by R. W. Peake
Closing my eyes, not wanting to look them in the face, I opened my mouth, yet it was Domitius who spoke first, saying quickly, “Titus, wait!” Opening my eyes, I looked at him, except he was not returning my gaze but was facing Catonius, and he said, “Before Pullus tells you what I think he’s going to tell you. Which,” he added forcefully, “should convince you that he knows what he’s talking about, I’m demanding that both of you take an oath on your eagles that you won’t ever utter a word of what he’s going to tell you. To anyone.”
For men under the standard, there is only one oath that is more binding than the one that we swear on the black stone of Jupiter, and that is on the eagle standard of our Legion, which told both Catonius and Clemens, in some ways even more than what I was about to say, how important it was to my friend.
Catonius shook his head, his mouth turning down into a frown. “I don’t know that I’m willing to swear an oath when I don’t know what he’s going to say.”
“That’s the only way I’m letting him tell you,” Domitius replied immediately.
Catonius did not seem inclined to agree, then Clemens, for one of the few times, spoke up, “Quintus, has Domitius ever lied to us? Or when he told us something is important, has he ever been wrong?”
“No,” Catonius admitted, and I was gratified to see the obvious respect both men held for my former close comrade, with whom I had shared so much. Taking a breath, he nodded and said, “Very well, I swear it.” He addressed me, “Nothing you say will leave this tent, ever.”
I spoke for the next several moments, and in an odd way, it felt…good, I suppose, to finally say aloud what I had kept to myself for so many years, although I did not go into any real detail for the most part, with one exception. Truly, I cannot say why I did so, but it seemed important that I relate the first time Tiberius, through Dolabella, of course, sent me on one of his “errands,” as the spymaster called them, leaving nothing out, including how I felt afterward. Perhaps I just wanted to convince them that it had been against my will, that I took no pleasure in what I had done; more likely, I was trying to convince myself, since I had long before stuck this memory in a compartment of my mind and had not thought about it until this moment. By the time I was finished, I was hoarse, and Catonius and Clemens were regarding me with expressions that I had not seen on either man during our short association, but it was Domitius who I was most concerned with, yet when I glanced over at him, I was not prepared for the look of, if not pride, then a sort of satisfaction, which seemed confirmed when he gave me a nod and a faint smile.
“Well,” Catonius broke the silence, “you were right, Domitius. I’m convinced. But,” his face turned glum, “that leaves us back where we started. If we can’t use Drusus. And,” he held up a hand, although none of us objected, “I now agree that’s something I’m not willing to do…” He paused, then admitted, “…I’m willing to sacrifice myself to get what we deserve. But my family? That I can’t do. But,” Catonius continued, “this has all been for nothing if we can’t convince Tiberius we’re serious in some way.”
This compelled me to speak up, and I assured him, “Believe me, he takes it seriously. He showed that by sending his two sons here and to the Rhenus. And,” I pointed out, “while I can’t say I know Tiberius intimately, I know him well enough to know that he’s aware of the possibility we’ll do what we’ve been talking about. He’s a hard man to figure out, but I do know he loves his sons. At least,” I amended with a grim smile, “he loves the one that’s sitting in the praetorium here. Germanicus, I’m not so sure about.”
The other three men seemed to accept my words, and there was a long silence.
Then, Domitius suddenly turned towards me and asked, “All right, Titus. What do we do?”
This caught me by surprise, although it should not have, but I wanted no part of being involved in a decision that ultimately did not impact me personally, aside from the fate of my friend. And, I freely confess, it was with Domitius in mind that I answered at all.
“I think that you’re going to have to allow Drusus to leave the camp and take your demands back to Tiberius.”
“We already allowed that with Blaesus’ boy,” Catonius argued, yet there was no real heat in his words, and I could see that, like the other two men, he was exhausted from this ordeal. “And nothing came of it.”
“No,” I agreed, “but Blaesus’ son isn’t Tiberius’ son. And,” I pointed in the general direction of the praetorium, “I suspect that young Drusus is frightened out of his mind right about now.”
“He’s not the only one,” Clemens muttered, and while it was not that funny, just the manner in which he said it, coupled with the fatigue and tension caused uproarious laughter, in which I joined as heartily as the others.
Once our mirth subsided, there was a silence, then Domitius said, “All right, Titus. You can go back to the praetorium and let Drusus know that he’s going to be allowed to leave to return to his father the Imperator, and that we will abide by whatever he decides. And,” Domitius indicated Clemens, “we do ask that Clemens here be allowed to accompany Drusus as our representative.”
Since this clearly did not surprise Clemens, it told me that they had at least planned for this possibility. When I nodded my agreement, Domitius took that as a signal and stood up, as did I, and we embraced, though I do not really know why, since I was certain I would see him before we departed.
“What about Percennius?” I thought to ask. “What if he’s not willing to agree to this?”
Domitius did not answer me, directly at least, turning his only eye to Catonius, who was the one to speak, giving me what might have been a smile but looked more like a grimace. “Percennius has outlived his usefulness.” His tone was matter-of-fact, and I also took this as an indication that the matter of the actor had been decided beforehand as well. “He’ll be dealt with shortly. By the time the sun rises, Percennius and his bunch won’t stop Drusus from leaving the camp.”
I was about to ask another question, then thought better of it, deciding that the less I knew the better, not for my own sake but for that of Domitius, and to a lesser extent, Catonius and Clemens, who seemed to be good officers who wanted the best for their men. Without saying anything more, I left the tent and made my way back to the praetorium, aided by the now total darkness and the fact that the torches still were not lit. The uproar we had heard, of which I did not yet know the cause, had died down, leaving the steady humming of men talking, but my ears told me that the sound was not coming solely from the forum, but from the surrounding tents, a sign that things were calming down and the mutineers, who, after all, were mortal men like the rest of us, were tired and at least some of them were retiring for the night. I was certain that whoever was commanding the armed men guarding the camp had organized matters more than Percennius had with his segment of mutineers, so that there would be a rotating shift along the walls, making it unlikely that Sejanus would try an assault under the cover of darkness. Or so I hoped, at any rate, but it was the thought of the Praetorian that made me realize I had forgotten to ask about who was in command of the armed Legionaries, and if whoever it was belonged to Percennius, or answered to the triumvirate of my friend and the other two Centurions. It was a troubling thought, and I considered turning around and going back to find out, since I was certain that I would be asked, but then I realized that I needed to trust Titus Domitius, who had clearly been skilled enough to avoid being identified as one of the ringleaders. If that had been a concern, I told myself, he would have warned me; still, it was a nagging thought as I reached the slit in the back of the tent, stopping a few paces away just to observe and listen for any sound that might indicate someone was inside Blaesus’ quarters, waiting for whoever might choose to come through the hole. I counted to a hundred, but heard or sensed nothing suspicious; nevertheless, I considered drawing my gladius but quickly discarded the notion, thinking that a shadowy figure sneaking into the praetorium through a slit someone had made wit
h a gladius in their hand would be hard to explain, no matter who I was. Still, I did keep my thumb tucked in my baltea, putting my hand near the hilt as I stepped through, then stopped just inside for a moment, halfway expecting the sudden rush of air and sound of feet on the carpeted wooden floor as men came rushing at me. Thankfully, that did not happen, and when I made my way out of Blaesus’ private quarters, through his private office, then out into the large room, nobody even bothered to turn and look in my direction, causing my legs to begin shaking from the sudden relief. Of course, the fact that everyone was still occupied chattering about Lentulus leaving the praetorium and the speculation of what had happened to him, based just on the sounds the occupants had heard, meant their attention was elsewhere. Circling around close to the wall, I moved until I saw Dolabella, who was engaged in a discussion with Galens and the other two Primi Pili of the 9th and 15th, surrounded by a small number of Centurions, all of them listening intently to whatever Dolabella was saying. I did not want to just walk up, since it would engender questions about my whereabouts from the others that I had no wish to answer, so I had to wait until Dolabella stopped talking, then tried catching his eye. Which, as I had learned many years ago, could be a confusing task, since I always forgot which of his eyes was the good one. This delay turned out to be fortuitous, because I spotted a lean figure on the outer edge of the small crowd, recognizing the man immediately just by the manner in which he carried himself. Maneuvering around the others, I had hoped to catch Appius Asinius by surprise, but as always, that proved to be fruitless.
His expression was essentially the one I remembered him wearing every time he regarded me; a combination of a bit of amusement and a large portion of what I had only learned over time was worry about me, which he confirmed when he spoke first. “Galens told me that you were around here somewhere tripping over your feet.” With an exaggerated shake of his head, he said, “I should have known that somehow you’d find yourself right in the middle of all this cac.”
“I’m not the one trapped in a fucking tent,” I shot back, but it was with a smile that I felt certain would split my face. “I can come and go as I please.”
“So can I,” he retorted, then returned my smile for the first time, “at least if I have someone following me to the latrine.”
I was not content with a gripping of arms, although we started out that way, then I pulled him in for a hug, which he returned, and despite his normally laconic demeanor, I could see he was as pleased as I was to be reunited, however briefly.
“Galens told me why you’re here,” he offered, for which I was thankful, since I had become tired of explaining myself. “And,” he lowered his voice, “I know you went to see Domitius.”
This I did not even attempt to deny, yet somewhat to my surprise, Asinius did not ask me anything about it.
“Do you still have that horse?” Asinius asked, with a completely straight face, although I suspected that Galens might have put him up to it.
“Yes,” I sighed, “I still have Latobius.”
“Then you might want to get on him and get out of here,” Asinius said quietly, except this time, I did not get the feeling that he was indulging in his normally mordant sense of humor, and when I looked him in the eye, I knew he was serious.
It is difficult to describe what it feels like when someone who you hold in as high a regard as I did Asinius was, even these many years later, trying to look after my best interests, which all began when my father extracted Corvinus’ promise to do whatever he could to protect me. Appius Asinius, who I was not altogether surprised to see had not aged, especially compared to Galens, had been given that task by Corvinus, when I was a Tirone assigned to his section.
Since I did not know what to say, as always, I made light of it, joking, “And what? Miss all this excitement?”
The look Asinius gave me was one I immediately recalled as one he had given me often, both as my Sergeant, then as my Optio, one of resignation at my determination to take the hardest possible road I could find.
“Well,” for the first time he gave me the glimmer of a smile, “if you’re going to be stupid, I can’t say I’m not happy to see you.”
“How bad has it been, really?” I asked him, but like Galens, he insisted, “Not nearly as bad as it could have been. And,” he gave me a direct look, “that’s thanks in large part to Domitius.” He hesitated for a moment, then said cryptically, “I hope you say something to your friend that works for Tiberius and let him know that.”
Although my initial reaction was one of surprise, I quickly realized that it should not have been; Appius Asinius was not only one of the most intelligent men I knew, he had a shrewd insight into others that I had long before learned meant that it was next to impossible to hide anything from him.
“I already have,” I assured him, once I had recovered myself a bit.
Even as I said this, I saw Dolabella scan the room and look in my direction, though he did not stop talking, just giving me a curt nod as he finished whatever he was saying.
“Speaking of,” I told Asinius, “I think he’s done talking, and I need to tell him something.”
Asinius did not appear surprised, but when he thrust his arm out again, for the first time, he gave me a smile, saying only, “I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but that’s never worked before, so I won’t waste my breath now.”
As I am sure he hoped, this made me laugh, then after a clap on the shoulder and a promise to talk again before I left, I turned to where Dolabella had extricated himself and was making his way over to where I was standing, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. Before I did so, I asked him about the uproar that was now about a third of a watch earlier, which was when he informed me about Lentulus, and his suspicion that a straying wife was the real cause for the old man to show the fortitude to just try and walk out of the camp.
“So what’s the situation?” Dolabella asked, and I briefly explained the outcome of what had been decided. When I was through, he closed his eyes, exhaling a huge sigh of relief, then his expression sharpened, and he asked, “But what about Percennius? Did he agree to this? He left the forum a while ago, so I assumed he was meeting with…others.” Dolabella’s tone turned careful, and I was certain that it was because he had been about to utter a name that would have complicated matters for me a great deal.
While we never discussed it afterward, I am certain that Dolabella and I were engaging in a very delicate dance with each other, both of us careful not to lay bare a situation that would force me to openly choose sides in a way that would come to the attention of more than just Tiberius’ spymaster. It is another reason that I know now that his change of heart and attitude towards serving our new Imperator was genuine.
“No,” I answered him, “he didn’t go meet with anyone…important,” I settled on that word, “concerning what’s going on.” Realizing I had not actually answered his original question, I went on, “But he’s not going to stop Drusus from leaving. Provided,” I warned, “that we keep the Proconsul here until sunrise.”
Dolabella, rather than seeming pleased at that, sighed again, but it was not out of dissatisfaction as he glanced over his shoulder where, following his gaze, I saw that Drusus was now standing, still surrounded by a combination of Tribunes, bodyguards, and some Centurions.
“That,” Dolabella replied, “is going to be difficult. The moment that ruckus happened after Lentulus left, Drusus decided he wanted to leave. They’ve been trying to talk him out of it ever since, but,” he indicated the knot of men, “they aren’t making much progress.”
“Then you need to tell him that it’s been arranged that he can leave, unharmed, but he just needs to wait a while longer,” I told him.
“I’ll try,” he sounded doubtful, then he looked up at me, the lines of concern making the already deep grooves in his face appear even deeper, “but what if I can’t and he decides to go ahead and do it? What do you think happens then?”
“Nothin
g good,” was all I could answer. We stood for a moment, sharing in the concern, and I suppose that it was what prompted me to mutter, “If you think it will do any good, I’ll go over there with you.”
Dolabella was clearly surprised, and I could see, touched, but then he frowned and shook his head, pointing out, “Pullus, if you do that, he’s going to want to know how you can be so certain. And that means you’re going to have to…”
He trailed off, though he did not need to finish, because I knew not only what he was going to say, but that he was correct. So I do not know who was more surprised between the two of us when, instead of answering, I just started walking towards Drusus, knowing that Dolabella would follow. And, I was certainly prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep Drusus from making matters worse, even if it would force me to divulge my source of information. Fortunately, it never came to that, because it was at this moment that an event occurred, similar to one that had taken place many years earlier, when I was a new Optio and we executed a night attack on the rebelling Taurisci, along the shores of a lake far to the north of where we were at the moment. Both nights, there were men convinced that this was some sort of act on the part of the gods, expressing their displeasure over our actions; that night on the lake, however, it did not stop us from doing our duty. This night, it averted a catastrophe and, in the process, ended the mutiny of the Pannonian Legions.
The first indication that yet one more thing had gone amiss was a sudden and sharp increase in noise out in the forum, where men who had either chosen not to sleep or could not because of the tension were still gathered. It was not a huge crowd, numbering perhaps a thousand men, but when that many either gasp aloud, make some sort of exclamation, or what I discerned to be the most common, offer up a prayer to the gods, it is impossible not to hear it. The occupants of the tent, which was much brighter than would be normal for this hour because of the extra lamps lit, had more or less the same reaction, although manifested in different ways, a combination of concern and unease. Which, while I had not been there for the actual event, I could easily understand when the affair with Lentulus had occurred just a bit earlier. Before there could be any kind of an organized reaction, however, the tent flap was thrust open, and one of the fully armed Legionaries entered, but while he was an Optio, it was not the same man who had tried to bar my entry earlier, telling me that they had been relieved. Since I was already walking in Drusus’ direction, who was immediately surrounded by the four Germans, I continued moving so that the Optio and I arrived at roughly the same time.
