by R. W. Peake
The look on his face was almost grief-stricken, and his voice choked as he said, “Titus, you’re needed in town. It’s Atilius. He’s in a lot of trouble.”
Vibius was not exaggerating, and I knew the moment I heard the circumstances that I did not possess enough gold to buy him out of trouble this time. The months of peace were hard on all of us, but were the most wearing on men like Atilius who required the absolute discipline of an army on campaign to keep him from falling into his old habits. Every day of peace eroded the hold the army had on Atilius, and while all of my old tentmates did whatever they could to keep him from destroying himself, after a time it became clear to them all that if a man is intent on doing something, no matter how stupid and dangerous it is, he will find a way to do it. And truthfully, one’s patience only goes so far when dealing with men like Atilius, at least it did in my case and I suspect I was not alone. Still, now that the inevitable had happened, we were all horrified and upset that it finally came to pass. This time, Atilius somehow convinced himself that a local girl was giving him signals of encouragement that any amorous advance he made would be welcome, then one night decided that the time was right, following her from the market where she bought bread for the evening meal, back to her home. If what he did was not bad enough, the fact that she belonged to the local nobility was more than enough to tip the scales and seal his fate. Waiting for dark, he climbed up to the second story, somehow picking the right window to crawl into the girl’s room. He was still in the room when I arrived, held there by three very angry men, the only other occupants being three bodies, the blood pooled and congealed around them. As angry as they were, these men knew that if they killed Atilius before alerting us and giving us the opportunity to administer justice on our own terms there would be a lot more deaths, and they would not be Romans. Stepping into the room, being brought there by Vibius and the rest of my old section, my nose wrinkled at the smell of death and I was struck by the fleeting thought that I was getting soft. There were three men, each of them holding a Gallic sword, but Atilius was not giving them any reason to worry that he would resist as he sat slumped on the floor a short distance away from the body of the girl lying on the pallet that had served as her bed. She had been pretty, and young, not looking a day over fifteen. Her face was pale, and there was a gaping hole under her chin where her throat was cut as she lay on her back, eyes staring wide up at the roof of her house. Her nightclothes were ripped open, so she was essentially naked and as I saw my men, Didius most overtly, gazing at her naked body, I felt a surge of anger.
“Cover her up, you Gallic bastards,” I spoke savagely, two of them blanching in fear, while the third man became visibly angry, his face turning red, hand tightening on the hilt of his sword as he took a step towards me. Immediately, my men drew their own weapons, surrounding me, pointing them at the angry Gaul, his hostility immediately deflating to become as obsequious as the other two.
“I apologize for my anger, Centurion,” he spoke in heavily accented Latin, “but the only reason we have not covered her up was because we wanted you to see the scene exactly as it was found.”
I was mollified by this response; it made sense, so not wanting to make things worse, I adopted a civil tone as well. “Very well. I have seen her, so please cover her up.”
My command was obeyed immediately, one of the men taking a blanket lying on the floor and covering her whole body. The other two bodies I was not concerned with; they were men and while wearing their nightclothes, were decently covered. They lay in a small heap, one on top of the other, and a quick examination told me that they were killed by what was clearly a Roman blade, both with thrusts to the chest. Satisfied, I turned to where Atilius was sitting, seemingly oblivious to the world around him, his knees drawn up with his arms wrapped around them, mumbling something unintelligible. Stepping towards him, I saw the sword sitting on the floor next to his hand, covered in blood, as was he, although a quick examination told me that none of it was his. Well, I thought to myself, he always could fight. That was never his problem. Moving closer, once my feet came within his view, his head slowly rose as he focused and recognized the Roman boots on my feet. Almost comically slow, his gaze traveled up my body, as if he was trying to take in exactly what was standing before him, but the moment his eyes got to my face he broke into a smile. Despite my anger and disgust I felt my heart twinge, watching as he pulled himself unsteadily to intente, and I could smell the wine emanating from every pore of his body, my nose again wrinkling from the sour smell.
“Pul….I mean, Pilus Prior Pullus, sir. It’s good to see you sir! There’s been some sort of misunderstanding, but now that you’re here, I know it'll be taken care of, and we can go home, right sir?”
I kept my face hard, except I did not want to put him on his guard, so I asked him in the same tone I would as if we were sitting around the fire. “First we have to find out what happened here, Atilius. Once we get that straightened out, then we’ll see what happens next.”
I knew I had to be careful not to give the Gallic men the impression that we were just going to escort Atilius back to camp then free him, and I felt their hard eyes on me as I talked to Atilius, measuring my intent.
“Sir, I didn’t do anything wrong,” protested Atilius, prompting growls of rage from the Gauls, along with gasps of disbelief from Atilius’ comrades.
Before I could say anything, Vibius burst out, “You didn’t do anything wrong? Atilius, look around you. This place looks like a butcher’s shop.”
“I was just defending myself,” Atilius exclaimed, his eyes never leaving my face, knowing that ultimately it was what I believed that would determine his fate. “Me and the young lady were having a nice quiet time, when those two,” for the first time, he looked away from me, indicating the two corpses with a contemptuous nod, “came busting in, waving their blades about and roaring their gibberish at me. I tried to explain, but then she started screaming like a numen with her ass on fire, and started clawing at me. See,” he pointed to his face, and indeed he did have scratches along his cheeks, not particularly deep but clear for all of us to see. I had to shake my head; he actually thought that pointing out the scratches that the girl inflicted on him was going to help him corroborate his story, not condemn him further.
“Atilius,” I tried to be patient with him, though it was difficult, “those scratches don’t help back up your story that you and the girl were having ‘a nice time’ as you put it. In fact, it does just the opposite.”
A glimmer of dawning crossed his face, but he was not going to cut his losses and keep his mouth shut. “You know how women are sir, especially these noble-born cunni,” the use of that word caused one of the men to howl in outrage and he took a step forward, the only way he was stopped was by the point of the sword Vellusius held to his chest. The Gaul glared at Atilius, then spat on the floor, muttering something about Roman dogs under his breath. This situation was growing worse by the moment and I knew I had to draw matters to a conclusion as quickly as I could.
Atilius, however, was oblivious as he continued. “They want to have a roll with us low-born trash because they’re just like all women, they love warriors, neh? But the moment those two kicked in the door, she had to pretend that I was doing something she didn’t want, but that ain’t true sir. She wanted me sir, that’s all there is to it. We’ve been seeing each other almost every day, and today in the market, she let me know she wanted some of ol’ Atilius and she couldn’t wait for it.”
That was the first glimmer of hope that Atilius might have a chance to escape with his life, and I pounced on it. “Atilius, this is very important. Did anyone else see you two together talking in the market?”
For a moment, Atilius looked puzzled at my question, then just as quickly my hopes, and his, were dashed. “Talking sir? I wouldn’t say that we were talking. We didn’t exactly have a conversation, sir. She just let me know by…….you know how women are sir. It’s not what they say, it’s the way they loo
k at you.”
There was a chorus of groans from his comrades; they knew then that Atilius was doomed, except he still seemed to be oblivious to his rapidly approaching demise. He responded to the reaction of his friends by protesting, “You boys know I’m right, you just don’t want to say so in front of the Pilus Prior. A woman doesn’t have to tell you she wants you for you to get the message, you boys know that.”
“Atilius, if what you say is true, why are her clothes ripped off?”
I watched him closely as I asked the question; seeing the flicker of guilt flash across his face, my heart hardened towards Atilius in that instant. If I were convinced that he honestly thought that he was invited into the girl’s room, no matter what transpired, while it might not have changed his fate, it would at the very least make me more sympathetic and more inclined to seek some sort of alternative to what would probably be his punishment. But in that moment I saw that Atilius knew that what he was doing was wrong, if not morally then at the least against the law, and my sympathy for him vanished like a drop of water thrown into a sizzling pan. Regardless, Atilius was stubborn, although I imagine that by this point he realized he was fighting for his life and was not about to give up without putting up some sort of defense.
“Sir, you know that some women like it……rough. They like to play at being afraid, and like to put up a struggle. It just spices things up a bit. That’s all that happened here, there wasn’t no harm meant. We were just having fun.”
“It doesn’t look to me like she would agree, Atilius, I replied coldly. “So I guess you have a good reason why her throat’s cut?”
Atilius at least possessed enough humanity at this point to look ashamed. “That was a mistake sir. The two men came busting through, and she began fighting me….”
“Wait,” I interrupted, “I thought you just said she was already fighting you. Playing around, as you say, but still putting up a struggle.”
He reluctantly nodded. “That’s true sir, but she really started putting on a show when those two came in. Before, she was bucking around and trying to throw me off of her, but that was just playing around, like I said. But the instant they came in, she had to make it look real, sir.”
I was beginning to put this together, and I was struck by another thought. “Atilius, when exactly did she scratch you?”
If he knew where I was going, he was either too frightened or too resigned to try to lie. “After I put paid to those two bastards sir.” He brightened for a moment. “It was a neat piece of work, if I do say so myself sir. You'd have been proud. I didn’t even get off her; I held her down with one hand, and I ran those bastards through with the other, neat as you please.”
Immediately after the words left his mouth, he realized that he was not helping himself, a look of helplessness and resignation coming back to his face, settling there and ultimately never leaving.
“So, once she saw you kill her father and brother, she started fighting back harder? Is that about the size of it?”
I was making no attempt to hide my contempt and anger now, seeing out of the corner of my eye the head of one of the Gauls turn towards me to study me, obviously trying to divine whether or not my outrage was real, or was a show for them. Atilius did not answer; there was need to, but I was not done.
“So she scratched you, and you cut her throat for it?”
He stared at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes, now fully understanding what awaited him. There was no question in anyone’s mind that Atilius’ fate was sealed, at least among his comrades. I am sure the Gauls still believed that we would pull some sort of trick and Atilius would escape the punishment he deserved. Oh, we might flog him, but there was only one real punishment that was worthy of his crime, and we all knew it. The question in their minds was if we Romans would carry it out.
With the interrogation done, I ordered Vibius, since he was the ranking Legionary, to bind Atilius, who submitted without protest. His tentmates surrounded him as we exited the house, followed by the three Gauls, and they immediately began calling for their friends and neighbors to surround us. In moments, before we could move halfway down the muddy street, we were completely encircled by a mob of very angry people. One of the three men, an older, scarred warrior with ginger colored hair and the long mustaches that was their mark of manhood, stood in front of me.
“Give him to us, Roman.”
It was a simple statement, not a request but a demand, and I felt my chest tighten. I knew we would give a good account of ourselves; I congratulated myself for making sure that the men donned their armor, weapons and shields, except there were only five of us, not counting Atilius, who I would only cut loose and arm as a last resort. No, I was going to have to use my brain for once. Stepping forward to stand directly in front of the Gaul, I positioned myself so that my men were directly behind me.
“No.”
I said it quietly, except my body language obviously sent a clear signal of my answer, causing the crowd to growl like it was some huge animal, which in a sense it was. Rome had disarmed all of the native townspeople except for the nobles and their household warriors some years before, but staves and axe handles are formidable weapons by themselves, and when there are a hundred or so people waving them about, someone is liable to get hurt.
The Gaul smiled grimly, then with a nod of his head, indicated the mob around us. “Perhaps you do not understand the situation Roman. That was not a request. We can take him. All I have to do is give the word. Now, give him to us.”
I stood looking him in the eye, not answering for a moment, then spoke quietly enough so that only he could hear. “He's going to die. And I can promise you that the manner of his death won’t be pretty. In fact, it’s going to be very much what would happen to him here, now, if we gave him to you and this mob. But this I will not do. He’s a Roman Legionary, and he’s subject to Roman military justice.”
He snorted, his lip curling up in a sneer. “So you say, Roman. But you know as well as I do that these things have happened before, and the men involved were never properly punished. You may have conquered us, but we will show you that just because you have a boot on our neck, it does not mean we will lick it.”
I could hear the bitterness, anger and frustration oozing through every word as he talked; I also knew that what he said was true, at least as far as Legionaries escaping punishment in the past. But the circumstances were different now; Gaul was conquered and we were ordered to ease up on the Gauls in order to try to win them over. The political situation dictated a change in the way we managed our relations with these people, and now that I was a Centurion, I was a representative of that new policy. However, I also knew that, just like Uxellodonum, there was a limit to how far we would allow ourselves to bend.
“Consider this,” I said, in the same tone as before, conscious that my next words could tip us off the sword edge we were balanced on, “you could probably take our man,” he snorted again at my use of the word probably, but like Rome I was only going to bend so far. I leaned forward a little and repeated, “You could probably take our man, but at what cost? How many bodies would we leave behind? There are only five of us, that’s true, but we’re Caesar’s men, and from Caesar’s most favored and feared Legion.”
I could see the beginning of doubt creep into his eyes, so I pressed harder.
“And the one thing I can promise and you know that it’s no idle boast, that you may win a victory here, but this whole part of Narbo, and all the people who survived this initial fight would cease to exist. Do you want to be the man who'll be known by his people from now until the end of time as the one who destroyed the Gallic quarter and everyone in it?”
He pursed his lips, then I saw his eyes dart around to the crowd, and I realized then that he was in as difficult a predicament as I was. True, he was the one to create this situation, yet now he was prone to being carried away by the flood just like we were. His status as a leader hung by a thread; if he was seen as weak, the mob was
just as likely to turn on him as it was on us. Such is the changeable nature of the Gauls, as ever.
“What's your name, by the way?” I asked, startling him back to reality.
“Vetorodumnus,” he replied, clearly puzzled by my question.
“Well, Vetorodumnus, my name is Titus Pullus. I’m the Pilus Prior of the Second Cohort of the 10th Legion. I’m going to give you my word as a Roman Centurion that this man will be punished in a manner that you'll find suitable. Do you know what the punishment for rape and murder in the Roman army is?”
He nodded; it was well known throughout all of Gaul by this time the various punishments that we employed.
