by R. W. Peake
“Well?” Barbatus asked, the moment the official exchange was done. “What is it? I’m very busy. In fact,” he apparently couldn’t resist at least one jab, “I’m surprised you have the time to spare to come see me.”
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry to bother you.” Porcinus refused to acknowledge the barb. “But this is very important. I wouldn’t have disturbed you otherwise.”
Barbatus raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? What is it? One of your men lose a javelin? Or there are some chickpeas missing from your Cohort’s barrels?”
Now Porcinus was forced to resort to yet another trick he had been taught by Pullus, biting hard on the inside of his cheek. The sudden stab of pain distracted him enough to stop the retort that had come to his mind before it escaped his lips.
“No, sir,” he hesitated for a moment before plunging on. “It’s about my family. I…”
Barbatus’ expression changed, but only a little, and Porcinus assumed he was trying to appear to be sympathetic.
“Ah, yes. Your family. Bad business, that. Most unfortunate, but I’m sure you’re proud of your boy. What’s his name?” He gave a humorless chuckle, telling Porcinus he had known the answer before asking the question. “Ah, yes. Titus, just like his…what would he be? His great uncle?”
“Yes, just like Augustus and Divus Julius.” The words came out before he could stop them, so he hurried on, seeing the sudden flush again, “But yes, sir, and thank you, sir. It means a great deal to know that you’re so concerned.”
You’re not the only one who can smear honey on a turd, he thought, while Barbatus struggled to come up with something appropriate.
Hurrying on, Porcinus said, “It’s just that Decurion Silva hasn’t returned from escorting my family back yet. I know he’s expected any day. And,” he took a breath, “I request permission that I be allowed to stay here until I’m sure my family is safe. Then I’ll catch up with the Legion, wherever it is.”
He had barely gotten it out when Barbatus snapped, “Denied.”
For a moment, Porcinus wasn’t sure that the man had said anything, and if he had, it wasn’t that word. Seeing Barbatus staring at him, that thought was quickly dispelled; there was no mistaking the malevolent triumph in the man’s eye. He’s paying me back for the last time we met, Porcinus thought dully. Knowing that it was futile, he nevertheless made the attempt to change the man’s mind.
“Sir, I am asking…no,” he closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, “I’m begging you to allow me to stay behind. I swear on the black stone that the moment they come into camp and I see them with my own eyes and that they’re safe, I’ll flog my horse to death to catch up with you. That could be by tomorrow night!”
“And it might not,” Barbatus pointed out evenly, which, as much as Porcinus hated to admit, was no more than the truth, no matter the intent behind the words.
“No,” Porcinus granted, “it might not. But, Primus Pilus, it’s my family.”
“Which, by regulation, you’re not allowed to have,” Barbatus retorted. If he was attempting to look like he at least regretted matters, he was doing a horrible job of it. “I’m sure you know the saying, Pilus Prior.”
“I do.” Porcinus didn’t bother hiding his bitterness. “‘If the Legions wanted you to have a wife and family, they’d be in the quaestorium and the quartermaster would have issued them to you when you were a probatio.’”
“Exactly.” Barbatus nodded, as if pleased that Porcinus was acknowledging the fact. “It’s why I never took a woman myself. A Legionary, of any rank, can’t afford to have such entanglements.”
That was when something fell into place in Porcinus’ mind, seemingly disparate pieces of information and observation suddenly coming together so well that he had the irrational fear that Barbatus could hear them clicking together like a puzzle. Of course, no such thing happened, but this sudden revelation had nothing to do with the moment at hand.
“Please, sir,” Porcinus tried one last time, and it was only through a huge effort of will that he didn’t shame himself by dropping to his knees in front of the man’s desk, dully recognizing that while it would be what Barbatus wanted to see, it still wouldn’t make any difference.
“As I said, permission is denied.” Barbatus signaled that the interview was over by suddenly picking up a scroll and pretending to examine it with great interest.
Despite his distress, Porcinus retained the presence of mind to render the proper salute before stepping back the correct distance, then turning about. He was almost to the door when Barbatus called out.
“Porcinus, it would be most…unfortunate if you were to decide to disobey your orders and not be there leading your Cohort in the morning when we march out of here. The consequences would be…severe.”
Knowing that it would have made Barbatus extremely happy if he were to do that, Porcinus could only exact a small revenge by assuring the man, “Don’t worry, Primus Pilus. I understand your orders, and will obey.”
This was the customary method a subordinate acknowledged his orders, and Porcinus couldn’t count the number of times he uttered those words in his career, but never before had they tasted so bitter.
It was often said about Titus Pullus that his luck was second only to that of his first general, Gaius Julius Caesar. Yet, in a smaller way, Gaius Porcinus had been as favored, even if it was not quite as dramatically as his father. And in another manifestation of that luck, shortly before dark of the day before the army was to depart, once more Lysander came running to find his Pilus Prior. This time, Porcinus was talking to Urso, in the Pilus Posterior’s own small office, when the Thracian slave appeared, panting like a dog on a hot summer day.
“What’s gotten into him?” Urso asked sourly, irritated at the disturbance.
He had been letting Porcinus know how he, Urso, had solved a number of problems that had cropped up that, according to his insinuation, his superior was too distracted to address. Porcinus hadn’t missed the subtle jab, but the truth was that Urso was right; his mind had been elsewhere, and no matter the man’s motives, Urso, truly had provided a valuable service to the Fourth Cohort. He was in the process of telling Urso that very thing, which compounded the Pilus Posterior’s annoyance at the disturbance since it interfered with Porcinus finishing. Like many men who have a streak of insecurity in their makeup, Urso needed praise for its own sake; the fact that, in his mind, it sent the signal to his nominal superior that he was the better man was just a bonus.
“What is it?” Porcinus cut off his praise of Urso, turning to Lysander, not daring to hope what it was about.
It took just a moment for Lysander to regain enough of his breath, but it was an interminable wait before Porcinus heard him say, “Pilus Prior Porcinus! I happened to be by the gate just now. I was just delivering the messages you ordered me to send, and…”
“Lysander.” Porcinus’ voice was gentle, as he was almost eerily calm. “I don’t care what you were doing. What is it?”
Lysander flushed, but the words tumbled out. “It’s your family! I just saw Silva and his men escorting a number of wagons in, and I saw that your wife was in one of them!”
Lysander and Urso were abruptly by themselves, staring at the back of their superior, who was sprinting in the direction of the main gate of the camp as if Cerberus was hot on his heels.
“Thank the gods,” Lysander said as he watched Porcinus disappear from sight. “I’d been making sacrifices every day that they’d come back.”
The truth was more complicated than that; while Lysander had indeed been sent to deliver messages, he had taken the opportunity to loiter by the gate, waiting for a chance to give his Pilus Prior some good news for a change. Lysander thought a great deal of the Pilus Prior, a fact of which Porcinus was completely unaware, because the Thracian hid it well under a guise of indifference.
For a brief moment, the gulf between free man and slave was forgotten as Urso slapped the Thracian on the shoulder.
> “So was I,” he said, then turned and walked back into his office, leaving a surprised Lysander to stare after him.
The Thracian would have been even more surprised if he had known that Urso was telling the truth.
The reunion, although brief, was everything Porcinus could have hoped for, and more. Completely disregarding the stares of other Legionaries of all ranks, he greeted each member of his family with a fierce hug and kisses, especially for the females, although Sextus couldn’t escape without receiving one as well. Fortunately, he was still at an age where he didn’t mind his father showing that kind of affection.
Before he was allowed to do any of it, however, he supplied Iras with the answer to her first question.
“Where’s Titus?”
“He’s here.” Porcinus had thought quickly enough to have stepped close to his wife, so he was there to catch her when her knees buckled.
“Silva told me he’d been hurt! How bad is it? Where is he now? When can I see him?”
Laughing, the only way Porcinus could stop the torrent was by covering his wife’s mouth with his own, and for a moment, the rest of the world was forgotten as the couple reveled in the comfort of the other. As all married couples know, before there was a family, before the children, there had been just the pair of them, a man and a woman who loved each other. And both of them were sure that they never loved the other more than at that moment, no matter if it was in front of dozens of leering Legionaries.
“He better be at home in bed,” Porcinus told her. “Although I won’t be a bit surprised if he’s not.”
Iras looked alarmed.
“Where would he be? He’s been hurt! From what Silva said, it was serious!”
“It wasn’t just a scratch,” Porcinus allowed, immediately regretting his choice of words as Iras tore herself away from his grasp, glaring at him.
“So if that’s so, why is he up?”
“I don’t know that he is,” Porcinus protested, and a part of him had to admit that he and his wife were giving the witnesses to this exchange a fair amount of fodder for the inevitable story time around section hut stoves that night. “I just said he might be.”
“And where could he possibly be?” she demanded.
“Well, if he’s not where he’s supposed to be, the only other place he would be is with Ocelus.”
Only then did Iras’ expression soften, and she relaxed somewhat.
“Oh.” She looked a bit embarrassed. “Well, that’s understandable. From what Silva told me, Titus claims that it was Ocelus who saved him.”
“That’s what I heard too, from Titus,” Porcinus agreed. “Although he hasn’t given me any details yet.”
“He can tell us about it tonight at dinner.” Iras, as always, turned to the practical matters at hand.
Porcinus put a gentle but restraining hand on her shoulder.
“He might, but he might not. He might not be ready to talk about it yet.”
Iras nodded, her expression suddenly becoming one that Porcinus couldn’t readily identify. She cast a glance over her shoulder, happy to see that Birgit and Simeon had the children a short distance away, while Diocles and Silva were engaged in some sort of discussion.
“Did you know Titus killed a man?” Then she remembered, and corrected herself. “Actually, he killed two men.”
Porcinus felt his jaw drop; in fact, Titus had said nothing about such things. The only piece of information that the boy had given him was about Libo, who Titus had seen fall, the boy barely able to mention it without bursting into tears again. His father hadn’t pressed him then; he understood very well how such things like this came out, in fits and starts, and only when the teller of the tale was ready.
“Did you…see it?” Porcinus asked, cautiously, almost as worried about his wife witnessing that as his son performing the act.
Iras nodded slowly, her eyes suddenly becoming unfocused.
“I saw one of them,” she said softly, then looked up at her husband with haunted eyes. “Gaius, it was horrible. I’ve never seen him like that before, and it was…” She stopped and simply closed her eyes.
“I know it’s a terrible thing, but he was doing it to protect you and the family,” he said gently.
Iras’ head jerked up, her eyes suddenly open and searching his face as she realized he had misunderstood that she wasn’t talking about the Latobici. She opened her mouth to correct his assumption, then closed it. No, she realized, that’s for later.
“Well, we still have a lot to do,” she said instead, her tone bright, and if it was forced, she was pleased to see that Porcinus didn’t seem to notice.
In fact, Porcinus had detected the strain in her voice, and it was the experience of a long and loving partnership that he somehow knew that there was something Iras wasn’t telling him at that moment. His first reaction was to think, well, there’s time for that. Then, he remembered with a sinking heart that this wasn’t true; he had just tonight, and the orders had been issued, not by Barbatus, but by Tiberius himself, that the men of all ranks were confined to the camp this night before departure. This was standard, and had been so for as long as anyone could remember. But, like all things Roman, this also was dependent on how much a man was willing to pay to the right person to be granted a pass.
Thinking quickly, Porcinus leaned down and whispered in Iras’ ear, “Did you bring some of Titus’ hard cash with you from Arelate?”
Surprised by the question, Iras leaned away, searching her husband’s face.
“Yes,” she whispered slowly. “But why?”
“I’ll explain later, but tell me where it is in the wagon. I need to get some of it.”
“How much?” she asked sharply, suddenly suspicious.
Inwardly, her husband groaned; of all the times for Iras’ natural parsimony to come up, this wasn’t the time.
Still, he kept his patience, and assured her, “I’ll explain later, but it will be worth it. Trust me.”
And ultimately, Iras did trust her husband implicitly. Quietly, she told him which crate contained the small chest of coins.
The amount of the bribe had caused Porcinus to wince; it was still difficult for him to think of himself as a wealthy man, so a hundred sesterces to the provost to write a pass that allowed him to leave the camp still made him wince. However, before he was in his quarters in the town more than a few moments, he realized it had been worthy every sestertius. As he had predicted, Titus hadn’t been in bed; he was down in the small stable built underneath the two floors that comprised the Porcinus family’s apartment. He was still pale, and his arm was in a sling, but when Sextus and Valeria, squealing with delight, came running to greet him, the smile on his face made it hard for his mother to believe he’d ever been hurt. Laughing, he couldn’t avoid wincing when the two came crashing into him, jarring his arm.
“Careful,” Iras called out. “Your brother’s hurt.”
“I’m fine, Mama,” he called to her, and she could see that he truly was.
She stood for a moment, just soaking in the sight of her children as she held the baby, and although not a religious woman, she offered up a prayer to Isis, Ptah, and the other gods of her childhood, something she did very seldom. Miriam was in her arms, her other children were safe and reunited, and she would remember that moment for many years to come.
It wasn’t all good; Porcinus hadn’t been home for more than a hundred heartbeats before he told Iras that this reunion and celebration of the family Porcinus would be confined to just that night. Luckily for Porcinus, this didn’t come as a surprise to Iras; Silva had been the one to inform her when they were still on the way to Siscia. He and his ala, minus Titus’ escort, had arrived in the night of the same day that Titus was found. Despite the happy outcome, Iras still didn’t want to think about the fear that had seized her heart when Gallus alerted them to the sound of approaching horsemen. Then, although they made a straight line back to Siscia, the Decurion had insisted on sending patrols out to
spots where he knew there might be settlers, and they escorted another three frightened groups of them back to the main column. Fortunately, the warband of the Latobici, while large enough to wipe out Iras and her family, was no match for an ala of veteran Roman cavalry, and they had been reduced to being spotted twice on nearby ridges, watching the column make its way to safety, frustrated and impotent to strike. When Porcinus told Iras that he was leaving the next day, it was hard to hide his relief when she took it as she had, an unwelcome but accepted fact. It made the atmosphere that last night as joyful and easy as he supposed it was possible to be. As his family sat at the table, with the usual noise and what seemed to be chaos, he studied the scene before him, and it was hard not to shake his head in a combination of wonder and bemusement. It had been immediately after he had told Iras about his departure when in turn she had explained how his household had suddenly grown. The truth was that he hadn’t been completely surprised when he spotted the gray head of Diocles and, in fact, he was happy when Iras told him why he had returned to Siscia.
