by R. W. Peake
Volusenus turned to Pullus and said ruefully, “If we only get one night, there’s no way my mother will allow me to go marching off without spending time with her. I hope we get two.”
His words barely seemed to register with Pullus, who only nodded absently, but Volusenus decided that it was because, as a new Pilus Prior, he had too many things on his mind to listen to the complaining by one of his Centurions about being forced to visit his mother. It’s not always about you, Gnaeus, he reminded himself ruefully, and he thought no more about it, returning his attention to Sacrovir, who was finishing the meeting. When they dispersed, as always, the Centurions tended to walk back to their respective area with the officers of their Cohort, but Pullus still seemed preoccupied, so Volusenus slowed a bit to walk with Structus, with whom he had developed a friendship now that Pullus’ former Optio was in the Centurionate, leaving Pullus alone with his thoughts.
The march to Mogontiacum was as uneventful as Sacrovir hoped, not least because the absence of the heavy baggage meant that the men did not have to heave the wagons out of the inevitable ruts. It also helped that the weather cooperated, since it was fairly common that a warm spell would be broken by a return of the bitter cold, and snow was not unknown, although there was still ice in the water buckets in the morning, and the men spent at least the first marching period wearing their sagum. One thing that became apparent to Volusenus was that Pullus’ distraction, which he had first noticed during Sacrovir’s meeting, had extended to the march, and while the Pilus Prior was not overtly rude when Volusenus would approach him to chat during a rest stop or once they had stopped for the day, he sensed the same kind of distance that had marked the beginning of the winter campaign. When it had happened then, he had confronted Pullus about his aloofness, but this time, he did not, telling himself not to read too much into things, although it took some effort to refrain. Somehow, he felt certain, Pullus’ behavior was related to him personally, although Volusenus could not articulate why he felt that way, but when he thought about it later, he also marked this as another moment where, somewhere deep within the recesses of his mind, he realized that, for some reason, this involved his mother, although he was also honest with himself in acknowledging that this might be because of hindsight.
When they arrived in Mogontiacum, Sacrovir immediately went to the Praetorium to report, returning a short while later as the Legion settled into the section of the camp that had been allocated for their use, and before a third of a watch had passed, the men of all ranks were talking excitedly about the prospect of going into town. For the men of the 1st, there was the added spice that came from it not being Ubiorum; as much as the town outside their home camp had grown, the choices there were still much more limited than in the larger Mogontiacum. Actually, Mogontiacum had grown into almost a small city, and since its major, and really only business was sustaining the army, a large part of that support, and one reason the men were excited, was to cater to the fleshly needs of the men of the Legions. Consequently, the air of anticipation that suffused the 1st was palpable, augmented by the further news that, since the other Legions had already been in Mogontiacum waiting for the 1st to arrive, they were restricted to camp. And, as rankers gleefully reminded each other, that meant they would have the widest array of choice available among the small army of whores, along with an almost unlimited supply of wine, or for those who had developed a taste for it, mead. As Volusenus made his rounds, making sure that the men of his Century had attended to their various tasks before they were given permission to leave camp, he listened with amusement, although there was a fair amount of regret that he would be unable to join them. Structus had invited him to go with himself and the newest addition to the Fourth, the Centurion who had replaced Pullus as Princeps Prior, Vibius Licinius, who had been offered the chance of moving up into a first line Cohort from his spot as Quintus Pilus Posterior, but Volusenus had declined, although he did not say why. Only with Pullus did Volusenus reveal the cause for his decision to forego the pleasures that a night of debauching had to offer.
“If my mother ever found out that I was here and didn’t see her, I’d never hear the end of it,” he had admitted to Pullus, who smiled but did not say anything. Perhaps it was the silence that prompted Volusenus to spontaneously offer, “Pilus Prior, I’d be honored if you would have dinner with my mother and me tonight. Granted,” he grinned, “it means you’ll have to eat on your stomach. My mother never adjusted to the idea of sitting at a table. Still,” he hurried on as he saw Pullus’ smile fade, “she has a very good cook, and I know she would love to meet you.”
Pullus, who was sitting behind his desk, did not reply immediately; to Volusenus, it seemed that he went a shade paler than normal, but he answered quickly enough that Volusenus thought he might have imagined that the pause was longer than it should have been, “Thank you, Gnaeus. That’s a very generous offer. But,” his smile returned, although it was more of a grimace as he pointed to the small stack of tablets on his desk, “I have to get these turned in to the raetorium before we march in the morning, or I’m going to have Sacrovir climbing up my ass.”
Volusenus gave a polite laugh, but he persisted, “Surely that’s something Alex could do, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Pullus allowed, but the flicker of hope Volusenus experienced quickly died as he explained, “but remember, I’m new at being a Pilus Prior. I need to get a better idea of what’s involved. And,” he finished with a shrug, “this will be the last time for the foreseeable future for me to learn what Sacrovir expects from his Pili Priores when it comes to this kind of thing.”
It was, Volusenus acknowledged, a perfectly reasonable explanation, yet he did not believe a word of it. However, neither was he willing to press the issue any further, so instead, he tried to sound as if he did not suspect anything, turning about and walking out of Pullus’ quarters, unable to see the expression on Pullus’ face as the older man watched his son leave to visit the woman they both loved.
“I invited the Pilus Prior, but he said he was too busy,” Volusenus commented as he reached across his mother to snatch a bowl of olives, prompting a playful slap from her, something that had been a constant battle between them about his manners. He gave her a cheerful grin as he retrieved the bowl, while Giulia commented, “Oh, that’s too bad. I do like Pilus Prior Macer very much. He’s very polite and seems to be a good man.”
As she intended, the tone her voice caused Volusenus to freeze, the olive he was about to pop into his mouth remaining in his fingers as he stared at her suspiciously, and she could see he thought she had forgotten that he had informed her of Pullus’ promotion.
“What does that mean?” he demanded. “What do you mean you like him very much?”
It was difficult, but Giulia kept a straight face, replying, “Why, I mean just what I said. And,” now her mouth twitched, “he is quite handsome. Although,” she tilted her head, which was the sign to Volusenus he was being teased, “he is a bit short for my taste.”
“Mama,” Gnaeus laughed now, fully falling for her ruse, “surely you haven’t forgotten that Pullus is the Pilus Prior now. Is that what I have to look forward to when I get to be your age?”
Her son would never know the effort it took for his mother to pretend that, the instant Gnaeus had mentioned inviting his Pilus Prior, she had forgotten that it was her lover and not Marcus Macer, and she did her best to appear flustered as she snapped, “All right, it slipped my mind, that’s all! It was a simple mistake, and I assure you it has nothing to do with my age!”
She glared at him with mock irritation as she said this, and fortunately, for both of them, while he saw this reaction, he fell for her ruse, certain that she was just embarrassed she had forgotten, and he laughed uproariously, rolling away from her on the couch to point as he said, “You should see your face, Mama!” Wiping a tear away, he teased, “So, are you caught up now?”
“Yes,” she tried to sound peeved but was secretly relieved he clearly d
id not suspect she had fooled him. “You have a new Pilus Prior, and it’s Titus Pullus.”
Nodding, he confirmed, “Yes, Mama. He’s the new Pilus Prior.”
Then, struck by a thought that she had actually not considered when her lover had informed her, nor had it come up with her son the first time the topic came up, she asked Volusenus, “Isn’t that a bit unusual? I mean, isn’t it usually the…” she could not remember the term, so used, “…second in command who takes over the Cohort?”
“Usually,” her son agreed, “but not always. And, the only man who’s upset that he’s not Pilus Prior is Vespillo. I know we all would rather follow Pullus than him.”
She considered this, experiencing a flash of amusement at the thought of how Gnaeus would react if he learned she agreed with him wholeheartedly, but for an entirely different reason.
This did not tempt her to reveal the truth, but she mused, “I can’t imagine that this Vespillo fellow is very happy.”
“No,” Volusenus agreed, and his demeanor became serious, “he’s not. And,” he admitted, “I know Pullus is worried about it. Pluto’s co…” he managed to cut himself off, his mother giving him a reproving look as he continued, “…well, we’re all worried about it. Although,” he shrugged, reaching for a cup and draining it, “I can’t imagine he would be stupid enough to do something that could get any of us killed.”
Even as the words came out, Volusenus realized his error, and he hurriedly reached over to his mother, who had just given a discernible shudder, pulling her close to him as he awkwardly patted her shoulder, cursing himself for being the cause of her distress.
“Mama,” he said gently, “I’m sorry. That’s just how we talk, but I should have thought before I spoke.”
She had turned to bury her face in his shoulder, so her voice was muffled as she replied, “It’s all right. It just…surprised me, that’s all.” He heard her sniffle, but when she lifted her head, her eyes were clear and she was smiling again as she said lightly, “I will say that I feel better knowing that Pullus is your new Pilus Prior. I know you think very highly of him, and clearly he thinks well of you too.”
Volusenus glanced at her curiously, asking, “What makes you say that?”
Inwardly, Giulia was chiding herself, realizing that she needed to move to safer topics than the subject of Gnaeus’ father, but she managed to respond without a noticeable hesitation, “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? After all,” she pointed out, “you told me how much time he spent with you helping make you better at your job. And he loaned you the money for your gladius.”
“That’s true,” he admitted, then fell silent, suddenly staring into space, which prompted her to ask, “What is it? What’s wrong now?”
Shaking his head, Volusenus answered absently, “Nothing, Mama. I’m just…worried about him, that’s all.”
“Pullus?” she asked, thankful he did not look over at her as he nodded soberly, which prompted her to ask, “Why, Gnaeus? Why are you worried?”
“He just hasn’t been…himself, lately, I suppose,” he finally managed. “He’s just preoccupied.”
“Maybe,” she offered, knowing it was not the case, “he’s just got his hands full. I certainly have no real idea, but I can imagine that it’s quite a change from running a Century to an entire Cohort.”
“It is,” he agreed, “but he was like that before he was promoted.”
Realizing that nothing good would come from continuing this, Giulia changed the subject, relying on her deep knowledge of her son, informing him, “I hope that doesn’t mean that your appetite is spoiled.”
As she hoped, this got his attention, reminding her how, despite his size and his life as a Centurion, Gnaeus was still her son, and he had always been ruled by his stomach, which was confirmed when he asked eagerly, “Why?”
“Because, I had the cook make you the honey almond cakes you like so much.”
Her reward was the look of simple boyish delight, and she felt a stab of such poignant, deep love that her heart ached for his father, who was sitting in a camp less than a mile away.
“I apologize, Pilus Prior,” Volusenus was standing, at intente, in front of Pullus’ desk once again, and while he was slightly mystified that Krateros had been waiting up to inform him that Pullus wanted to see him, he guessed the reason by adding, “I realize that I returned later than expected.”
Pullus was still at his desk, despite it being past the midnight hour, and his expression was such that it made Volusenus uneasy as he wondered why Pullus was so upset.
“That,” Pullus growled, “is one way to put it. But we’ve got barely a watch before the bucina call, and you’re just now getting back to camp? This,” his tone was severe, and accentuated with the firm shake of his head, “isn’t what I expect from Centurions in my Cohort, Volusenus.”
“I…I apologize,” Volusenus repeated, but while he knew it was weak, he still felt compelled to offer, “I suppose I just lost track of time. And,” he tried a grin, hoping that it would help, “my mother surprised me with something that she made me when I was a boy.”
Pullus did not reply, just continued staring at Volusenus, and the younger man saw that his Pilus Prior was truly angry, even more than it seemed to him the offense warranted. Men, even Centurions, often overstayed their period of leave by a third of a watch or two, and while with rankers that would often result in a thrashing with the vitus, or sometimes would earn a monetary fine, that was not the case with Centurions. In fact, Volusenus recalled, feeling for the first time a stirring of his own anger, he could think of several Centurions who spent nights in town with their families, and the only requirement was that they be present for morning formation. However, he told himself, that was not before the army was about to march, and this did more to quell his own feeling of indignant irritation as he studied Pullus’ face, waiting for him to speak.
Finally, Pullus looked down in a pointed manner, but while he did not raise his voice, there was no warmth in it as he said, “You need to make sure that your Century is ready to march, Volusenus. Now…get out of my sight.”
Managing not to react in shock—Pullus had not addressed him in this manner in quite some time, and, he realized, it was the first time he had not used Volusenus’ praenomen in several weeks—Volusenus saluted, executed a stiff about-turn, and marched out of the office.
Pullus waited for the door to close, then listened for the outer one to shut as well before, heaving a sigh, he dropped his stylus on his desk, sat back, and muttered, “Nicely done, Titus. Nicely done.”
His anger at Volusenus was unfeigned, but it had nothing to do with his tardiness as it related to the Sixth, and everything to do with the jealousy he experienced that he had been deprived of his own chance to spend time, any time, with Giulia. He briefly considered slipping out to make a brief visit to her, but the truth was that he was exhausted, yet another ravage of his age that served as a reminder that he was not the Titus Pullus he had been when he was a young Gregarius, following his brother Sextus’ advice about how to attract the pretty girl whose father was a merchant. Realizing that he had lost the opportunity, he tried to console himself with the idea that at least the man Giulia had been with was their son, but he was honest enough to acknowledge that this did not matter. Knowing he had to do something, he got up, walked to his pack, withdrew a page of vellum, of which he always carried a few sheets, from the leather tube that he carried them in, and returned to the desk. Pausing, he gathered his thoughts, then began to write, taking care to avoid mistakes, carefully choosing his words, not wanting to mar the letter he was writing with lined-out words. Finishing, he reread it once, then another time, before being, if not satisfied, resigned to the fact that he had done the best he could do, then carefully rolled it up, dropped a blob of melted wax, then impressed the seal of the Quartus Pilus Prior of Legio I into it. He opened his mouth to call Alex, then realized that his nephew was asleep on his pallet in the outer office, banished there by P
ullus when he realized that he would be unable to sleep until Volusenus returned. Standing slowly, he had to stifle the groan that was prompted whenever he sat in one position for too long, yet another reminder from the gods of the failing of his body. That Titus Porcinianus Pullus was not experiencing anything unusual, that these were the aches and pains that came from being a man in his forties meant absolutely nothing to him and, while he was unaware of it, his attitude was identical to his Avus, who simply refused to accept the idea that he was as prone to the ravages of time as any man. Dropping onto his cot, Pullus fell back, not bothering to take off his caligae, or his tunic, but despite his fatigue, he remained awake for some time as he wondered if he had been cheated of his last chance to see Giulia, at least in this life.
Chapter Three
Germanicus led his army out of the gates, heading due north, and the fact that they had been ordered to wear their armor and march with their shields uncovered was meant as a signal to not only the men of the army, but to the inhabitants of Mogontiacum who, as always, lined the road leading north that this was the campaign for which they had been waiting. While it was true that, after the initial hysteria following the news of the Varus disaster settled down, the people who had made Mogontiacum, Ubiorum, and the other Roman towns along the Rhenus had resumed living what, at least outwardly, appeared to be their normal and everyday lives, there had also been an air of dreadful anticipation as they waited for Arminius and his horde to descend on them. This sign that, at last, Rome was going to remove the threat that had loomed over their collective lives for almost six long years, was met with the level of enthusiasm that Germanicus had expected, and as they marched away, the Centurions of the Fourth Cohort of the 1st Legion basked in the adoration of the crowds. More importantly to Volusenus, when Pullus had stepped aside from his spot leading the Cohort to watch as his men marched by, when Volusenus and his Sixth reached him, all signs of antipathy from his Pilus Prior was gone.
