by R. W. Peake
It turned out that it required two coats of oil and the subsequent scrapings before most of the men felt clean, although as Volusenus made his circuit of the Century, he heard men muttering they could still smell a residual of the foul contents of the ditch. The topic of the skirmish with the 15th was something the men discussed with considerably more animation, and Volusenus experienced a pang of trepidation as he wondered what Pullus would have to say about his actions. He did not have long to wait; Alex came just as he finished his meal, but while he expected some sort of private affair, when he entered Pullus’ quarters, he was disturbed to see that the other Centurions were already present. As he walked to his seat, he was more acutely aware of their eyes on him than normal, but it was their expressions that, to him, conveyed their disapproval.
However, it was not Pullus who spoke first; Structus broke the silence by demanding, “Well? Is it true?”
Since Structus occupied the stool next to him, Volusenus turned towards him, although he kept one eye on Pullus, but the Pilus Prior was looking on impassively. And, judging from the manner in which Structus was glaring at him with his arms folded, which suddenly brought to Volusenus’ mind a memory of a tutor who had once looked at him in an almost identical manner when he was improperly conjugating, he was certain that a chastisement was coming.
Nonetheless, he decided it would be better to play along for a bit, and he asked cautiously, “Is what true?”
For the first time, Structus’ expression changed subtly as one eyebrow went up, and he scoffed, “As if you don’t know what I’m talking about!” It was the sudden twitch of the Centurion’s mouth that gave the game away as Structus asked, “Is it true that you threw that cunnus from the 15th all the way over his tent with one hand?”
Even if Volusenus had answered, he would not have been heard over the uproarious laughter from the others, and he experienced a wave of intense relief, confirmed when he glanced over at Pullus, who had pushed away from his desk and was doubled over holding his stomach, presumably from the hilarity of the moment.
Once it got quiet enough to be heard, Volusenus, who had begun laughing himself, though he was not sure why, asked Structus, “Where did you hear that?”
Wiping one eye, Structus was still chuckling as he replied, “Oh, from one of my boys a little while ago. I heard them talking at their fire, and he swore on the black stone that you snatched that 15th bastard up and threw him so far and high that he flew over his tent and landed on the Century street on the other side.” This renewed the laughter, over which Structus added, “And he said you did it with your left hand, not your right. He said if you had used your gladius arm, that fucker might still be in the air.”
“Well,” Volusenus admitted, “he was right about one thing. It was my left hand, but that’s because I was about to cave in his face with my right.”
He did not intend to do so, but Volusenus instantly recognized that this dampened the humorous aspect of the moment, the smile fading from Structus’ face, and while he could not see Licinius, Cornutus, or Vespillo, he did not need to, hearing their laughter fade. However, when he glanced over at Pullus, expecting their Pilus Prior to be looking at him, instead he saw the older Centurion gazing down at his own left arm, the extensive scarring having turned white, and Volusenus wondered what he was thinking.
Pullus seemed to realize that things had quieted down, so he lifted his head, looking slightly embarrassed, and he cleared his throat before he said, “Yes, about that.” Now his expression had returned to what Volusenus thought of as his “Pilus Prior face,” when he was addressing them as their superior. “You know what would have happened if you actually hit that poor bastard, don’t you, Volusenus?”
“Yes, Pilus Prior,” Volusenus admitted; now that his ire had cooled, he had quickly realized he had flirted with disaster, which prompted him to continue, “and I have no excuse for my actions.”
“Actually,” Pullus replied mildly, “I thought you had every reason in the world to knock that cunnus’ teeth out.”
Volusenus had been unable to look Pullus in the eye when he acknowledged his error, so he looked up in real surprise, but Pullus’ expression was serious.
“You were doing your best to break up that fight, and you were assaulted,” Pullus went on. “We both know that there’s no way that piece of filth would have made you move a step if he had just ‘bumped into you’.” Pullus’ tone turned mocking. “And while I didn’t actually see what he did, I was close enough to see you staggering a few steps.” Shaking his head, Pullus said flatly, “So that cunnus deserved what you were about to give him.” He paused for perhaps a heartbeat or two, then added, “But it would still have caused you and,” he indicated himself and the other Centurions, “us a lot of problems.”
For the first time, one of the others spoke up, and it was Cornutus who asked, “So what did those two Centurions from the 15th say? And, who were they?”
“The Sextus Pilus Prior and his Princeps Posterior,” Pullus replied, making a grimace of distaste that Volusenus sensed was more for effect. “It was the Princeps Posterior’s boys that Pulcher went after, and the one Volusenus threw over the tent was his as well.” As expected, this caused some chuckles, but Pullus became serious again as he went on, this time it being Vespillo’s turn as he continued, “The one your man Carbo went after was from the First of the Sixth. Anyway,” he shrugged, “they tried to make a fuss about it, but they decided it wasn’t a good idea.”
“And how,” Volusenus asked, “did they reach that decision?”
Pullus’ weathered face split into a grin, his humor returning, and he gave another, more elaborate shrug, “I have no idea, Volusenus. Maybe a numen whispered in their ear all the bad things that might be coming their way if they did.” This elicited chuckles, but now Pullus was ready to move on to more serious matters, informing the others, “But the main reason I called you here is to let you know that tomorrow it’s going to be the 5th marching, and they’re going to be heading north. There’s supposed to be a decent-sized settlement about four miles from here, just south of the northern border of Chatti lands. We’re going out the day after, and we’ll be heading east. Then the day after, the last Legion is going out, but I don’t know where yet, just that it will be the 15th. Germanicus wants to make sure each of us get the opportunity…”
“To act as bait,” Vespillo interjected sourly.
Volusenus was certain that this jibe from Vespillo would elicit a harsh response, but to his surprise, Pullus did not seem all that angry, although he was clearly irritated. Nevertheless, his tone was even as he agreed, “That’s exactly right, Vespillo. It’s good to see that you’re of the same mind as our Legate. I’m sure,” now his tone became heavily sarcastic, “Germanicus will sleep easier knowing that.”
This brought some snickers, though they were quickly stifled, and Volusenus did not have to see Vespillo to guess how he was reacting, although he wisely said nothing more.
Seeing that nothing more was forthcoming from the Pilus Posterior, Pullus returned to the subject. “You can tell the men they’re going to have tomorrow off, with no guard duties.”
This was good news, not just for the men but for the Centurions and their Optios, so when Pullus dismissed the Centurions, they were in a good mood, talking among themselves as they filed out, but Volusenus lingered for a moment, waiting for Structus to push through the flap.
“Thank you, Pilus Prior,” he said once they were alone, but Pullus only regarded him with a raised eyebrow, asking, “For what?”
“You know for what,” Volusenus replied, careful to keep his impatience hidden. “If you hadn’t stopped me, it would have caused me a lot of problems.”
“It would,” Pullus agreed, then added, “but it would have caused the Cohort problems as well.”
“Ah,” Volusenus nodded, seemingly accepting this, but asked, “so that’s all it was, that it helped the Cohort?”
“What do you think?” Pullus asked
quietly, looking Volusenus in the eye.
Volusenus did not answer verbally; instead, he merely nodded his head, then pushed through the flap, leaving Pullus seated at his desk. As he made his way back to his tent, Volusenus considered the exchange. Part of his mind told him that Pullus’ intervention had been simply a matter of a Pilus Prior sticking up for one of his Centurions, and that he was right to do so because of what it meant for his Cohort, but the truth was, he did not believe it to be the case. Whatever the reason, he thought, I’ve got to learn to control my temper. He was contemplating how to go about this for the rest of the night, up until the moment he fell asleep, and was no closer to determining how to do that when he woke up.
Chapter Five
Despite their best hopes, Germanicus’ strategy of launching Legion-strong forays out into the countryside surrounding what the men now called Old Camp did not yield the desired results, although it was not entirely fruitless in the sense that the Romans despoiled countless fields and razed more villages. Two days after their arrival at Old Camp, they were finally joined by Apronius and the 16th, fresh from their work in repairing roads and bridges, and they were immediately put into the rotation as the army, now four Legions strong, marched in every direction in their attempt to lure the Chatti into a battle. It was the first week of May when, after the 1st had conducted three of these smaller expeditions with the other Legions except the 16th doing as many, Germanicus addressed the situation at the daily briefing with the Primi Pili.
“We,” he announced, his voice reflecting his frustration, “are breaking camp in the morning and returning to the Rhenus.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth that he recognized his Primi Pili’s expressions, and he gave a humorless chuckle, adding, “But you already knew that.” He heaved a sigh, speaking softly enough it might have been to himself, “I don’t even know why I bother trying to keep anything secret.”
“Sir,” Sacrovir spoke, only after glancing at the other three Primi Pili and seeing they were not inclined to do so, “long before you, or for that matter, I ever marched under the standard, the clerks in the praetorium have been letting us poor bastards in the ranks know our fate. And,” he finished with a shrug, “I suspect it will be that way long after we’re turned to ash.”
That Sacrovir spoke to Germanicus in a manner he never would have dared to do with Tiberius, even when the Imperator was just a Legate and presumed to be Augustus’ heir, was just another example of the difference between father and adopted son, and more importantly, of the bond between the men of the Legions and Germanicus. Which, Germanicus well knew, was one reason why Tiberius viewed him with such suspicion, but it was simply not in his nature to behave differently; his personality was just more engaging and open than Tiberius’, and he had a natural affinity for the foul-mouthed, swaggering scoundrels who marched for Rome. Personally, he believed that, in this one area, he and Tiberius were more alike than it might seem to a casual observer but, for whatever reason, the new Imperator had been unable to express this openly to the men. Regardless of the differences between the two, Germanicus knew very well that the rankers respected both of them; what he would never express openly was his recognition that those same men extended more than just their respect to him, and while it was certainly flattering, he was acutely aware of the rancor it stirred in Tiberius. None of which, he also recognized, mattered at this moment, because what the Princeps was expecting were results, and while the Chatti were certainly a consideration for strategic purposes, the Legate never lost sight that ultimately this was about Arminius. This was what made his decision to break camp easier for him to digest, and he was cautiously pleased to see that his Primi Pili at least seemed to agree this was the correct course of action.
For two of Germanicus’ Centurions, the prospect of returning to Mogontiacum was particularly enticing, although for Pullus, it also created a quandary as he tried to think of a way that he could see Giulia without their son finding out about it. This subject occupied Pullus’ thoughts on the return march, as for what he was certain was the hundredth time, he carried on an internal debate, arguing with himself about breaking his promise to the mother of his son who, as Pullus was acutely aware, was marching not far behind him as Germanicus’ army traveled south, back to the relative safety of the Rhenus. His dilemma was solved three days into the march, although it was in a way that did not satisfy Pullus in the slightest. Shortly after the midday break, with the Rhenus no more than ten miles away, the track the army was following intersected with another one running on an east/west axis, whereupon the vanguard Legion, the 5th on that day, turned west, a fact of which Pullus was unaware for another sixth part of a watch until the 1st reached the junction and followed suit.
“What are we doing?” he asked Gemellus, although he did not really expect the Signifer to know any more than he did.
Gemellus shrugged as he replied, “I suppose we’re not going to Mogontiacum.”
“You think?” Pullus snorted derisively, instantly regretting it, but, since it was not in his nature to do so, he did not offer an apology.
Gemellus had been Pullus’ Signifer for several years, moving with him when Macer took his own Signifer with him to the Second Cohort, which had created all manner of problems. Moving Signiferi within a Cohort was one thing; while it was not done every single time a Centurion moved up in the Cohort hierarchy, it happened often enough that no eyebrows were raised. Macer taking his Signifer, Publius Atartinus, with him had unsurprisingly not been well received by the Second Cohort’s current Signifer, but there were several factors working against the man, not least of which was the fact that the long-serving Secundus Pilus Prior Lucius Sentius had been one of the Centurions singled out for punishment by the mutineers several months earlier because of his squeezing his men for money. Depending on whom one listened to, his Signifer was either in on it with Sentius, or, what seemed more likely to Gemellus, he had chosen to look the other way. Whatever the cause, Atartinus had been tainted by this association, and then Culleo’s sudden retirement had convinced Macer that a change was in order, not that Gemellus was complaining, since being a Cohort Signifer paid better. None of which mattered at this moment, as Gemellus tried to determine just how foul a mood his Centurion was in because of this sudden change in direction. While Pullus had never confided in him, Gemellus was aware that there was something in Mogontiacum that had captured his Centurion’s attention, and he was fairly certain that it was a woman. Who the woman was, and how it pertained to Centurion Volusenus, he had no idea about; only Macer knew the full truth, but right now, it was clear to the Signifer that this was the cause of Pullus’ foul humor. Consequently, he decided to say nothing that might arouse his Centurion’s ire more than it already had been by this development. It was not until the next rest stop, when Pullus trotted up to find Sacrovir, that the men of the Fourth learned the reason for the change.
“We’re marching back to Ubiorum,” Pullus informed the other Centurions, but while he did his best to hide it, Volusenus could see how bitterly disappointed the Pilus Prior was, and like Gemellus, wondered why.
“Why not Mogontiacum?” Vespillo demanded; Volusenus felt certain that his obvious irritation was because of his nature, and his circumstances at making himself an outcast, but for once, Pullus seemed to appreciate having an ally, because he did not chastise the Pilus Posterior, instead answering sourly, “Because Agrippina and Caligula are in Ubiorum, that’s why.”
Volusenus, like every man in Germanicus’ army, along with those Roman citizens who lived along the Rhenus and in nearby Gaul, was aware of Germanicus’ devotion to his family, and while he had only seen Agrippina from a distance, he could understand why the Legate felt this way. Still, it was highly unusual for a Roman nobleman, but Volusenus did not doubt that this was the real reason, and he knew he was not alone in his belief. The break was over soon after, but when Volusenus was about to talk privately to Pullus, he quickly thought better of it, seeing by the Pilus Prior’s expre
ssion that he was in no mood for any kind of interaction. Thankfully, only Pullus was put out; to the men of the 1st, Ubiorum was home, and once their final destination was known, and they were in what was considered safe territory this close to the Rhenus, the Centurions allowed them to chatter about the kinds of things rankers always talked about. Old exploits out in Ubiorum were rehashed, inevitably leading to squabbles about which version was the correct one; the merits of the small army of whores were discussed, to a level of detail that grew increasingly lurid with every mile, and most often, boasts were made of future depravity that would make all that came before it pale in comparison. As he listened to his men, Volusenus gradually realized that he was beginning to look forward to most of the things his men were talking about, which prompted him to chuckle, mostly at himself.
Macerinus heard, and he glanced over at the Centurion, asking, “What’s so funny?”
“Oh,” Volusenus replied, still smiling, “nothing. I was just realizing something about myself.”
This piqued Macerinus’ interest, but when Volusenus said no more, he demanded, “So, what is that you’ve realized about yourself?”
At first, Volusenus was not inclined to answer, feeling somewhat foolish, but he relented, and he would look back later and think of this as the moment where he began the final process of shedding the skin of his former life, fully accepting that he would be under the standard for the rest of his days, however long the gods granted him.
“Just that I doubt my father would have approved of what I plan on doing when we get back to Ubiorum,” he said this with a grin, but Macerinus sensed that he was serious. Volusenus returned his attention to the front, although he continued, “In fact, I think he would be horrified if he knew that I plan on staying in.”
