Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  This obviously frustrated Germanicus, and for a brief instant, Volusenus was worried that the Legate would take that out on him, but this was not the kind of man Germanicus was, and he proved that by slamming his hand on the desk as he cried, “I wish I knew what it was so I could do something about it!” He turned his attention to Volusenus, fixing him with a stare of such intensity that it made Volusenus uncomfortable, yet all he said was, “Are you sure you don’t know what it is?” Suddenly, he asked, “When did you first notice him changing?”

  Volusenus thought for a moment, feeling the first stirring of…something, though he was not sure what it was, but he answered honestly, “It was right before we marched against the Marsi, sir. At least,” he allowed, “that’s when I noticed something had changed.”

  “And,” Germanicus pressed, “what was happening then? Anything unusual?”

  Volusenus’ initial response never made it past his lips, although it took an effort not to blurt out, “You mean besides a mutiny of half the army?” Instead, he considered carefully, and again, there was a flicker of something, but he finally shook his head in similar frustration and answered Germanicus, “Not that I can think of, sir, I swear it. Although,” he frowned as one memory came back to him, “the night before we were leaving, we were all going into town. This was when Pilus Prior Macer was still in command of the Cohort. But Centurion Pullus suddenly took ill and turned around and went back to camp.”

  “Took ill?” Germanicus echoed, his frown matching Volusenus’, and he shook his head as he muttered, “I didn’t think he’d been sick a day in his life.”

  “It was strange,” Volusenus admitted. Then, he remembered something, “But he said it was a headache.”

  “Did it last long?” Germanicus asked.

  Volusenus shook his head, “No, sir. The next morning, he seemed back to normal. Physically, at least. But that’s around the time I first noticed he was different.”

  Germanicus said nothing for a long moment, staring down at his desk as he fiddled with a stylus, then he said abruptly, “I’ve noticed that you and the Pilus Prior have become close.”

  “Close, sir?” Volusenus repeated cautiously, but he felt compelled to point out, “While it’s true we had our differences when I first arrived and we’ve sorted that out, I’m not sure how close we are.”

  “Well, however you want to describe it,” Germanicus replied impatiently, “I’m going to rely on you to talk to him, Volusenus.”

  “Talk to him?” Volusenus repeated, shifting on his stool, feeling trapped by this sudden change in the current of the conversation. “Talk to him about what, exactly?”

  “That he needs to be careful,” Germanicus answered quietly. “I will do everything in my power to protect him, and this matter with Vespillo is something I can deal with, but because of our time together with the Legio Germanicus, I know there are men who view him as one of my…creatures,” he grimaced with distaste at the word, then he continued, “despite the fact that I have absolutely no interest in doing any of the things these men accuse me of doing. Unfortunately,” he concluded, “that doesn’t matter to them. And I’m worried that Pullus will become a target of their hostility.”

  It was impossible for Volusenus to decide whether he should feel honored to be taken into Germanicus’ confidence to this degree or be worried by it, but he correctly sensed what the Propraetor was looking for, and when Germanicus fell silent, Volusenus was sincere when he said, “I’m not sure what I can do, sir. But I swear that I’ll do everything in my power to keep him from doing something that harms himself. Or,” he felt compelled to add, “the Cohort and the Legion.”

  Germanicus did not reply immediately, just studied Volusenus for a long moment, during which, Volusenus noticed, he suddenly cocked his head, an eyebrow lifting and, if Volusenus was any judge, appeared to come to some sort of realization.

  What that was Volusenus would not learn, because all Germanicus did was stand then say, “I appreciate that, Centurion. And I won’t forget it.” Suddenly, he chuckled, and that quality of genial good humor resurfaced as he added ruefully, “Although I’m guessing that Pullus won’t be appreciative, even if it is in his own best interests.”

  Despite the seriousness, Volusenus could not stop himself from returning Germanicus’ grin, agreeing, “No, sir. I don’t imagine he will. Which is why I’m going to try and keep him from finding out.”

  With a laugh, Germanicus ended the meeting, returning Volusenus’ salute, watching as the young Centurion executed an about turn and marched to the leather partition. Since he did not turn around but marched straight out of the office, Volusenus did not see how quickly Germanicus’ appearance of good humor vanished, although he did wait long enough to ensure that the Centurion was out of earshot before speaking again.

  Turning to one of his secretaries, he said quietly, “Go to the Second of the 1st’s area and find Pilus Prior Macer. Tell him I need to speak with him immediately.”

  Neither Titus Pullus nor Gnaeus Volusenus were aware that the circle of people who at least suspected the truth about them was about to grow by one, something that would only become known much later, and cause a great deal of introspection and heartache.

  While they would never speak about it, mainly because neither party was aware of it, Marcus Macer’s thoughts were almost identical to Gnaeus Volusenus’, who had, unknown to Macer, occupied the stool the newly promoted Secundus Pilus Prior was now sitting on, less than a sixth part of a watch earlier. Unlike Volusenus, Macer was on the short side, meaning that he was forced to look slightly upward at Germanicus, but despite having been in the Legate’s presence dozens of times, far more than Volusenus, he was no less nervous.

  “Before I talk about why I summoned you, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask,” Germanicus began, “how you’re liking being in command of the Second Cohort?”

  Macer, who had assumed this was actually the reason he had been summoned since this was the first time he had led his Cohort in action, even if this could hardly be called a battle, was at least able to answer immediately, “I’m liking it a great deal, sir. Although,” he granted, “I’m still getting to know the Centurions.”

  “Yes,” Germanicus agreed, “I’m sure that’s one of the big challenges, isn’t it? In fact,” he was smiling, “I recall the Primus Pilus of my Legio Germanicus once telling me that there are no bad Centuries, only bad Centurions. So,” he continued, “I suppose it’s natural that it takes time to figure out what you’re facing when you take command.” Macer had the distinct impression that Germanicus’ indirect mention of his friend and former Optio was no accident, which was confirmed when, the smile vanishing, Germanicus went on, “Which is why I sent for you. This isn’t about the Second. Although,” he added hastily, “I was impressed by the way they performed today.” Unsure of how to respond, Macer simply inclined his head and murmured a thank you, which Germanicus either did not hear or ignored as he went on, “But I need to talk to you about Pullus. And,” he hesitated, “I’m going to ask you something that you might find…unusual.”

  When Germanicus stopped, Macer correctly assumed he was expecting some sort of response, and he spoke carefully, “I’ll do whatever I can to help, sir. Although,” he hesitated, wondering how this would go over, “I’m not willing to break my oath to him about certain…matters.”

  Without knowing it, Macer had just supplied Germanicus the opening that he needed, and unlike the Pilus Prior, he did not hesitate, asking quietly, “Matters such as the fact that I believe his son is serving under him in the same Cohort?”

  Macer felt his jaw dropping, and he stared at Germanicus in astonishment, but he finally managed to say in a choked voice, “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Germanicus answered genially. Seeing Macer’s mouth open to protest, he held up a hand, “Now, Pilus Prior, don’t worry. You didn’t betray Pullus. I can see by your reaction that my guess is probably corr
ect, but I won’t force you to betray any confidence since he’s obviously sworn you to secrecy.” His face turned grave, and he dropped his eyes, once more examining the stylus that he had been twirling with his fingers during his time with Volusenus. Finally, he asked in a low voice, “Am I also correct in assuming that Volusenus doesn’t have any idea that he might be…related to the Pilus Prior?”

  Swallowing the lump in his throat while silently asking Pullus for his forgiveness, Macer shook his head but did not speak. The Legate did not say anything either, and the two men sat, looking at each other, both occupied with their thoughts.

  “So,” Germanicus broke the quiet, “what do we do about this?”

  “Do?” Macer asked, confused. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  “It’s clear that Pullus has been affected by something, and I think that it’s because of what I mentioned,” Germanicus explained, neither irritated or impatient in the slightest, reminding Macer how unlike his adopted father this man was. Suddenly, he changed the subject, and his tone became sharper as he asked, “Do you know what happened with the Fourth today?”

  For a brief instant, Macer considered playing Stupid Legionary, but he quickly discarded it, admitting, “Yes, sir. I’m aware of it.”

  “How did you hear?” Germanicus asked, then he added with obvious worry, “You didn’t see it happen, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t see it happen, and as far as I’ve heard, nobody outside the Fourth saw it either.” Macer felt good that he could at least provide this assurance. “But,” he admitted, “Pullus came to see me about it.”

  “And?” Germanicus’ gaze was now fixed on Macer, who could only offer a shrug as he answered, “And, he told me that he knocked Vespillo out.”

  Germanicus’ reaction was the same snorting laugh that Volusenus and his counterparts had heard, and he agreed, “That much is true. And now I’ve got a Centurion with a broken jaw.” He fell silent, returning his attention to his desk, but Macer was not fooled, hearing the intense interest when Germanicus asked, “Did Pullus tell you why he did it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Macer answered immediately, having anticipated the question. “He did.”

  “What do you think about Vespillo?” Germanicus asked suddenly. “You were his Pilus Prior for…?”

  “About five years,” Macer answered flatly, but while his face did not betray it, he was in a quandary about how much to divulge.

  “And?” Germanicus pressed, informing Macer that he was not willing to allow Macer to leave it at that.

  “And,” Macer said quietly, “while he’s a competent Centurion, he’s become so bitter about being passed over that he’s a detriment to the Cohort.”

  To Macer’s intent relief, Germanicus nodded in a manner that he was certain meant that the Legate had already arrived at this conclusion.

  Whether it was intentional or not, Germanicus suddenly switched topics back to Pullus, returning to the question, “How can we help Pullus?”

  “I’ve urged him on more than one occasion to tell Volusenus the truth,” Macer admitted. “But,” he shrugged again, “he promised Volusenus’ mother that he wouldn’t do it, that he’d let her do it. And,” Macer pointed out, “while I agree that Volusenus should know, I also understand why Pullus is reluctant to, at least right now.”

  Fortunately, Macer did not need to explain, Germanicus immediately grasping the issue, “Then I’d have two distracted Centurions in the same Cohort. And,” he sighed, “there’s no telling how Volusenus would react.”

  “That’s Pullus’ fear,” Macer agreed.

  The pair sat in silence for a moment then, both of them of a like mind, brooding over their inability to help a man that they respected and, in the way only men who have gone into combat together can know, cared deeply about.

  Finally, Germanicus slapped his desk, saying, “Well, the one thing I can do is make sure that this matter with Vespillo doesn’t go any farther. The other thing?” He shook his head, and finished helplessly, “I suppose we’re going to have to let that lie for the time being.”

  Macer was relieved that Germanicus saw matters the same way, but he did feel compelled to ask, “What about Vespillo, sir? Shouldn’t he be transferred?”

  “Should he be?” Germanicus echoed. Nodding, he agreed, “Yes, he should be. But,” his head changed direction, “it won’t be now, for the same reason we can’t tell Volusenus.”

  While Macer understood the logic, in this instance, he did not agree with Germanicus, unable to see how it would be possible for Vespillo to continue with the Fourth, but he also recognized that the Legate’s mind was made up. As Volusenus had, Macer rendered his salute and marched out of Germanicus’ office; it was not until he was out of the praetorium that he realized that the Legate had been alone in his office, with none of his staff or even his body slaves present. This made Macer feel a little better, but he could not quell the nagging feeling that he had betrayed Pullus’ confidence. Meanwhile, in his office, Germanicus sat for a few moments longer, deep in thought as he considered how much he owed to the giant Centurion, and wishing that he could do more to protect Pullus from himself.

  Vespillo only spent one night in the hospital, returning to the Cohort the next morning, but despite the air of tension in Pullus’ quarters when he held the morning briefing, the Pilus Posterior made no mention of the incident the day before.

  “Of course,” Structus observed as he and Volusenus returned to their Centuries, “that’s only because he can’t. Did you see how swollen his jaw is?”

  “I’m not blind,” Volusenus replied, mostly in jest. “I don’t think he’s going to be able to talk for a while.”

  “Thank Fortuna,” Structus said fervently. “Maybe if we’re lucky, it won’t mend right and he won’t be able to say another word for as long as he lives.”

  Volusenus laughed, then the pair fell silent, mainly because they were walking through the Second Century’s area, and both men surreptitiously watched the rankers as they hurried about their morning duties, trying to determine the mood among Vespillo’s men.

  Only after they were safely past did they resume their conversation, and Structus asked with a casualness that Volusenus easily detected was feigned, “So we didn’t have a chance to talk last night. What did Germanicus want with you?”

  He had been wrestling with how to answer the questions he knew would be coming, but it was not until he spoke that Volusenus decided to be honest. “He’s worried about the Pilus Prior and he asked me whether I knew why he’s been…off lately.”

  Structus’ head turned sharply, and he demanded, “Why did he ask you?” The edge to Structus’ voice caught Volusenus by surprise, but before he could reply, he learned why when Structus grumbled, “I was only his Optio for five years. He could have asked me.”

  Stifling a chuckle, Volusenus tried to sound sympathetic as he answered, “I suppose it’s because of our size, but I didn’t ask.”

  “If Germanicus noticed, that can’t be good.” Structus sounded genuinely worried, and Volusenus tried to decide how far he could go without betraying Germanicus’ confidence.

  “He has,” Volusenus agreed, then added carefully, “but I wouldn’t worry about it.” When Structus looked up at him sharply, he said, “I do know that nothing is going to happen about Vespillo.”

  “That was obvious just now,” Structus retorted. “Although,” he relented somewhat, “it’s good to know that. You’re sure about it?”

  Volusenus nodded, but then Structus reached his area, and without saying anything else, pointed his vitus at a ranker who, to Volusenus’ now-experienced eye, was looking like he was trying far too hard to appear normal, and his Centurion barked, “Oy! Pictor! Yes, you, you bastard! You don’t fucking fool me!”

  Structus was striding towards the ranker, leaving Volusenus to continue to his area, grinning at the sight of the ranker Pictor, who was obviously trying to decide whether to flee and hope Structus was not sufficiently angry
to give chase, or take the inevitable beating, and he enjoyed this moment of normalcy. Pullus had relayed that they would be staying in place for this day then resuming their progress across the Adrana, so today would be filled with moments like this, before the serious and deadly business began again.

  Chapter Four

  Pullus had spent a largely sleepless night, waiting for the summons from Germanicus, especially after Alex informed him that Vespillo had been seen heading in the direction of the praetorium.

  When Pullus expressed his worry about this, Alex had pointed out, “The quaestorium is right next to it, so he could be going to the hospital.”

  Pullus had been disbelieving, but when the watches crawled by with no runner appearing, this seemed to be the case. Only when Krateros had come to tell Alex that Volusenus, along with the other Centurions, had been summoned to the praetorium, and more importantly, by whom, Pullus resigned himself to an unpleasant audience with Germanicus, or with Sacrovir at the very least. However, the night passed, no word came, and when Pullus awoke, he was even more confused. Then Sacrovir had called for the normal morning meeting of the Pili Priores, and he entered the Primus Pilus’ office with Macer convinced that there would be a reckoning of some sort. When Sacrovir dismissed the others but ordered Pullus to stay back, he braced himself for what he now viewed as inevitable.

  And, at first, his fears seemed confirmed when Sacrovir, leaning back in his chair, regarded Pullus with a decidedly cool gaze before he began, “So it seems I missed some excitement with your Cohort yesterday, Pullus. Would you care to tell me about it?”

  Pullus had rehearsed what he would say, but that had been to Germanicus, and he calculated that telling Sacrovir that he had been incensed by Vespillo’s slur against Germanicus would not get the same reception from his Primus Pilus.