by R. W. Peake
Our preparations continued well into the night, but at last, Tiburtinus reluctantly told us that, while it was not to his standards, it would have to do, and we were allowed to grab what sleep we could. I say "we," but it would not be in the dice throw that I would be one of my comrades, all of whom, despite the tension in the hut, fell immediately asleep, like all veterans do. It was not for a lack of trying on my part; in fact, I had just dropped off myself when I was awakened by a rough, calloused hand clamped hard over my mouth. As strong as I am, it is either an extremely foolish or supremely confident man who rouses me in this manner, and our Optio was no fool.
"It's Tiburtinus." He placed his mouth right next to my ear while clamping his hand over my mouth. "Get dressed and meet me outside."
My heart was galloping in my chest, and I will say that I had just begun to react, my fist clenched and ready to swing wildly at whatever or whoever was within striking range; fortunately, my brain caught up with my body, and I managed a nod of understanding. Then he was gone; the only way I knew the door opened was because of the draft of slightly cooler night air, and since I was the closest and close to floor level, I was the only one who felt it. At least, that was what I made sure of, lying silently for a moment to listen for a rustling or other noise that would betray that one of the others in the hut had heard what little noise there was. Satisfied, after a moment, I carefully swung my legs off my bunk, reaching underneath it for my tunic, and slipping it on, making as little noise as possible. Instead of putting on my boots, I picked them up and then, as quietly as I could, trying to mimic Tiburtinus, slipped out into the night air. There was still movement around the camp as men who had not yet finished their preparations to march the next morning rushed about. My first instinct was that this was not a good thing, then I realized that, in fact, it was perfect; at no other time in the dead of night could I have moved through the camp without risking detection by one of the men on the guard shift. With even more torches lighting the area than normal, I quickly saw Tiburtinus, standing a short distance down our street, but he was, in fact, looking in the opposite direction.
Despite the fact he had told me to meet him, I still approached cautiously, but although he did not turn, he said, "We need to talk, Pullus."
"Yes, we do," I agreed, but I could not stop myself from adding, "I tried to come see you last night, but…"
He gave an impatient wave, but I was still talking to his back because his eyes never left what he was watching. And looking over his shoulder once I got close enough, I saw that he was watching the intersection of our Cohort street, where on the opposite side, diagonally, what serves as both the headquarters of the Legion and the private quarters of the Primus Pilus are located. Squinting, I saw there was a small knot of men, standing just outside Urso's quarters, and I was curious about their identity and purpose.
"What's happening over there?"
At first, Tiburtinus did not respond, continuing to stare, but when he answered, he whispered it so quietly I did not hear, and I asked him to repeat it.
"I said, I think those are some of Urso's boys from another Cohort. As far as what they're doing," he gave a shrug, "I'm not sure, but they might be waiting for Urso to give them orders to come find me."
Rather than enlighten, his answer only confused me.
"But why would he send someone from another Cohort to come find you?" I asked, but even before I finished the question, I felt a flicker of shock as one possible reason pushed its way to the forefront of my mind.
Finally, he did turn, looking at me with an expression that would have been impossible to decipher in broad daylight, let alone by the dancing flames of torches. When he answered me, though, his tone was flat.
"Because our beloved Primus Pilus wants me dead. At least, that's what I think."
Hearing that thought confirmed was such a shock that I staggered a step backward, as I asked, completely bewildered, "But why? And, why tonight, when we're going to be marching the next day?"
Only then did Tiburtinus seem to show a glimmer of doubt as he admitted, "That's a good question. At least," he added, "the part about why tonight. But as far as wanting me dead?" He shook his head and laughed with bitter humor. "He's wanted that for some time now."
"I don't understand," I began, but before I got any further, he cut me off.
"And right now, you don't need to, because that's not important. But what is important is what I need to talk to you about." He glanced back over his shoulder, and when he let out a curse, I looked over his shoulder to see that the men who had been there were now gone. "We can't talk here, though." He thought for a moment, then tersely ordered, "Follow me."
Whereupon he turned and led me into the deeper shadows, in between section huts. Using the huts for cover, we made our way out of our area, heading towards where the 15th Legion was quartered. If I had been nervous before, this did not help my state of mind at all; Legionaries wandering into areas belonging to other Legions, unless they are invited, tend to meet a bad end. It is a funny thing how much we can hate each other when we are in garrison, but then throw ourselves in the way of a hurled spear to protect the back of a Legionary from an another Legion. My Avus commented on this peculiarity of fighting men, so I suppose it has always been so. But that night I was not thinking of the 15th as anything other than potential trouble, yet nevertheless, I followed Tiburtinus. Fortunately, he did not go far down the street of the First Cohort of the 15th, putting just enough distance between the edge of our area that we could not be seen from there. Stepping into the shadows, only then did he seem to relax; I saw the outline of his shoulders drop as he exhaled a breath. For a moment, there was silence, but I was determined to wait for him to speak. Not only was he my Optio, he was the one who had initiated this clandestine meeting.
"You were there two days ago," he began suddenly, saying this in a whisper, making it difficult to determine his meaning.
"Are you asking me, or are you making a statement?"
"Don't play games with me, boy," he snapped, and even at a whisper, his tone was harsh. "I'm not in the fucking mood." He paused and seemed to collect himself before he continued, but when he did, he surprised me by saying, "But you're right. I shouldn't have said it that way. I know you were with Urso because I saw you march out of our area. What I want to know is; was what Philo said the truth?"
I considered for a moment as my mind raced, trying to determine what Tiburtinus was truly after. Although I did not think it possible – nothing I had seen during my time with the First gave me any indication that Tiburtinus was involved with Urso's unofficial and illegal activities – in the back of my mind, there was the nagging thought that I could not be sure.
I heard him suck in a breath, but before he could say anything else, I told him, "More or less."
"More or less?" Tiburtinus repeated, then made a sound that could have been a hiss of frustration.
"What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means," I replied, my decision made, "he left some things out."
"Like what?" Tiburtinus demanded.
In fact, for reasons I could not fathom, either then or now, since I never got the chance to ask Philo why, when he had described the confrontation in Topulcava, including my breaking the woman's arm, he had not specifically named me. Even when Tiburtinus had asked, Philo had shrugged and said that it was one of the men from another Century.
"Like that I'm the one who broke that woman's arm," I whispered.
He did not reply for several moments, but even in the darkness, I could tell he was staring, hard, right at me. When I had time to think about it from his viewpoint, I could understand his sudden caution; the possibility that I actually fully belonged to Urso meant he had done an extremely foolish thing.
When he still did not speak, I assured him, "I only did it because Urso ordered me to do it. And," I added, "he had to repeat it a few times before I did it."
This seemed to make him relax, but he swore softly nonetheless.<
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"That bastard is cunning, I'll give him that," he finally said.
"I know," I agreed. "I thought he'd have me arrested and claim that I had acted without orders."
"No." Tiburtinus shook his head, but my relief did not last long. "That's not how he does things. It's the threat of you being arrested and flogged that's important to him. It's how Urso works with people he doesn't trust; he puts them in positions where they're vulnerable, then uses that as a way to make sure they don't do anything he doesn't want happening."
I thought I understood, and said, "Like let the Legate know he's been squeezing the Colapiani."
Once more, Tiburtinus laughed, and said, "Are you joking? The Legate knows all about that; he's taking his own cut for looking the other way. Besides, if it keeps those barbarians under our heel, so much the better. The Legate doesn't care how it's done; all he cares about is that he can send reports back to Rome that say, "All's quiet in Pannonia."
While I was surprised to learn the Legate was involved, I was not altogether shocked. At the same time, I had to acknowledge the bitter irony of the term Tiburtinus had used; even when I was a child, the men of the Legions had always used "All's quiet in Pannonia" as the punchline of a harsh joke, because things are never truly quiet in this province.
"No." Tiburtinus shook his head again. "What you were part of the other day isn't something Urso would kill to keep quiet. At least," he added, "until this happened. Now he's going to have to explain to the Legate why his scheme that's been working for a couple of years now, ever since he cooked it up, suddenly fell to pieces."
When Tiburtinus said this, any feeling I had of relief when he told me it was not Urso's way to actually carry out a threat vanished, because to me, there was one simple way to get Urso out of trouble with the Legate.
"When you put it that way, it seems pretty obvious that Urso is going to feed me to the Legate as the one responsible by saying I acted without orders."
"That," Tiburtinus admitted, "is possible. But only if the Legate gets wind of what really happened. You know how these fucking tribes out here are, Pullus. You lived here for a long time before you moved; your father served here. These Pannonians are about as wild as a human being can be and still walk upright. They revolt because they get bored."
That, I was forced to acknowledge, was very true, although it seemed an awfully thin hope to hang my career on, and I said as much.
"Career?" Tiburtinus laughed. "First you have to survive the Colapiani." He turned sober. "As do we all. Especially facing that bastard Draxo." The Optio spat immediately after saying the chieftain's name. "He's a hard bastard, even for a barbarian, and he's as cunning and wily as a hungry fox. No," he finished grimly. "This isn't going to be an easy one to stamp out."
"Why does Urso want to kill you?"
As usual, my mouth had blurted out something before my brain could stop it.
"That's none of your business," Tiburtinus replied coldly.
"I disagree." I was proud of myself for managing to keep my tone even. "You dragged me out here in the middle of the night. If I'm seen…"
"Which is why we're over here," Tiburtinus interrupted.
"Yes, right now, but we still have to make it back to our area. And if you're right, and those are men Urso has sent to make sure you have some sort of accident, what if we run into them? Then what?"
"Then you go back to your fucking hut and I'll handle those cunni," he snapped, but I was not swayed.
"If you think I'd leave you on your own, then you don't know me at all, Optio."
There was a silence for a moment, then he heaved a sigh.
"Fair enough," he finally said. "And I can see your point. All right then." He took another breath. "I'll tell you why I think Urso wants me dead."
By the time he was finished, I was sorry that I had made such a fuss about wanting to know. In essence, it was fairly simple; despite several attempts, Urso had been unable to either persuade Tiburtinus, or coerce him by exploiting a vulnerability in joining Urso's muscle. As Tiburtinus explained it, Urso had good cause to think that his Optio would be receptive.
"Before I was promoted, I had done some…things for Urso, and I had made it clear that I was always ready to make extra money." He paused, and I sensed how difficult this was for him. "I did a lot of gambling, and had run up some debts, and that was why I needed the money."
When he did not continue, I asked him, "You said you were willing to work for Urso before you got promoted. So what changed?"
"The men," Tiburtinus replied simply. "Before, when I was in charge of a section, let's just say that I didn't take my duties all that seriously. But then Urso promoted me. Suddenly, I woke up one morning, and I was second in command of the First of the First. Instead of the fifteen men of my section, I had 160 men that I was responsible for."
Because of my own ambitions, I found this extremely interesting, yet I found one thing puzzling.
"You said you 'woke up one morning.' Surely it didn't just happen like that, did it?"
"No," Tiburtinus replied, his whisper dropping even lower. "No, something had to happen first before I realized that I was now responsible for the lives of every man in the Century."
When I asked him what that was, he refused to say any more, so I resolved that, provided I got the chance, I would do some digging and find out. Domitius, I was sure, would either know, or know who to ask about this. Unbidden, a thought came to my mind.
"So, Urso promoted you because he thought you'd be loyal to him?"
I saw him nod in the gloom.
"But it didn't turn out that way."
"No, it didn't," Tiburtinus agreed. "Because I wasn't willing to let him run his punishment scheme on the Century anymore. I told him he had other ways to make money besides skimming from the men."
"I can't imagine he took that very well." I could not help chuckling at the thought, and Tiburtinus joined in.
"That," he said dryly, "is an understatement."
There was still something that bothered me, so I pushed a little bit more.
"Another thing I don't understand is why Urso is so strapped for cash or so greedy that he needs to have all these schemes going."
"Honestly, neither do I," Tiburtinus admitted, "but I do have a guess as to why. I think," he spoke slowly, "that our Primus Pilus wants to follow in the footsteps of Titus Pullus. I think he wants to be elevated to the equestrian order."
While on the face of things this made sense, I was doubtful.
"After seeing what happened to my grandfather?" I asked, glad that I had remembered not to call Titus Pullus by the name I used as a child. "Granted, he doesn't know the details and he and my father weren't always on the best of terms, but still, he had to hear the rumors at least."
Although I was not divulging any of what I know about that affair, what was common knowledge was there had been some sort of trouble; I knew this because I was asked multiple times by more men than I can easily count for information about my knowledge of the affair. One thing that Legionaries would probably rather die than admit is that, right next to gambling, whoring, and drinking, they love gossip – the higher ranking the subject the better – almost as much.
Tiburtinus shrugged and replied, "That's about the only reason I can think of that makes sense. Unless," he added, "he does all this just because he likes it."
As it turned out, this was as likely an explanation for all that Urso did as anything else.
Our conversation finished, we made our way back to our area, moving in shadows and taking our time. Only once did we come close to being discovered, when a pair of men who were wearing their armor and were armed passed down one of the streets that we had to cross. They were not on guard duty; sentries never patrol their posts in pairs, but it was too dark for Tiburtinus or me to recognize whether they were men from the 8th but different Cohorts. Thankfully, they had no idea we were watching. I did not like to think about the ramifications of me being seen in the company of
Tiburtinus in the middle of the night, if these were indeed men sent out by Urso. But we made it safely, and while he returned to his quarters, I slipped back through the door, climbing into my bunk as soundlessly as I had left. Almost immediately, I was asleep. The next day, we were marching to suppress a rebellion.
Because it was only the Colapiani rising up, it was just the 8th that was sent out to crush it; at least, that was how it started. The rankers' informal information system of clerks and slaves, those types of men who are barely noticed by us and completely invisible to the officers of Tribune level and higher had been working almost as hard as we did the previous night. Consequently, we knew that, while the Legate was concerned about this uprising, he was not sufficiently so to rouse himself from what rumor had was the bed of the wife of one of the wealthy merchants in Siscia, a man who was often away on business. Of course, at the time, neither I nor any of my comrades in my section had any way of knowing whether this had any basis in fact, but being truthful, that did not really matter. It was fodder for the talk of the morning as we waited in the forum of the camp to be given the command to march out of the Porta Praetoria, heading west into Colapiani lands. Frankly, we were just as happy that he was not leading us; this Legate, who I will not name because he is still alive and is well connected in Rome. He had been in command since the year before my enlistment, and he had not covered himself in glory, if one takes my meaning, although I must admit that he gave very rousing speeches about wading in the guts of our enemies. No, all that really mattered to us that morning was how many of the fine young Tribunes would be marching with us; we wanted an idea of what level of foolishness we would have to endure before the young noblemen learned that they were best served by keeping their mouths shut and letting Urso do his job, then reaping the rewards later. And when we got our answer, in the form of a quartet of young officers, mounted of course, who came trotting up from the stables and we got our first good look, there was no way they did not hear the groans of dismay that emanated from those of us close enough to recognize who would be our burden to endure.
