thumb at Asprenas, saying, “Now, no doubt the Optio here is right. If you want the Tribune here to give you that scroll, and he doesn’t want to, I know you can make him. But,” I warned, “I’m going to have to try and stop you.” Taking a bit of a gamble, I asked, “Do you all know who I am?” Some men nodded, others muttered something, but I could see that they all recognized me, and I made sure to keep my voice at a conversational level, as if we were just swapping tales around the fire. “Now, how many men do you think I could kill before you got me?” I made a show of looking around, as if counting them, and I was gratified to see some lips being licked and a fair amount of nervous shuffling. “Five? Six? Maybe ten? And,” I pressed, “at the end of it all, what will you have to show for it? Germanicus won’t get your demands for the gods know how many days before Regillensus figures out that we didn’t make it to him. I don’t know about you,” the chuckle sounded forced, which it was, “but I’d hate to be one of those men who let their comrades down, all because this one,” I pointed down at the Optio, who was scowling up at me, “needs to show he can make a Tribune do anything he wants.”
“He’s right, Macrianus,” one of the rankers called out. “I say we let them get on their way.”
This was instantly echoed by most of the others, and the Optio, knowing he was outmaneuvered, tossed the tablet back up to me, gave a disgusted wave, and walked away, letting us resume our journey. Once we got past this one group of mutineers, our progress was swift, as we only stopped to switch out the horses. We rode through the night, although at a much slower pace, arriving on the opposite bank from Ubiorum shortly after dawn. As we waited for the bridge to be drawn across, which had become a very smooth and relatively quick process, I faced my
first challenge with Asprenas.
“We’re going to rest here until midday,” Asprenas announced.
“That’s,” I replied carefully, “not what our orders say, Tribune. We,” I repeated from memory, “are to make the best time possible to reach Germanicus.”
“We must rest,” Asprenas insisted. Seeing I was not moved, he said, “We need to rest the horses, at least.”
“We’re switching out the horses,” I replied, thinking of Latobius, waiting in his private stable that I paid the immune in charge of the horse pen a fair amount for, “and we’ll get something to eat. Then,” I turned to look him in the eye, “we keep going.”
Asprenas opened his mouth, then shut it, opened it again, before finally breaking his gaze and muttering something that, while I could not hear it clearly, I took for assent. By this point, the bridge had been drawn across, and we guided our horses onto the wooden surface. Once across, we moved up the road from the river at a trot, reaching the camp gates, whereupon we had to undergo the process of recognition when anyone approaches not knowing the watchword. Thankfully, the Centurion of auxiliaries who had the watch immediately recognized me and waved me in, and we headed in the direction of the stables. I wasted no time, telling the immune to go bring Latobius to me, along with spare mounts, while Asprenas selected another horse to go along with his own, and while I was tempted to intervene and insist that he leave his personal mount as well, I relented, for two reasons. The first, and most important was that he had been riding the spare for the last part of this leg to Ubiorum, but also, I had observed Asprenas and the manner in which he treated his personal mount, and I understood why it was important to him. After all, here I was drawing my own personal mount, and when he was led around the corner, his ears already up and forward, telling me that he had caught my scent, despite the circumstances, I felt my spirits rise. With a quick toss of his head, he yanked the lead rope out of the immune’s hand and broke into a trot heading straight for me, beginning what had become a game between us as he appeared to have every intention of running me down, then with a nimbleness that had saved my life more than once, came to a stop as he lowered his head to thrust it into my chest, whereupon he immediately thrust his velvet nose into the folds of my tunic around my baltea, since I had doffed my armor once I was certain we were out of danger from the patrolling mutineers.
