Marching With Caesar-Avenging Varus Part I

by R. W. Peake

  The Fourth Cohort was dismissed while the pyre was still blazing fiercely, the Centurions and Optios allowing the men to walk back to their area on their own, thereby creating an opportunity for one last moment where the men of the Cohort offered their own salute to the man who, while he may not have been Pilus Prior all that long, had been a fixture in the Fourth Cohort for the entire tenure of all but the oldest veterans. With no command Volusenus heard being given, the men formed a long, single line, then marched past the pyre, getting as close to the raging heat as they dared, then as each of them passed, snapped their heads towards the pyre while offering a salute. It was spontaneous, but it was also so overwhelming that Volusenus was forced to turn his back so that not just his own Century, but the entire Cohort would not see his tears. This allowed Vespillo to approach him mostly unseen, although Alex spotted him and reached out to tug Volusenus’ toga.

  He turned about in time to face Vespillo, who suddenly looked as if he might change his mind and scurry away, but his voice was even enough as he informed Volusenus, “I’ve spoken to the Primus Pilus, and he’s excused you from the next formation.”

  This had actually worried Volusenus, so this relieved him a great deal, but while he muttered a thanks, his anger at Vespillo was still clearly evident, but the acting Pilus Prior was wise enough not to make an issue of what was a response close to being insolent. Germanicus had descended the rostrum shortly after the pyre began to burn, and had disappeared into the Praetorium, although Volusenus was certain he would be present for the rites for the rest of the men outside the camp. It was Macer’s voice that caught Volusenus’ attention, and he turned back away from the fire to face the Pilus Prior.

  “How are you all holding up?” Macer addressed this to Alex, Titus, and Volusenus, but he was looking at Volusenus as the three mumbled words that none of them truly meant, nor did Macer believe. Turning to address Volusenus specifically, he said, “My quarters, beginning of fourth watch?”

  He said no more than that, nor did he need to, and Volusenus only managed to nod dumbly, but this seemed to suffice. Then the forum was deserted for the most part, save for the four mourners and the small group of slaves who, among their other duties, were responsible for tending the pyre as the cremation entered its final stages.

  “How long does it take for ashes to cool down?” Titus wondered aloud, and it surprised Volusenus, only because he realized that, while he had never thought about it, he did not know the answer.

  Nor, it turned out, did Alex, or Algaia, whose contribution to this point had seemed to be nothing but moral support for Alex, although, even as distracted as he was, Volusenus sensed there was some sort of tension between Alex and his brother that, he guessed, somehow centered on the girl. Who, he quickly learned, spoke Latin quite well, but with an accent that Volusenus could not place.

  Alex announced suddenly, “I’m going to go ask Vandalois about how long we have to wait,” indicating one of the slaves who, Volusenus presumed, was the man in question, walking in that direction.

  Just as suddenly, Titus called out, “I’ll go with you,” then before Volusenus could say anything one way or another, he found himself standing with the girl.

  Who, he realized now that there was not the buffer of Alex between them and he got a look at her for the first time, was a true beauty, and he felt a sudden pang of envy for Alex.

  More to be polite than anything, Volusenus asked. “So did you meet Alex here in Ubiorum?”

  Algaia did not reply immediately, turning what he thought of as cool, appraising eyes on him, and he became aware that not only was he itching from the toga, he was sweating heavily, which he attributed to the heat from the pyre. It had lessened somewhat, but it was still uncomfortably hot.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes,” she answered finally, but then said nothing else.

  When Volusenus could not immediately think of something else, she began to turn away, and he surprised himself by blurting out, “It’s just that, in case he hasn’t told you, it turns out that Alex and I are…connected.”

  This at least served to return her attention to him, but, while her expression did not visibly change, he sensed that there was something she found humorous about this moment, though she answered readily enough, “I know who you are, sir.”

  “Alex told you?” He was surprised, although it was not for the reason she assumed, because for the first time, she showed a flash of irritation as she shot back, “Of course! Alex does not keep secrets from me!”

  “Oh,” Volusenus protested, and he held up a hand even as he wondered why he felt so defensive, “I didn’t mean to imply that he did. It’s just that he only found out last night.” Without having any idea why, he also added, “Not long before I did, actually, and I didn’t realize he had gone out into town last night.”

  This did seem to mollify her, and she leaned towards him in a way that might have meant she was confiding in him…or something else, assuring Volusenus, “Oh, I knew about you before Alex told me this morning. Because,” she added mischievously, “I did not see Alex last night.”

  Now Volusenus was thoroughly bewildered, and he made no attempt to hide it as he cried out more loudly than necessary, “If he didn’t tell you last night, how could you possibly know what I’m talking about?”

  “Because I have eyes in my head,” Algaia replied calmly, “and I am not a man. Or,” her tone returned to that slightly mocking tone, “have you not noticed?”

  “I don’t even know what that means,” Volusenus shot back, then added, “and yes, I noticed you’re not a man!” The last words were not even fully out of his mouth when he realized that he did actually know, and he was unable to stifle the groan escaping from his lips. “Of course! It’s what everyone has been saying, that it’s obvious now.” Suddenly, he was struck with curiosity. “Wait. You said that Alex didn’t tell you until this morning?”

  “Yes, that is what I said,” Algaia answered immediately, but he sensed there was some caution there.

  “And you said you knew before he did…but you didn’t tell him?”

  Now, Algaia was the one on the defensive, and she folded her arms across her breasts which, Volusenus was suddenly certain, was not an accident, but she did not answer, at least immediately. Finally, after a moment where he continued staring down into her eyes, she finally admitted, “No, I did not tell him what I saw, that you are,” a flash of something that might have been pain flitted across her features, “or were the Centurion’s son.”

  “And here I thought you said that you didn’t keep secrets from each other.” Volusenus did manage a grin, not wanting to sound overly accusatory, but she surprised him because she returned his grin with a smile, and this time, there was no mistaking the mischief there as she retorted, “That is not what I said. I said Alex does not keep secrets from me. Not the other way around.”

  While it was said lightly, and although it was slightly flirtatious, something made Volusenus uneasy, causing him to cast a quick glance to where Alex and Titus were speaking to the slave Vandalois. And, with a sinking heart, it was clear that either the answer about cooling ashes was more complicated, or the talk had moved on to something else.

  Thinking a change of subject might extract him from his own predicament, Volusenus asked, “So am I at least correct in assuming that you have met the Pilus Prior before?”

  While it did get him out of the dangerous waters of discussing her relationship with Alex, he quickly discovered he had erred, because all signs of humor vanished from her face, her eyes, which were already red, refilling with tears.

  “Yes,” she answered, wiping away the first that rolled down her cheek. “I had met him before.” She seemed to consider something, then she looked back up at him and added, “I actually knew the Pilus Prior before I met Alex.” Volusenus took a staggering step backward, more confused than ever, but in doing so, he gave Algaia a view behind him, and, seeing the brothers returning, spoke quickly, “But there will be more t
han enough time for you to hear all about how you are now connected to this family.” Before Volusenus could say anything in response, she stepped around him and asked Alex, “What did you find out, meum mel?”

  “That it won’t be until well past dark,” Alex answered glumly, yet, while he seemed completely oblivious to any undercurrent, Volusenus did not miss the fact that Titus, who was a pace or two behind his brother, gave the girl a glare that was anything but friendly.

  “I suppose,” Volusenus said, now that it was clear the next part of their personal ritual would not be taking place for some time, “since I’ve been excused from the rites outside the camp, I’m going back to my quarters.” He turned to address Alex, and while his tone was kind, it was also eerily reminiscent of his father when he warned, “And you should as well. Get some rest while you have the chance.”

  Alex nodded, both grateful and relieved, reminding Volusenus that, no matter what his status may have been in the world of the Pullus family, he was part of the army, and unless someone higher in the hierarchy had given him permission to do so, technically, Alex could not have returned to the empty Cohort office and lain down to rest without running a risk.

  That was what prompted Volusenus to add, “And, if anyone says something, tell them that I ordered you to.”

  “I will,” Alex promised. Something seemed to occur to him, and for the first time since they had been together this morning, a smile tugged at his lips; not big, but noticeable. Volusenus learned why when he said, “I just realized something, though.” Volusenus raised an eyebrow, and Alex added, “I’m not sure what to call you when we’re not on duty.”

  That, Volusenus thought with some surprise, is true, but he did not hesitate to answer, “Just Gnaeus is fine. And,” he added, more for the benefit of the other two, “I saw you and the Pil…my father enough to know that you know when to use which name.”

  Hearing it said aloud sounded strange to Volusenus’ ears, but it was even more affecting for Alex, who could not reply.

  “We’re almost through this, Alex,” Volusenus said quietly, then began walking away, with Alex following a moment later after exchanging a word with his brother and Algaia, but they said no more as they returned to the Cohort area.

  When Volusenus entered his quarters, he felt as if he was on the verge of collapse, but he did take the time to aid Krateros in carefully removing the toga, which was now even heavier because of the sweat that had managed to soak in wherever there was not the barrier of the tunic.

  “Will you be needing this again, Centurion?”

  Volusenus shook his head. “No, all that’s left now is to gather his ashes for the urn, then listen to the reading of his will.” He thought for a moment, then heaved a sigh as he said resignedly, “I suppose I should get changed out of the tunic, though. I’m sure that Vespillo is going to have all manner of delightful things for us to do today.”

  Krateros surprised him. “Actually, there is some good news concerning the Cohort, Centurion.” He pointed to a tablet on the desk, which Volusenus realized had not been there when he had left his quarters, and the clerk explained, “This came from the Praetorium. You’re excused from duties for the rest of the day, and are not expected to be back and ready for duty until morning watch tomorrow.”

  Volusenus felt like making some sort of demonstration of happiness, especially given that this had come not from the Primus Pilus but presumably Germanicus himself, except he was too tired. Allowing Krateros to help him out of the tunic, which was even more sodden than the toga, he stood as the clerk toweled him off before putting on his soldier’s tunic.

  Walking to his cot, Volusenus told Krateros, “I’m going to lie down for a watch.”

  The tapping on his foot jerked him awake, but Krateros was long accustomed to the possible repercussions of a man as large and powerful enough to send him to oblivion with little effort, and he had taken a quick step backward in the eyeblink before Volusenus flailed out with hands and feet, something that Krateros had learned the hard way the man did whenever he was deeply tired and was suddenly wakened.

  Sitting up on the edge of his cot, Volusenus blinked rapidly, then as his heart settled back to its normal rhythm and completely oblivious to the fact that he might have harmed his clerk, he yawned then asked Krateros, “What watch is it?”

  If he had been a little more alert, he might have noticed that Krateros had edged towards the door even more, but it was how nervous the man sounded as he answered, “Actually, Centurion, it’s about a third of a watch before fourth watch.”

  It took Volusenus a moment for this to register, then he stood up with a gasp, “What? You let me sleep most of the day?”

  “You needed the rest, Centurion,” Krateros responded quietly but with the kind of firm tone he rarely used with Volusenus.

  For a moment, Volusenus glared at the clerk but finally acknowledged, “You’re right, Krateros. I did. And…thank you.”

  Maybe, the clerk thought with a mixture of amusement and some optimism, there is hope for Gnaeus Volusenus after all.

  Volusenus yawned again, then rubbed his stomach in a gesture that Krateros knew very well, and he turned away, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll return with some food, Centurion.”

  The clerk was good to his word, returning with a full loaf of castra paneris and, somewhat to his distaste, a large hunk of freshly roasted pork. In this, the clerk, who was technically Thracian but had been born a Roman slave, as a result shared the conquerors’ dislike of roasted meats in large quantities. It had been something that Krateros had been forced to adapt to very quickly with Volusenus; while the fact that his appetite was enormous was not surprising given his size, that he liked to satiate himself with so much meat had been quite an adjustment. The clerk had once asked Volusenus where this peculiarly un-Roman trait came from, whether his parents, or his father in particular, had shared the same predilection. All he had gotten, between smacking bites of food that also tended to disappear more rapidly than with anyone else Krateros had ever seen, was a shrug and a mumbled response that Volusenus had no idea, just that he had always been like this. As he stood and watched the Centurion gobbling such a massive amount of food, Krateros kept shifting from amusement and irritation, although both of them were imbued with a level of fondness, and he acknowledged to himself that, as masters went, Volusenus was actually not that bad. Certainly, he cuffed Krateros about from time to time, but as the clerk would have acknowledged after each event, it had not been done capriciously, or as happened so often with his counterparts carrying out the same duties, simply because his Centurion was in a foul mood.

  “I cleaned your mourning tunic,” Krateros informed Volusenus, “in the event you want to wear that to see Pilus Prior Macer.”

  Volusenus considered for a moment, then shook his head, indicating his soldier’s tunic as he answered, “This will suffice. I’m just hearing a will being read, and I seriously doubt Macer is going to worry about whether I’m properly attired.”

  Krateros inclined his head in acknowledgment, taking both toga and tunic out into the outer office, while Volusenus watched idly as he finished his last bites of bread, and the thought that ran through his mind was that, hopefully, he would not need that clothing again for some time to come. From outside, in the direction of the Praetorium, the note of the bucina sounded the beginning of the final watch before sunset, Volusenus’ signal that it was time to meet with Macer. Standing, he tried to ignore the slight but noticeable tremor in his legs as he retrieved his vitus, strode to the door leading to the outer office, but when he opened it, he was surprised to see his Optio standing there with Krateros, although he did notice how the pair behaved as if he had caught them in something. Normally, he would have heard his Optio’s presence—Gillo was nothing if not loud—but he put this down to his own distraction.

  “Optio,” Volusenus addressed Gillo cautiously, “is there something to report? We still have a watch of daylight. What is Vespillo having us do?”r />
  “No, there’s nothing to report, sir,” Gillo answered, then fell silent for a long enough moment that Volusenus was about to interject before he added, “I just came by to pay my respects for your loss, Centurion.” He seemed to be gauging Volusenus’ reaction, and whatever he read in his expression seemed encouraging enough to cause the Optio to give Volusenus a cautious grin. “And I don’t know how I missed it before today.”

  This did elicit a laugh from Volusenus, and he repeated what he had essentially been telling everyone who brought up that what had been hidden before was now suddenly obvious, suspecting that this would become his standard reply.

  Gillo looked relieved that Volusenus took this in good humor, but they had been together long enough for the Centurion to recognize that there was something else going on, which prompted him to ask quietly, “What is it, Gillo? Is there something else? I am on my way to meet with Pilus Prior Macer, so…”

  “Yes, sir,” Gillo nodded, “you’re right, and I apologize. It’s just that I’ve heard there might be some…changes coming. And,” suddenly, he thrust his arm out, “I just wanted to thank you for putting me on my right books when you first showed up. I was heading in a bad direction.”

  More bemused than anything, Volusenus naturally accepted his Optio’s gesture, although he asked, “What are you talking about, Gillo? What changes?”