by R. W. Peake
"Pullus," he finally broke the silence, "Philo was a fool."
That surprised me, but he did not seem to notice my expression, because he was looking in the direction of the forum.
"And," he continued, "he was not a good Sergeant. Would you disagree with that?"
"No." I saw no need to protect the memory of a man I loathed, alive or dead. "He wasn't."
"Well." Now he did look at me and said, "Keep in mind that I'm not Philo. I'm no fool…"
"Oh, I know that." I had not meant to cut him off, but I plunged on. "Domitius told me when I first came to the section that you were the smartest man in it."
This seemed to please him, and I decided not to add Domitius' admonition about not trusting him.
"Just keep that in mind," he repeated. "And don't think you can run any kind of scheme on me. I know you understand the Legions, but I'm older than you, and I'm more experienced than you."
I could see he truly wanted to finish by assuring me that he was also smarter than I was, which may have been true, although given all that happened, I do not think so.
"I will," I said, "keep it in mind. But, Sergeant?"
My tone of voice prompted him to look up at me, which was what I wanted, because I had taken just a half step closer so that our disparity in size was more apparent.
"I'm still strong enough to break you in half, and I'm much better than Philo ever was with a sword," I told him quietly.
His face turned dark, his pretense of good nature dropping away as his upper lip twisted into a sneer and, for a brief moment, I actually thought he was going to lash out at me. However, as he had pointed out, he was not Philo; instead, he took a long, slow breath. By the time he exhaled it, his false smile returned, and he was nodding his head as if I had just said something he found agreeable.
"Good," he said. "At least we understand each other."
Without waiting for me to say anything, he spun about and walked back in the direction of our hut, leaving me staring at his back and wondering what in Hades had just happened. Once he was a good distance away, I turned and only then entered the office. The clerk looked up, but I ignored him; he had nothing I wanted or needed. What I was interested in was actually on the wall behind him, a map of the province. It was not particularly detailed, but it did show the rivers and most of their tributaries, the roads, and wherever the ground was hilly or mountainous little symbols that looked like the letter V upside down marked their location and orientation. Very quickly, my curiosity was satisfied.
"Gregarius." Crito's tone was disapproving, but again I ignored him, turning about and exiting.
From there, I did not return to my hut; I went to my old Cohort instead.
"Pullus, you shouldn't be here," Pilus Prior Corvinus sighed. "I thought we had this discussion."
"We did, sir," I agreed, "but I just have a question. When the Varciani rebelled and Tiberius…"
"By the gods," he exclaimed, slapping a hand on his desk. "Not this business about your father again! I thought that had been settled as well!"
A wave of heat hit my face, yet despite the flaring anger I felt, I understood I had to keep my temper in check.
"No sir," I assured him. "It's not about my father. Although," I felt compelled to be honest, "it's about that campaign. Except it's about where you finally brought the Varciani to battle."
Corvinus gave me a searching look, and because I had known this man most of my life, I could read him better than I could Urso.
"What about it?" he asked warily, but in that instant, I experienced an intuition that he knew where I was heading, so to speak.
"Isn't it north and just a short distance west of here?"
"Yes." As rapidly as the look came, it disappeared, and now his face was closed and unreadable. "Why?"
"It's in Varciani land, or so they claim, but isn't that area claimed by the Colapiani and the Latobici as well?"
Sighing, he replied, "Yes, but that still doesn't explain why a Gregarius is concerned about that."
"Did we, I mean, did the 8th go that far north when they were out there this last time?"
Corvinus did not answer, at least at first, choosing instead to stare at me so coldly I could feel a trickle of sweat down my temple.
"Pullus," he finally broke the strained silence, "where are you going with this?"
"Did Urso take the 8th in the opposite direction?" I asked. "Heading southwest?"
"The Primus Pilus followed the freshest trail we came across," he answered, giving me a warning in his glare, "and we followed it. But we didn't find anything."
"Because he went the wrong way," I said quietly.
"Pullus," he put his head in his hands, muffling his voice and making it hard to hear him as he continued, "you've seen what the trail of an armed band of a few thousand men looks like. It's impossible to tell which direction they're headed." He looked up at me, then shrugged. "So the Primus Pilus chose a direction and it turned out to be fruitless. That's not unusual."
"No," I granted. "But do you know if the Primus Pilus informed the 13th or the 15th when they went out to check the area where the trail was leading in the opposite direction?"
"I'm not privy to what the Primus Pilus tells his counterparts in the other Legions," he snapped, and I could see he was really getting angry. "And if I'm not, then what are you doing asking these kinds of questions? Gregarius?"
I knew he added my rank as a reminder; unfortunately, I had the bit between my teeth. There was something happening that I thought was shameful in a Legion of Rome avoiding battle, and with a righteous indignation that only the very young possess, I was determined to at least verify my suspicions. As if my suspicions were worth a gnat's fart, but as I said, I was young.
"Why would the Primus Pilus keep us from hunting these cunni down?" I asked Corvinus, hoping that by putting it in a question, it would help get an answer.
"You don't know he's doing that." Corvinus suddenly jumped up from behind his desk, came around, and walked up so that he was glaring up at me. "And, Pullus, I've told you this once before. You need to keep your fucking mouth shut."
Pilus Prior Corvinus is several inches shorter than I am, but I still loved, feared, and respected him in almost equal measure. He was my father's best friend when he was under the standard, and he had been my first Pilus Prior; I looked at him as a member of my family. I know now his feelings were similar, and he was just trying to protect me, yet in that moment, all I cared about was learning the truth.
"Pilus Prior," I persisted, "doesn't it bother you if what I think is actually true? That Urso is avoiding taking us up in that area? It's a stain on our honor that we're avoiding some barbarians!"
"That's because nobody who's been there ever wants to fucking go back!"
When a Centurion of Rome bellows at the top of his lungs and he's only inches away from you, it creates quite an impression. And when that same Centurion is staring at you with eyes that look like glowing coals, while saliva flies from his mouth like Cerberus, all I can say is that if you can stand there unshaken, you are a better man than I am. His assault was completely verbal; nonetheless, it still made me stagger, which seemed to snap him out of his rage. I felt my back against the wall of his office as I stared down at him, my heart beating as hard and as fast as if it was the ambush all over again. Meanwhile, he stood there, shoulders slumped, considering the floor as he shook his head.
Finally, he looked up at me and said wearily, "Pullus, believe it or not, Urso is trying to keep the Legion from being cut up worse than it already has been because of that idiot Paullus."
It would be nice to say that this not only made sense to me, it calmed my sense of outrage, but as I said, I was very young then. And, being completely frank, the idea of avoiding conflict, of any kind, is so foreign to my nature that it never occurs to me to do so, personally or when I am part of a Legion.
"So you knew?" I gasped, and something in my tone made him angry again.
"You'r
e fucking right I knew, and so did all the other Pili Priores," he snapped. "And none of us made any kind of objection! You know why, Pullus? Because we've been there! It's terrain that's perfectly suited for them and not for us. The place is riddled with caves, there are all sorts of pocket valleys and blind draws, and the only way you can get in is by following one of maybe a half-dozen cuts that are bigger than ravines, but barely big enough for a Legion to march in open formation! And the woods are so thick that those cunni can be on you and slit your throat before you even know they're there!" He shook his head adamantly. "And after what happened at The Quarry, our Primus Pilus isn't keen on marching us in there, not with those fucking Tribunes we've got. Not to mention the Legate, although," his lip curled in an open display of contempt, "the chances of him leading from the front are the same as a Suburan whore regaining her virginity. You haven't been in that country…"
"Actually, I have," I reminded him, but he was not impressed, waving his hand dismissively.
"Oh, you spent a night nearby when you were ten years old," he said scornfully, wounding me deeply, although he rightfully did not care. "I'm talking about a week, two weeks, a month, stuck in that fucking place. Pluto's cock, there are only two or maybe three places with enough space for us to make a marching camp for a full Legion! And every one of those spots is surrounded on every side by hills with trees so thick it would take a week to clear them out!" He shook his head again. "So no, I don't fucking care if Urso takes us on an excursion in the wrong direction. And," he concluded angrily by poking his finger into my chest, "neither should you! Look at your fucking arm." He pointed down to it, as if I needed to be reminded. "It looks like cac, and don't try and tell me you're back to normal! I've watched you working the forms at the stakes, and boy, you're still a long way from getting back to as good as you were."
To that point, I had endured his tongue-lashing in silence. Granted that it was sullen, angry silence, but now, I could not stop myself from retorting, "Come tomorrow to see me face Bestia, and you'll see how good I am!"
Corvinus' body sagged again, and the anger that had returned once more seemed to drain from his body as he said, "Oh, Titus. Nobody who knows you doubts your courage, and I'm sure that right now you're still very good. But," he said sadly, "I've seen too many wounds like yours, and I'm afraid you'll never be what you were." Seeming to regain whatever spark of ire fueled this, he resumed his hard tone as he finished, "And you're going to need to be at your best when we do march into Hades!"
That confused me.
"What do you mean 'when'?" I demanded. "You just admitted that Urso has been keeping us from going there."
His laugh was bitter and held no humor whatsoever.
"As usual, your impatience is your weakness. If you had kept your mouth shut and not come whining to me, you would have found out tomorrow."
"Found out what?"
"That your wish is going to come true. Now that the Varciani have thrown in with the Colapiani, we don't have any choice. We're marching north and flushing those cocksuckers out of their holes."
Naturally, Corvinus knew what he was talking about. Although I was still not required to do so until Urso decided whether I was fit, I decided to accompany the rest of my section to stand in the morning formation where, instead of just Urso facing us, the Legate was standing next to him. Arrayed behind the pair were the Tribunes and, being as close as I was, I could easily see that Paullus was in the prominent position immediately behind and to the left of the Legate. I could also see that the other Tribunes seemed to be standing a bit farther away than normal, as if they wanted to separate themselves from the haughty broad stripe. Immediately following that thought came the suspicion that, rather than it being their choice to give Paullus some extra room, it was just as likely he had been the one to command they keep the extra distance. My observation was cut short by Urso's bellowed command to intente, followed by the Legate announcing that the 13th Legion, which was still out searching for the rebelling warriors, had, in fact, located them, north and slightly west of Siscia, a day's march away. Frankly, since I had been forewarned by Corvinus, I barely listened, keeping my attention on Urso instead of the Legate, although I was not surprised to see that his face looked as if it was set in stone. Only by close scrutiny could I see that he seemed to be gripping his vitus more tightly than normal, his knuckles bone white, and he was gently tapping it against his leg; those were the only signs of nerves on display by the Primus Pilus. Quickly enough, it became apparent that the Legate was taking the opportunity to practice his public speaking skills, because he continued to drone on and on about how lucky we were to have the opportunity to defend Rome, and how we should consider ourselves fortunate for this chance to win even more everlasting glory for the Legion. In short, it was a completely unremarkable, boring speech that, by the time he was finally through, none of the men could stop themselves from fidgeting through, creating a rippling movement through the ranks that I could see was beginning to enrage Urso. The Legate, however, seemed oblivious to the fact none of us were listening, but finally he concluded his remarks, then exchanged salutes with the Primus Pilus before spinning about in a way that to me seemed designed to make his paludamentum lift away from him in a swirl of red before striding away. Before Urso could resume command of the Legion, however, Paullus, who had remained where he was while the other Tribunes were trailing behind the Legate, stepped to Urso, saying something I could not hear. Whatever it was obviously further enraged our Primus Pilus, because in the same way as I had witnessed their last exchange the day of the ambush, Urso's features darkened so much that, for an instant, he almost looked like a Numidian. He said something that, even though Paullus' back was to me, I could tell the Tribune clearly did not like either, because he went as stiff as a javelin and started using his hands, one of them pointing in our general direction, the other making a chopping motion.
"What the…?" Flaccus muttered.
Since we were still at intente, I could only see him out of the edge of my vision, and his wolf headdress, worn by all standard-bearers, obscured what little of his face I could see. I was about to mutter my opinion, but then Urso saluted Paullus, who at least returned it, before the Primus Pilus executed a half-turn to face us.
"Legion," he boomed out, his voice as harsh and unyielding as ever although all of us knew him well enough to hear the undercurrent of not just anger, but real rage, telling us he was at the edge of his control, "your behavior during the speech given by our Legate is unbecoming of a Legion of Rome, and such blatant disrespect will not be tolerated! Therefore, each Century is required to draw lots and pick one man from among you to be flogged, without the scourge, five lashes apiece!"
While his mouth continued moving, not even Urso's prodigious volume could compete with the roar of anger that spontaneously burst from the entire Legion, and I was protesting just as loudly as everyone else. Because of our placing, I had the Praetorium in the edge of my vision to the right, and the movement of the Legate and Tribunes suddenly stopped at the noise. Glancing over, I saw all of them spin about in surprise; as inept as the man may have been, there was no way he could have mistaken the sound we were making as some sort of approbation. Paullus was clearly shaken as well, except he was too arrogant and too stupid to know how much danger he was in of inciting a Legion of hardened men who already hated him for walking us into an ambush into tearing him apart. Instead, he spun about to face Urso again, shouting something as he pointed in our direction, but Urso, with the support of an enraged Legion, was not backing down, shouting right back. I suppose it was the sight of his Primus Pilus and broad stripe standing nose to nose, screaming at each other, that prompted the Legate to break into a run, the Tribunes hot on his heels. Reaching the pair, the Legate slid to a stop, the Tribunes imitating him, and their feet kicked up a fair amount of dust that briefly obscured the knot of men. Meanwhile, we continued shouting our displeasure, letting the officers know we would not submit to this unjustified punishme
nt. Thankfully, the exchange did not take long; the Legate clearly heard both Paullus' and Urso's respective sides, and I was happy to see the Legate turn on Paullus, whose back was still to me, glaring in anger at his next in command. Poking a finger at Paullus, the Legate snapped out what I was sure was his informing the Tribune that he was a fucking idiot and there would be no such thing taking place. That, I thought with some satisfaction, should do it, but I underestimated just how stupid and arrogant Paullus was, because instead of saluting, he started jabbing his finger right back at the Legate. I do not know who looked more shocked, the Legate or Urso, who was standing next to the Legate, gaping in disbelief at Paullus. We never learned exactly what was said between the two, although it was the talk around the fires for quite some time afterward, but for the only time under his command, I saw the Legate behave as a Legate should. When Paullus was finished with his own tirade, instead of answering him, the Legate turned and beckoned to the other Tribunes. Pointing to Paullus, it became clear what he was ordering when a pair of them stepped forward, paused briefly as the Legate spoke, then moved to either side of Paullus. Not lost on me was that one of the ones who were either chosen or volunteered to escort Paullus away was the Tribune Claudius and, of the two, he looked the most eager to carry out the Legate's orders. Only then did Paullus seem to realize that he would not have his way with this, but when Claudius reached out to take his arm, like the first time I had seen the former touch the latter, Paullus jerked away, turning to look at Claudius so that I could see enough of his face to see the loathing and contempt; it was one of the rare times the pair had the same expression. This time, however, the Legate was there, and he spoke again, then Claudius grabbed Paullus roughly by the arm, his eagerness to obey the order clear to see. The other Tribune did not seem as enthusiastic but he still obeyed, grasping Paullus by the other arm. Despite this, Paullus struggled briefly, and for a moment it looked as if the Legate was going to have the other Tribunes join in and carry him bodily from the forum before Paullus apparently understood that and allowed himself to be led away to the Praetorium.
