Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  Macerinus did not know that much about Volusenus’ father; he had been the Tesseraurius the first couple months of Volusenus’ tenure, when the young Equestrian had arrived as a supremely confident and arrogant paid man, so he knew the basic story, that his father was a member of the Equestrian order, and that Volusenus had grown up in Mediolanum, where the elder Volusenus had served as Duumvir at some point. It was not until he became Signifer, and Volusenus slowly transformed into the kind of Centurion that Macerinus and the rest of the Sixth Century readily obeyed and trusted, that Macerinus learned more. Volusenus certainly never spoke about his father in what could be construed as a negative or harsh fashion, but it was clear to Macerinus that they were not close, and in fact, when word came that Volusenus’ father had died, the Centurion did not seem all that upset. Somber, perhaps, and certainly not celebratory, as Macerinus had seen with other comrades who hated their fathers when they learned of their paterfamilias’ demise, but Macerinus strongly suspected that there had been some sort of tension between father and son. As he listened to Volusenus talking, he was struck by a thought that, if one set aside their roughly identical size and strength between the Pilus Prior and his Centurion, the similarities in their dispositions were striking, and he wondered if that had been the cause for whatever lack of a bond that existed between Volusenus and his dead father, that the son had been nothing like his sire.

  “What about your mother?” he asked Volusenus, more to be polite and extend this conversation than from any real interest. “What does she think about your decision?”

  “I haven’t told her,” Volusenus replied, “but that’s because I just made it.” He paused, and Macerinus could see he was considering the question. Finally, Volusenus gave a small shrug and said, “I don’t think she’ll be surprised at all.”

  Very quickly, the subject changed, and both men soon forgot this part of their conversation as, with a growing enthusiasm that, while it might have lagged behind the men in the ranks, was every bit as spirited, they began to talk about what awaited them when they returned to Ubiorum. It was only later, after the camp for the night had been finished and the men were beginning their nightly routine, that Macerinus ran into Gemellus, the men being close friends, as tended to be the case with Signiferi, and the pair happened to be standing just outside the combination Cohort office and private quarters for the Pilus Prior.

  “Volusenus told me something interesting today,” Macerinus began.

  “What’s that?” Gemellus asked idly without much interest; he certainly had a better opinion of the Sixth’s Centurion than he did when Volusenus first arrived, but he was still wary of the man.

  “He’s decided he’s going to stay in and not just serve one enlistment,” Macerinus replied.

  Gemellus had been watching some men around the fire in front of the tent next to Pullus’, but this caused him to jerk his attention back to his friend.

  “Gerrae!” he said incredulously. “I thought he was rich! And once his Tata died, I was certain he was going to try to buy his way out to go back home and have his slaves peel his grapes and fuck his brains out.”

  “You don’t know him like I do.” Macerinus bristled at what he viewed as Gemellus’ slight. “True, he was an arrogant prick when he got here, but he’s changed, and if you’re being fair, you’d admit it!”

  Gemellus was slightly surprised by Macerinus’ reaction, and he held up a hand, “Pax, Vibius! I meant no disrespect to him. Besides,” he grinned at his friend, “I didn’t realize you felt that way about him.”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Macerinus growled, picking up the implication, but he was smiling as he said it. Turning serious, he continued, “Still, he said that his father wouldn’t approve of his decision if he was still alive.” He finished with a shrug, “I just thought it was interesting, that’s all, because I think he has what it takes to be at least a Pilus Prior.”

  Even if Gemellus was inclined to disagree, he would not have now that he had seen the loyalty Macerinus held for the Centurion; besides, while he had never given it any thought, the moment Macerinus mentioned it, he quickly realized that this was a strong possibility.

  “He’s certainly got the skill for it, and gods know his size helps,” Gemellus agreed. Shrugging, he added, “But he’s still got a long way to go.”

  “That,” Macerinus agreed, “is true. But I think now that Pullus is our Pilus Prior, he’s going to really do well.”

  “They certainly seem to understand each other,” Gemellus observed.

  Then, they switched topics, and within a matter of a few dozen more heartbeats, parted ways, completely unaware that someone had overheard the entire exchange. Pullus had been just about to push aside the flap and emerge out onto the Cohort street when he overheard the pair talking, and not only did he recognize their voices, he could catch what was being said. He felt slightly guilty as he peered out through the gap between the flaps, as if he was eavesdropping on a conversation he had no business being involved with, but he reminded himself that everything that happened in his Cohort was his business. Nevertheless, when the topic turned to his son, he felt decidedly peculiar, but he felt a smile form when Macerinus commented about how Volusenus’ father would have felt about his decision if he was alive. He would be, Pullus thought with amusement, ecstatic about it, and he was almost overcome by an impish urge to stroll out of the tent and say that very thing, then offer nothing else to explain it, just for the reaction it would invoke; fortunately, he managed to control the urge. Once they finished their conversation and walked away, Pullus still stood there, peering out through the space between the flaps, but his mind was elsewhere as he tried to cope with what he had just learned.

  Suddenly, there were so many things to do, so many things he needed to teach his son now that he knew Volusenus wanted to make the Legions his career, and the only way he could do so, at least in his mind, was if Gnaeus knew the truth. The fact that Germanicus had decided to return to Ubiorum instead of the place from where the campaign had begun ignited a feeling of anger, real anger, towards Germanicus, with an intensity that caught Pullus by surprise. This actually helped diffuse the antipathy more than anything he could have told himself, as he immediately recalled the time he had spent in Germanicus’ company, and the bond that had been formed when the young patrician had been given a seemingly impossible task by his adoptive father during the early phases of the Batonian Revolt. Germanicus had been nothing but fair with him, he knew, and he suddenly felt ashamed of his anger towards the Legate. After all, Titus, he chided himself, you’re angry that Germanicus is depriving you of a chance to spend time with the woman you love so he can spend time with the woman he loves, and one of their children. Shaking his head at himself, Pullus took a breath, then pushed the flap aside and stepped out into the open, his vitus in his hand as he began making the rounds of his Cohort.

  When the army arrived on the opposite bank from Ubiorum, thanks to Germanicus sending riders ahead, the pontoon bridge had already been drawn across the river, and it was the 1st who led the way, which had become something of a tradition in recognition of the fact that they had been the first, and for the first few years, the only Legion who made Ubiorum home. Pullus had been transferred to the 1st not long after the Legion had been posted to what at the time was simply a semi-permanent marching camp, and it was this that was in his mind as he led his Cohort down the gentle slope to the bridge. So much had changed since then, he thought; that first winter had been brutally hard because the huts were so poorly constructed, although that was due more to the fact that Tiberius had decided to campaign over the winter, leaving only one Cohort of the Legion behind than from any negligence on their part. None of the streets had been paved, and the town consisted of the kind of hovels and makeshift structures that were more suitable for the camp followers who were a feature of an army on campaign. It had been a miserable, dreary place in every respect, but now, as Pullus and his men followed the Third across the shifting bridge ma
de of boats and held in place by two thick rope cables, what met his eye was a tidy, almost prosperous town of perhaps ten thousand inhabitants. The wooden walls of the camp had been replaced by brick, while the town walls were still in the process of being converted, with only the western wall still made of wood. Smoke rose from stout brick chimneys, but it was the sight of the civilians lining both sides of the road that got the men the most excited. And, as it always did, it amused Pullus to think how, as far as Rome was concerned, most of these people did not really exist in the eyes of the Imperator and members of the patrician and high-ranking plebeian classes, because to do so meant the Legate in command would have to punish every man in the ranks who was attached to this crowd, especially the women and children.

  The cheering of the people had begun the moment the army was sighted, and it grew louder as Germanicus arrived on the opposite bank, leading his staff and bodyguards, with the First of the 1st immediately behind. Despite the fact that none of the smiling, happy faces were attached to Titus Pullus, he was still pleased for his men as he vicariously experienced the joy of homecoming through them, watching as excited children tore themselves from their mother’s grasp as they finally saw the face of their father in his spot in the ranks, it being one of the first thing Legion children learned, where their father marched in the formation. It had been that way for Pullus, and this was part of the reason he enjoyed these moments so much, because he had been on both sides of them, but it was also inevitable that, every single time, he remembered that one day when, as he sat on Ocelus with his brother and sister, his father had been missing from his spot. Somewhat surprisingly, it did not hit Pullus immediately that, in fact, this was the first time he returned from campaign marching in the exact same spot in the column as his father. When the realization did hit him, it caused him to suddenly falter a step, which Gemellus noticed.

  “Are you all right, Pilus Prior?”

  When Pullus glanced over at his Signifer, he could see that Gemellus was clearly concerned, but he managed to offer a smile, shaking his head as he lied, “Yes, I’m fine. I just tripped.” He was being honest when he added, “Never get old, Gemellus. You start tripping over your own feet.”

  Gemellus did not believe his Centurion, but neither did he make an issue of it, and quickly enough, his attention was occupied when, among the dirty faces of the children now scampering around the edges of the formation, he spotted the one that meant the most to him.

  “Gaius!” Gemellus tried to sound severe, but he failed miserably at it, “What have I told you? You’re the son of a Signifer! You don’t come running out here like an urchin!”

  Gemellus’ son Gaius was seven, Pullus recalled, and he took advantage of being just behind his Signifer from where Gaius was standing to make a face that, as he hoped, made the boy laugh, despite his father’s admonition. Fortunately for the boy, Gemellus quickly determined the cause, and he looked over his shoulder at Pullus, who was grinning broadly.

  “You’re not helping, Pilus Prior,” Gemellus complained, but he was unable to keep from smiling, and he turned and beckoned to his son.

  The boy ran to his father, who had stepped out of the formation, technically a violation of regulations, and Gemellus crouched down, holding his standard with one hand while he hugged his son, who had thrown himself into his arm to wrap his arms around his father’s neck.

  “By the gods, boy,” Gemellus laughed, “you’re choking me!” He tried to extricate himself, but Gaius had begun sobbing, which was not an abnormal reaction with young children whose fathers had returned from war, and Gemellus was gentle but firm as he whispered in the boy’s ear, “That’s enough, Gaius. Tata’s back, and when I get home tonight, I’ll tell you all about how many Germans I killed!”

  As Gemellus knew it would, this did more to snap Gaius out of his mood than anything else his father could have done, and he pulled away, his eyes shining from the tears, but his smile, which revealed enough missing teeth that it reminded Pullus of some of the older Legionaries, betrayed his eagerness, reminding Pullus of the bloodthirstiness of little boys, eager to grow up and slay their enemies just as their fathers did. Gemellus had to trot to catch back up, but Pullus merely grinned at the Signifer, while similar scenes were being played out up and down the column, although only with the 1st since they were the only Legion who called Ubiorum home. It was not just the rankers who were reunited with their families, but the next occurred only after the army marched through the gates and up the Via Praetoria, where Agrippina was standing on the portico of the recently enlarged Praetorium, while standing next to her was what could have been a miniature Legionary, dressed in full armor and with a small helmet on his head, doing his best to hold the position of intente like a good Roman Legionary should. Unfortunately, like young Gaius Gemellus, the sight of his father approaching proved to be too much, and Pullus was close enough to hear a woman’s voice cry out in obvious alarm, although it was the sight of a little figure dashing down the stairs and running across the forum, directly towards Germanicus that caught his eye. The fact that the Legate was still mounted and was being closely followed by the rest of his party as, completely oblivious to the danger of running directly at large animals who were bred for war, the boy headed for his father, causing Pullus’ breath to catch in his throat, remembering when it had been him doing that very thing when he saw his Avus returning from what would be the Prefect’s last campaign, and how Ocelus had snatched him up by the back of his tunic, saving him from almost certain disaster. Being honest, Pullus only dimly recalled the moment, but he had heard it related often enough by both of his parents that he knew of it, then he read about it in his Avus’ account, and the thought of his Avus and his gray champion caused a lump in his throat. Fortunately, Germanicus had seen his son heading towards him and had not hesitated, sliding out of the saddle, and tossing the reins to the commander of his bodyguard as he matched his son’s pace but in the opposite direction. Even as this touching scene was taking place, the army did not stop, and Sacrovir expertly marched his Legion into their normal spot for formation whenever they were summoned to the forum, meaning Pullus was unable to see the rest of Germanicus and his son’s reunion; by the time Pullus ordered his men to halt and ground their packs, the Legate had scooped the boy up and was already standing on the portico facing his wife. It took almost a sixth part of watch for the other four Legions to arrive and go through the tedious process of placing themselves in their respective spots, so that by the time they were finished, the forum was essentially full of men in neatly aligned ranks and files. Even someone with no familiarity with the Legions could not have missed how the men, particularly those of the 1st who had been waiting the longest, were beginning to become impatient, openly fidgeting, at least until their Centurion snarled at them to stop. The fact that the officers were every bit as eager to be dismissed was the main reason none of the rankers received anything harsher than words, and thankfully, Germanicus proved that he was acutely aware of his men’s eagerness to be dismissed, not wasting time on making the kind of speech that other Legates would have insisted on giving, whereby they ostensibly praised the men for their performance but in reality were heaping it on themselves for leading them. Instead, he simply issued the orders that officially released the Legions from duty, and the most rousing part of what he said came when he announced that the army would be secured from all but guard duties for the next two days; if he said anything after that it was impossible to know because of the roaring cheer, and within a few heartbeats, the men were dismissed. As the men raced away from the forum, heading for their respective huts, the Centurions and Optios followed behind their Cohorts, including the officers of the Fourth.

  As custom dictated, it was Pullus who announced, “Dancing Faun tonight, boys, beginning of first watch?”

  “As long as you’re standing for the drinks,” Structus called out.

  Unsurprisingly, his comrades thought this was a splendid idea, but while Pullus appeared put ou
t, they also knew this part of this ritual.

  “You greedy bastards are going to drink away my last sestertius,” he grumbled, but none of the others were repentant in the slightest.

  Then they reached their area, and each officer split from the group as they arrived in front of their own quarters, and aside from the fact that they were all wearing the uniform denoting their rank, they were indistinguishable from their men in the manner in which they expressed their anticipation for a night of sin. Even, Pullus thought with amusement, his son, the Equestrian paid man, who sounded every bit as foul-mouthed and interested in depravity as the men they commanded.

  “What’s this I hear about you deciding to stay in?”

  Just as Pullus intended, Volusenus was caught by surprise; what he had not intended was that the younger man would have a mouthful of wine, which he barely managed to keep from spewing out of his mouth, choking it down just as he was letting out a gasp. The result was a coughing fit that was violent enough that it caused Pullus to stand up in some alarm, lean over, and pound Volusenus on the back.

  Finally, Volusenus was recovered enough to manage, “Where did you hear that?” Suddenly, he scowled at Pullus, demanding, “Did Macerinus come to you?”

  Only when his son asked this did Pullus realize that he had inadvertently created a problem for the Sixth’s Signifer, and he held up a hand, assuring Volusenus, “No. At least,” he amended, “he didn’t come to me.”

  “Then how did you hear that?” Volusenus was clearly unconvinced. “Because he’s the only one I told.”

  You just outsmarted yourself, Titus, Pullus thought, recognizing there was nothing for it but to tell the truth, and he explained how he had overheard Macerinus and Gemellus’ conversation.

  This did not mollify Volusenus in the least, and he said, “That means he told Gemellus, which is almost as bad because that’s the same thing as telling you directly.”