by R. W. Peake
The truth was that neither man was particularly surprised at Iras' reaction; it was to be expected from a mother, and the two men exchanged an amused glance.
"I would just point out that Ocelus is in his dotage now, and from everything Simeon tells me, he's in excellent health, physically at least. But his days of jumping every fence, hedge, or ditch he comes across are behind him, I'm afraid. Besides," now Diocles' voice took on a shade of sadness, "he somehow understands that Titus is gone, I'm sure of it. Because he's been acting very melancholy, to the point that Simeon thinks that he will just...fade away. Unless," he made sure he was looking Iras in the eyes, "he has some reason to live longer. And we both know how much young Master loves Ocelus. For what it's worth, I think Ocelus loves him. At least," he amended, "as much as a beast can love."
Iras shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and she broke Diocles' gaze to stare down at the table a moment before muttering, "Well. That's different, I suppose."
"What's the other condition?" Porcinus asked quietly, now that he saw his wife had capitulated.
"That young Master come to Arelate himself to bring Ocelus back to his home," Diocles answered. "Not," he raised his hand in a placating gesture, "alone, of course. In fact, I would be happy to escort not just young Master, but all of you back to Arelate. After all, the villa is quite empty, except for us."
Diocles was secretly amused that the husband and wife wore similar expressions; jaws dropped, surprise clear for anyone to see. They exchanged a glance, and in that way that husbands and wives have, held an entire conversation in the space of time it took to look in each other's eyes.
"I do have some leave time coming," Porcinus broke the shocked silence.
Iras didn't say anything, instead letting out a brief, sharp squeal of delight that she tried to cut off by clamping her hand over her mouth. It was too late; the trio heard the distinctive rustling sound as the children, or at least the two oldest, roused themselves and came stumbling into the room, their eyes still slanted and swollen from sleep.
"What is it?" Titus demanded, suddenly alert and shooting a suspicious glance from his parents to Diocles.
He knew Diocles well, yet he and the Greek had a somewhat awkward relationship, but it was due more to the fact that Diocles didn't really know how to act with children than any dislike on the part of either of them.
Porcinus and Iras looked at each other, but Iras ceded to her husband the joy of making the announcement.
"Diocles just told us something that's very important." Porcinus' tone was grave, and he instantly regretted it because of the look of sudden fear in his son's eyes. "But it's good news," he hastily added, cursing himself for not thinking about how the boy would take such a portentous pronouncement.
"Well? What is it?" Titus demanded, the suspicion only partially dissipated, but the excitement of a surprise now the dominant emotion in his voice.
"Your Avus loved you very much. You know that, don't you?" Porcinus asked his son, and again cursed himself, because the mention of the man Titus had always thought of as his grandfather threatened a new round of tears. Porcinus was punished by a kick under the table form Iras, so he plunged on. "Of course you do. Well, he was worried about Ocelus, and who would take care of him. Simeon does a good enough job, but…" Porcinus' voice trailed off, and he gave a shrug.
Titus' expression had changed as rapidly as his father spoke, although he tried hard to rein in his hopes, which even so, were soaring.
"Your Avus wanted you to come to Arelate, and bring Ocelus back here to Siscia. This is his home, after all," Porcinus finished, but his last sentence was almost drowned out by Titus' shout of joy.
Not surprisingly, this roused the other two children, although the youngest, Miriam, was still a babe in arms. Suddenly, the house was filled with the babble of children's voices, and the lower tones of their parents as they tried to calm them down, to no avail.
"I wish I could, but we've just received orders," Sextus Vettus, the Primus Pilus of the 8th and Porcinus' immediate commander told his Quartus Pilus Prior. "There's some sort of mischief going on northwest of here, with the Rhaeti and Vindelici. Apparently, they've revolted, and we're on alert."
This didn't really surprise Porcinus; there are no real secrets in the army, and word had been rumbling with the men in the ranks for a few weeks that something was stirring with these people. The rankers had heard it from the townspeople, and Porcinus had long since learned that this informal network was more efficient, and accurate, than anything that emanated from Rome itself. Still, he was disappointed, but Porcinus knew better than to show it.
"Any idea if and when we move?" he asked Vettus.
The older man considered for a moment, weighing whether or not to answer, but he quickly decided that it would do no harm. He had known Porcinus ever since he had been brought into the 8th by the then-Prefect Titus Pullus, and while in the beginning Vettus had been sure that this youngster was being foisted on him by an over-involved uncle, Porcinus had quickly proven his initial impression wrong. Serving as his own Optio, Vettus had seen that there was iron in this young man's soul. Since then, Porcinus had never disappointed him, proving to be reliable, and while he was a bit soft for Vettus' taste, he was nevertheless an effective leader.
"If we do, probably not for at least a month, but not much longer than that," Vettus answered. Looking down at the tablet in front of him, he grunted. "It looks like Augustus' stepson Tiberius is going to be given the command, if it proves to be necessary." Knowing and trusting Porcinus, Vettus didn't mince his words. "Only the gods know if he's going to be worth an amphora of his own piss. Most of these nobles aren't."
Porcinus understood that Vettus was thinking back to the last major campaign in which the 8th participated, the ill-fated Primus expedition into Thrace. Since then, while there had been a number of punitive actions against the tribes in Pannonia, most of whom had proven to be quite resistant to the idea that they were now under the dominion of Rome, these operations had been of a short duration. Only twice had both of the Legions stationed in Siscia been sent out to quell local uprisings; otherwise, it had been Cohort-sized actions. In every one of these operations, the quality of the Tribunes assigned to the Legion had been widely varying, but they had been lucky in their Legate, Marcus Lucius Drusus Libo, who had just been announced as one of the two Consuls for the upcoming year. However, it had been more than eighteen months since the Legion had last marched into anything that could be called offensive operations, which meant that it was inevitable that the rust had to be knocked off the Legion. In some cases, that meant literally; despite preventive measures to keep their equipment in the best condition possible, torsion ropes would need replacement, the wooden bodies of the scorpions checked for cracks, along with an assortment of other tasks. While it wasn't likely that any of the javelins or swords stored in the long, low warehouses had actually rusted, both Centurions knew from experience that no matter how many conditioning marches they had conducted, the accumulated flab from the soft living of garrison life when compared to an actual campaign had to be burned off. Both men had experienced occasions when they were forced to march themselves, and their Centuries, into condition that would be considered battle-worthy for a Legion of Rome, and neither of them wanted to repeat that experience.
All of this summed up to one simple fact; Gaius Porcinus wasn't going with his family to Arelate. Iras took it as he had expected; not well, but he suspected there was still quite a bit of residual disappointment left over from the news about his and their children's status, so it was understandable. Titus, on the other hand, barely acknowledged the fact that his father wouldn't be going with them, which hurt Porcinus, although he hid it from the boy. His father understood the level of barely suppressed excitement that Titus was experiencing at the prospect of not only a trip, but returning with what would be the boy's first serious possession that would be his and his alone. Still, even if he wouldn't admit it, even to Iras, this sign of T
itus' growing independence stung Porcinus, but he had the consolation of the other children, or at least the two who were old enough to understand that a separation was about to happen. Diocles would be escorting them back, yet while Porcinus knew the Greek would defend Porcinus' family with his life, the Centurion preferred to take steps that would make that unnecessary. One of the benefits of living in a military town was that there were men, hard men, available for work that profited from the experience they had earned under the standard. It was just a case of going into the town proper, and entering one of the many wineshops; Porcinus selected Mars' Delight, primarily because he knew the man who ran it, a former Centurion from his own Legion who had lost an arm during the Primus campaign. It didn't stop the man from operating a tightly run wineshop, although there was an edge of bitterness to him that meant on those rare occasions when Porcinus went out on the town with his fellow Centurions, he found being in the man's company a bit uncomfortable.
"Salve, Gaius Porcinus." The one-armed man wore the proprietor's false smile, but perhaps it was a shade warmer for his old comrade.
"Salve, Sextus Frugi," Porcinus replied, accustomed to the awkwardness of having to offer his left arm to clasp instead of the right.
"And what brings the Quartus Pilus Prior of the 8th Legion out? In the afternoon, even?" Frugi asked, but there wasn't anything in his question that gave Porcinus pause.
It was, after all, a sensible question, which Porcinus answered honestly.
"I'm looking for at least one good man, for a short period of work. Preferably two."
"Doing what?"
Porcinus proceeded to explain the trip his family was about to take. To his disappointment, Frugi didn't seem that enthused, and Porcinus was beginning to wonder if he had wasted his time.
Therefore, it was almost an afterthought when he added, "The main point is to allow my son to bring Ocelus back here to live."
Frugi visibly started.
"Ocelus?" he repeated. "Wasn't that your uncle's horse's name?"
Porcinus laughed. "That's the one."
Frugi's expression changed subtly, and he said, "Then that's a different matter altogether! If your family is going all that way, and it's to bring Ocelus back, then I can definitely help you!"
Porcinus had always been vaguely aware that the massive gray stallion of Pullus' was fairly well known, but he had always assumed that it was strictly because of his association with his adoptive father. He learned that day this was only partially true.
"It was back when we were taking Naissus the second time, after that fat bastard Primus was relieved and we were marching back to Siscia," Frugi explained when Porcinus asked why he was so familiar with a horse. "You remember that?"
Porcinus nodded; he indeed remembered it, because he had won his second corona murales as a Centurion of the Sixth Century of the Seventh Cohort. Frugi's mention of Naissus immediately summoned the memory of what had been in most ways a horrible day, one of blood, toil, and death, even if it was one in which he had distinguished himself and been rewarded for it.
"Well, our Cohort was the one that had the vanguard that day when our First Century was ambushed after they crossed the river. Remember?”
Porcinus, in fact, did recall this; the army was returning back to Siscia after what had been an extremely unprofitable campaign. Directly in the line of march stood the town of Naissus, which had already been assaulted five years earlier under Marcus Crassus. In all likelihood, the memory of that assault had been what spurred a force of perhaps three hundred warriors to ambush the Century leading the army, just after the Century had crossed the river. There had been no expectation of any kind of hostilities, so the surprise was total, and the advance Century had been savaged, not only suffering heavy casualties, but the loss of their standard.
"I saw your uncle's horse kill at least three of those Moesian cunni on his own, while your uncle was waving both his swords around like he was in the arena, except he was on the back of that horse! Ocelus kicked one's head in; it happened while we were crossing the river and your uncle and some of the Tribunes had galloped ahead of us. By the time we got to that side of the river, your uncle had gutted a half-dozen of the bastards, but then I saw Ocelus kick a man square in the chest and it sent him flying a good dozen paces! Then he reared and came down on another man and his head burst like a melon!" Frugi laughed at the memory, and Porcinus was smiling as well. "I'd never seen anything like it before. Well, you know the rest. We got them sorted out right quick."
Porcinus nodded his head, remembering the sounds of the cornu that had sounded down the column. His own Cohort hadn't been anywhere near the front, and the battle itself was short, if bloody. It was the aftermath, when Pullus announced that they would be punishing the city for harboring the men who had attacked them in such a cowardly fashion that impacted Porcinus more than this initial action. He was the first into the breach of the city wall, after it had been undermined, during a night assault, a rarity in itself. Then Porcinus thought of something.
"Wait, I thought you said Ocelus killed three men?"
Frugi's eyes widened and, for an instant, Porcinus thought he had caught Frugi out in embellishing an old soldier's story, which wasn't of any moment, but Frugi surprised him.
"He did! You remember that cunnus I mentioned he kicked in the chest? Well, as we came running up, I saw the bastard lying there, and I thought I'd end him, because I assumed the same thing you did, that at worst he had a few broken ribs. But when I got to him, his chest was caved in! It's true he was just wearing a leather cuirass, but still, I could have poured a tent section's whole pot of porridge into his chest!"
Porcinus expressed what he believed was the proper amount of admiration at Frugi's story, then politely steered the old soldier back to the purpose of his visit. By the time they were through, Porcinus was well pleased with the results, procuring the services of two men, both of whom he knew. One he knew quite well; Tiberius Libo had once been in Porcinus' Century, but when he lost his left hand and part of his arm when Porcinus' Cohort had been on detached duty and was attacked during one of the local uprisings that were such a prominent feature of being stationed in Pannonia, he had been cashiered. Fortunately, the kind of bodyguard work that Porcinus was offering didn't require the use of a shield, and Libo was one of the better men with a sword that Porcinus knew. More importantly, Libo had been one of the Legionaries that doted on young Titus when he was toddling around, and while Porcinus wasn't fooled, knowing that Libo was trying to curry favor with his Centurion, he could see that Libo was genuinely fond of the boy. That could only help if something happened on the way to Arelate. The other man Porcinus didn't know as well personally, but he was a veteran of the 13th who had opted to enjoy the fruits of retirement after one enlistment. Unfortunately, he was a much better fighter than gambler, and despite the tidy sum of money that he had earned through bonuses and loot, he not only found he needed employment, if the truth were known, he was bored. That was what brought Quintus Gallus into Porcinus' service, and while neither man worked cheaply, Diocles had brought what amounted as five years' worth of pay, sewn into the lining of his cloak, that was just a fraction of what remained of Pullus' fortune. It was still strange for Porcinus to think that he was a wealthy man, but at moments like this, he had to admit that it was a good feeling knowing that he could afford to provide this level of security for his family and peace of mind for himself, without it being a drain on his resources. With this detail taken care of, Porcinus returned to his duties, whistling a marching tune.
Porcinus' family departed for Arelate a week later, leaving in the pre-dawn darkness in a cart loaded with the younger children and all the necessary baggage for what would be a trip that took a month just to get there, at least that was the hope. Because it was still early in the year, a sea crossing, while quicker, was inherently more dangerous, which was something that neither Porcinus nor Iras was willing to risk with their family, a fact that neither of them communica
ted to the others and would serve to cause problems later. There would be a short passage by boat from Mediolanum to Placentia, but it would be by river, which wasn't a sufficient hazard that it needed to be avoided. Porcinus hugged and kissed the three smaller children, but when he came to Titus, who was sitting on the bench of the cart next to Diocles in the place of honor, relegating his mother to the back of the cart, he offered his hand. Even in the gloom, he could see the flush of pleasure creep over his son's face, although Titus matched his father's grave demeanor.
"I'm counting on you to protect your mother, brother, and sisters," Porcinus told Titus.
"I will, Ta...Father," Titus corrected himself, using the more formal title of the paterfamilias.
“And be careful with that gift I gave you last night.” Porcinus added this in a whisper, wanting to make sure that Iras didn’t overhear, not wanting to mar this event with what he knew would be an acrimonious argument. “In fact, I’d wait until you got to Arelate before you bring it out.”
Titus, implicitly understanding this, and not wanting to rouse his mother’s ire any more than his father did, shot a nervous glance over to where she was sitting on the wagon, and just gave a quick nod in response. Porcinus turned to Libo, who was sitting on his horse next to the wagon.
"Remember, Libo, Titus is in command," he said loudly, while throwing Libo a wink.
"I understand Centurion," Libo replied formally, but Porcinus could see he was fighting a grin. "Hopefully, he'll do a better job than the last Centurion I was under."
Porcinus couldn't suppress a chuckle at this, especially when he heard his wife snickering from the back of the wagon.
Turning to Diocles, who was going to be driving the wagon, at least at first, he said quietly, "Take care of them, my friend."
"With my life," the Greek replied, just as softly, and Porcinus knew Diocles was being completely sincere.
With that, the wagon carrying his family rumbled away, and Porcinus stood watching, waving back to his children as they departed on their great adventure. Once they were out of sight, he still stood, listening to the rumbling sound the wagon made as it bounced over the paving stones of the street, just before it turned onto the main road. When he could hear no more, only then did he turn to start his duties for the day, struggling with the feeling of sadness at seeing his family leave, and the relief at seeing his family leave. Gaius Porcinus would never know, because he would never utter it aloud, but like many professional men, there was a part of him that enjoyed the freedom to do his job, unhindered by the competing needs of family duties. All he knew, dimly, was that while a part of his mind would be worried until the moment his family returned safe and sound, he could lock that part away in a compartment, to be taken out only at times of his choosing, leaving the rest of himself free to attack the more immediate problem of getting his Cohort ready to march to war.
