Somehow, I survived that first day without toppling from the saddle, although at our first rest stop, I barely got off Latobius, then staggered over to a tree, dropped down at its base, and was asleep before a count of ten. Dolabella took pity on me, and we stayed put for two parts of a watch, but while I felt a little better, I was far from recovered. Nevertheless, we made good progress along the Via Aurelia, heading for Italia, continuing on the Via Julia Augusta, reaching Genua late the second day. By this point in time, I was somewhat better, but the biggest change had come over the girl, Algaia. Understandably, she had been apprehensive about this sudden and dramatic shift in her fortunes, and I learned later that she had actually been suspicious that this was some sort of ploy cooked up by my brother to test her loyalty to him. I knew that it was no such thing, but even if it had been, he would have viewed it as a spectacular failure on her part, because she did not mention either his name or anything remotely resembling concern for him. Indeed, once she accepted that I was not up to something sinister, and then was convinced that I did intend to return her to Pannonia, quite frankly, it proved almost impossible to get her to shut up. Not that most of our party minded, especially young Titus, who hung on every word out of her mouth, causing Dolabella and I to exchange amused glances on more than one occasion. There was one thing that I did, ostensibly to her but more for the girl, and that was when I took notice that she was still wearing the little brass plate around her neck. She had tucked it under her simple shift, which was the entire extent of her belongings, save of a bracelet made of hammered silver that she said Gaius had given her as a gift. When we stopped to acquire different spare horses in Genua, I took a bit of extra time, handing the girl a handful of coins.
“Go get some more things to wear,” I said gruffly. Turning to Titus, I told him, “You go with her. Make sure she stays safe.” As I expected, this made Titus draw himself up, thrust out his chest, and declare that he would do that very thing, then they both went off, while I watched with a smile and a shake of my head before I remembered what had drawn my attention in the first place. Calling to the girl, when she turned around, I pointed at her neck, ordering, “And when you come back, I don’t want to see that thing around your neck. Understand?”
While she nodded, nothing came out of her mouth, and I believe it was this moment she truly accepted that her days as a slave were over, and Titus took her gently by the elbow and led her off.
“Don’t be surprised if she’s with child by the time we get to Siscia,” Dolabella teased me, then with a spark of what I had learned was his sense of mischief when it came to taunting me, he grinned and said, “and who knows? It might be mine.”
This did evoke a laugh from me, and I told him, “I have a feeling young Titus might have something to say about that.”
It was an offhand remark, one that I offered with little thought; this ranks as one of the few times when I appeared to have the gift of sight like the Oracle of Delphi.
Two days past a week after we left Germanicus, we rode into Emona, the first large town inside the borders of the province of Pannonia, but before we reached it, we saw the first signs of trouble, in the smaller settlement of Nauportus. The place had been thoroughly looted, most of the buildings either seriously damaged or reduced to ruins, but although we attempted to question the few people we saw, the instant they saw us, they fled in terror, something that neither of us understood at the time, although we would be learning why soon enough. As far as Emona was concerned, arriving there about a third of a watch later, I was not sure what to expect; my last time there was during the Batonian Revolt, but that had concluded four years earlier, while my part in it with the Legio Germanicus ended a year before the rebellion was finally crushed. Given its location and its importance, Emona was always bustling, and had always been one of the first stops for settlers fleeing from marauding tribes, though that was more the case during my childhood and my early years in the 8th. Regardless, I confess I was surprised to see how much it had grown, the evidence being that there were now a substantial number of buildings, both dwellings and businesses, outside of the town walls, although it was still the same wall, in the same spot it had been the last time I was there. This was the last leg of our journey, Siscia a bit more than a hundred miles away, but even with the urgency, Dolabella and I conferred, and we agreed that tarrying here for an extra third of a watch or two might prove to our profit.
“All we have to do is sit down in The Grotto of Pan, keep our mouths shut, and listen,” was how Dolabella put it, naming the spot frequented by the lower classes, which meant people who were most closely associated with the Legions, “we’ll learn more that way than we would by asking questions.”
Not only did I agree, in this area, even if I did not, I would have deferred to Dolabella’s expertise, so we began heading to the establishment Dolabella had mentioned.
“I’m going to show Algaia around the town,” Titus informed us. “She’s never been here before.” He was so earnest that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
“Well,” I answered him genially, “we wouldn’t want Algaia to miss all the wonderful things to see in Emona. Would we, Tiberius?”
I turned to Dolabella, who was grinning broadly, and he was no less enthusiastic in agreeing, “No, we wouldn’t, Titus. It is a truly wonderful place, Emona, and I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I thought that the Mistress Algaia missed any of it.”
Titus knew he was being teased, the flush moving all the way up his face to his hair, while the Breuci girl looked off in another direction, but I saw the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried to keep from laughing.
As lighthearted as this was, I still warned Titus, “I expect you back here in a third of a watch. Do you understand? And if we’re not out here, you come in.”
He opened his mouth as if he intended to argue, but I gave him a look that, like his older brother would, he interpreted correctly, mumbling that he understood. With that, the pair wandered off, and for no real reason, I watched them walking down the street; I was rewarded when, after Titus had clearly decided they had gone a sufficient distance to be out of range of my prying eyes, he reached out his hand. And, completely unsurprisingly, I saw the girl respond to the gesture, her hand falling into his in a manner that told me this was not the first time they had done as much. What was surprising was the stab of an emotion that struck me so hard it brought a sudden misting of tears to my eyes, but it took me a moment to recognize it for what it was; a combination of memory, envy, and regret.
“Are you ready?” Dolabella asked, jerking me away from the sight of the pair of young lovers, and when I turned to assure him that I was, I saw him looking at me with an expression that told me he had probably divined my thoughts.
Thankfully, he did not say anything, and I told him that I was, so we entered The Grotto of Pan, a place that any man who has served under the standard for any length of time would immediately recognize. Indeed, I often had the thought that, in some form of magic, every such place I entered, no matter where it was located, was actually the same establishment, just mysteriously transported from one spot to the next.
As always happened, our entry drew scant attention from those patrons nearest the door, until they took in my size, which kept them from turning back to their cups for perhaps a heartbeat or two longer, making a quiet comment to their companions, which prompted Dolabella to mutter, “So much for not being noticed.” Before I could respond, he grinned at me and said, “I keep forgetting that just standing next to you draws attention.”
Moving to an empty table, we took our seats, which resulted in a small battle about who would sit facing the door, which was a habit that we both had developed, and I was not shy about using my bulk to gently muscle him away from the chair, which he grumbled about, taking the chair next to me and not across the table so that he could at least partially see the door. The woman who served us was just as interchangeable as any of those that worked in Ubiorum, although her eyes did linger on me for a moment, and while I could not be sure, I thought there was a flicker of some form of recognition in her eyes, though she said nothing. I watched her walking away to the counter, behind which the proprietor stood, and my fears seemed to be confirmed as I saw her say something to the man that prompted him to look over her shoulder, directly in our direction.
“So much for that,” I muttered to Dolabella, but he had already noticed, although he shrugged it off, saying only, “Maybe they’re just talking about how big you are.”
This was possible, but I did not believe it to be the case, though there was nothing to be done about it. The woman returned quickly enough, bearing cups containing what I assumed was the normal grade of wine served in such places, except that when I took my first sip, slightly curious as to why the woman seemed to be lingering, I was quite surprised. Pleasantly so, I should say; while not Falernian nor Chian, it was a vintage that was quite good, and Dolabella noticed immediately as well, and we exchanged a glance.
Turning to the woman, who was still standing there, Dolabella said smoothly, “This is an excellent grape, madam. If I had known you served such high quality refreshment, I would have made a special trip to come here long before this.”
This amused the woman, who gave a short laugh, “We don’t serve that, normally. That’s from our special amphora that we only serve certain guests. Besides,” she turned away from Dolabella to point directly at me, “this isn’t in your honor; it’s in his.”
I felt the rush of blood to my face, and I stared hard at the woman, trying to recall if we had ever met, and if we had, under what circumstances; my initial guess was that perhaps I had been one of her customers, back when she was young and pretty enough to ply another trade back in Siscia, but she was not familiar to me, not that this meant anything.
Thankfully, she cleared it up as she continued talking, “It’s just me and Lucius’ way of thanking the Primus Pilus here for what he and young Germanicus did a few years back.”
Things fell into place then; although I still did not recognize her, this was not unusual, but more importantly, I understood she was referring to my time serving under Germanicus, and we had indeed spent time in Emona as we hastily assembled a scratch force as part of Rome’s attempt to put down the Batonian Revolt.
I did feel compelled to point out, “That was a temporary rank. I’m not a Primus Pilus, just a Princeps Posterior now.”
She reacted in the manner of all civilians when confronted with the intricacies of the Legions, with a shrug and a comment, “Whatever you say, Centurion. All I know is that young Germanicus and all you who marched with him helped save us, and we haven’t forgotten.” I murmured my thanks, which she waved off, but she still lingered, which was only partially explained when she asked, “So, what brings you here to Emona, Centurion?” Before either of us could respond, she added with a casualness that was obviously feigned, “Are you heading to Rome?” Then, she leaned forward slightly, took a quick look around at the other patrons and whispered, “Are you the one the boys from the Legions are sending to talk to Tiberius?”
This changed matters dramatically, at least as far as I was concerned, and this was one time I was happy to defer to Dolabella. I glanced over just in time to see the look of surprise cross his features, but he was far too experienced to allow the woman to see it, and he correctly interpreted my lack of response as the cue to speak for the both of us.
“No, madam,” he began, but she made an impatient wave, saying, “My name’s Fulvia.”
Dolabella corrected himself, “No, Fulvia, we’re not heading to Rome. In fact, we’re heading in the opposite direction, towards Siscia.”
Her eyes narrowed, but it was the expression of what I interpreted as a conspiratorial slyness, and she kept her voice to a whisper, “Are you sent by Tiberius?”
“Now why would you think that?” Dolabella asked lightly, but I could feel his sudden tension.
“Because of him,” she nodded at me, but then she surprised me and rocked Dolabella when, only then did she turn to look at Dolabella and inform him calmly, “and because I know you’re one of Tiberius’ men.”
And, just that quickly, I began to worry for this woman Fulvia, who was either too observant, too nosy, or most likely a combination of both, for her own good.
“And,” Dolabella’s tone was calm enough, but I heard the menace there, “what makes you believe such nonsense? How could you possibly think that I’m, what did you call me,” he cocked his head, and he spoke in slightly mocking way, “‘one of Tiberius’ men’?”
Judging from the manner in which Fulvia suddenly stiffened, then glanced over to where the man I assumed was Lucius was standing there, his eyes fastened on our table, she had realized her misstep.
“Oh,” she said casually, “it’s just a guess.” The laugh she gave was forced, waving a dismissive hand as she babbled, “Sometimes I just make guesses about things, and I have no idea what I’m saying! It’s a bad habit of mine, I know.”
“Yes, Fulvia,” Dolabella agreed quietly, his good eye never leaving her, which meant that his other eye was looking in my general direction, something I still had not really gotten used to, “it is a bad habit. And,” he added, this time not bothering to disguise that there was a warning there, “if I was one of Tiberius’ men, as you say, I’d be most…upset to know that someone’s tongue was wagging and letting other people know that.”
Fulvia’s face went deadly pale, and she gasped, “Oh, sir! I would never do anything like that! You can ask anyone in here. I don’t betray anyone’s trust! Why,” she tried another laugh, but it was even less convincing than the previous one, “if I told half of what I know about the people in this town, there would be so much trouble in every house in Emona! But I don’t say a word! I swear it! I…”
Dolabella held up his hand, and I admit I was impressed how it served to cut this woman’s words off as if he had stuck a cork in her mouth.
“I believe you, Fulvia,” he said, and she sagged in relief for just long enough for Dolabella to add, “but in order for me to trust you, I…” He gestured at me. “…we need information.”
“Information?” Fulvia repeated, then said eagerly, “Anything you need, good sirs! I wasn’t lying when I said that Lucius and I are grateful to the Centurion here, and I’m a good Roman citizen!”
Indicating that she pull up an empty chair, Dolabella watched with quiet amusement at how quickly she moved to do so, picking up a chair and bringing it to our table.
Waiting for her to sit down, only then did Dolabella ask her, “So, what do you know about all the things that are happening in Siscia?”
“Siscia?” Fulvia shook her head. “The Legions aren’t in Siscia, Master.”
We glanced at each other, and I know that our thoughts were running along the same lines; had we gone out of our way for nothing? Ultimately, we were in The Grotto of Pan for well more than the third part of a watch I had told Titus; indeed, we were there so long that Titus and Algaia came wandering in, and I was so absorbed in what we were hearing from this woman that I barely noticed their respective states, just tossing them another couple coins and telling them to go find something to eat. By the time Fulvia had finished relating all that she knew about the situation with the Legions, which was quite a lot, the sun was hanging low in the sky, my mind was reeling, and I was suddenly certain that we would arrive too late to be of any help, mainly because we learned that the Legions were not in Siscia.
Just as Caecina had done, the Legate in command of the Army of Pannonia, Quintus Junius Blaesus, had marched the army away from Siscia within watches of the word of Augustus’ death, choosing a spot I knew very well, near Splonum. I tried to hide my reaction when Fulvia had informed us of this, given how much of a role the seat of the Maezaei kings had played in my life, but I could tell that Dolabella was not fooled. As bad as this was, the other things we had learned from Fulvia were just as disturbing, to put it mildly, although we did learn that what happened at Nauportus had nothing to do with native tribes taking advantage of the unrest with the Legions; indeed, it had been the Legions who had been the cause of it. Specifically, five Cohorts from the 15th, who were now normally quartered in Poetovio since the 13th had been transferred east, had been dispatched to perform some repair work on the roads and bridges in and around Nauportus. They were under command of a Camp Prefect named Avidienus Rufus, it now being the practice that Camp Prefects are assigned more to locations where there is a permanent camp than to a particular army. This was a relatively new development, and I did know that it was not viewed with any favor by those men like my former Primus Pilus, Gaius Sempronius Atticus, who up until this change, had been the sole Camp Prefect of the Army of Pannonia, because in his view, it diluted the prestige of the posting. This was something I had learned in one of Domitius’ last letters to me a couple years earlier, before he stopped corresponding, a situation I intended to get to the bottom of as soon as it was possible. Regardless of Atticus’ feelings, Camp Prefect Rufus, who was in nominal command of these five Cohorts, had apparently tried to crack down on these men because Blaesus had relaxed the discipline in response to the news of Augustus’ death. While it was somewhat understandable – I felt reasonably certain that the men of Pannonia had been as upset and anxious at the news of the Princeps’ death as the Army of the Rhenus had been – I also could not imagine that Prefect Atticus had counseled Blaesus to take this step. And, obviously, Rufus had not been in agreement with Blaesus’ decision either, because his attempt to instill the normal discipline and habits that are an integral part of life under the standard ended up with him being beaten, put into chains, and made to march as a prisoner all the way back to the camp near Splonum. Not immediately, however; the destruction and looting of Nauportus had to be done first, wagons and carts being appropriated to haul back the loot. Meanwhile, matters in the camp had apparently completely degenerated in much the same manner as they had in the camp near Caedicius’, the only difference being that Blaesus was initially allowed to move among the men freely and was not confined to the praetorium.
The woman Fulvia had proven to be a true fount of information, which made sense when one considered how effective wine is as a lubricant to tongues, and I have little doubt that her willingness to cooperate was also heavily influenced by Dolabella’s quiet but very potent threat. Normally, I would have bridled at how the spymaster had used his status as Tiberius’ man to threaten this woman, but given the circumstances and the time constraints, I chose to look the other way in a figurative sense. Honestly, I was every bit as eager to hear whatever news the woman could impart to us about what we were heading into, and in this respect, she did not disappoint. She did mention Domitius’ name, but not as one of the men who were causing the most problems, and in fact, he was brought up as one of the cooler heads among the Legionaries who were trying to keep the lid on a simmering pot. All I could hope for was that Tiberius was not willing to be punitive in his punishment of any of the men of Centurionate or Optionate rank who had a role in this uprising, and I confess I was anxious that Dolabella keep this in mind. Unfortunately, my friend’s role as a moderate voice was clearly not being heeded, which we learned in more graphic detail from the hundreds of civilians we ran into fleeing in the opposite direction, from Siscia. It was from them we heard what happened after the mutineers from Nauportus returned to Siscia carrying their loot from the town, forcing Rufus to lead the way through the city on their way to the marching camp. If the mutineers persisted in their treatment of the Prefect all the way back into the marching camp, still in chains, it would be a provocation so blatant that Blaesus could not ignore it. Frankly, it was difficult piecing it all together, since not one person we met seemed to know the complete series of events, and that was not even taking into account the normal tendency of people to exaggerate things they may or may not have actually witnessed, or even fabricate things that never happened. The practical consequence of our stopping those fleeing citizens willing to talk was that our progress was slowed even further, but Dolabella and I discussed it, agreeing that it was better to be slightly delayed if it gave us a better idea of what we were heading into.
I briefly considered taking the secondary road that turned southeast at the outpost of Crucium, which served only as a relay point for couriers, but given that it would take us through both Latobici and the heart of Colapiani territory, and given my history with them, chose not to do so. Latobius was beginning to show signs that he was fatigued to the point where I would need to allow him to rest more than a watch, but as much as I hated to do it, we could not afford to tarry. Dolabella brought up the idea of leaving Latobius once we got to the next relay station, then coming back for him on our way back; such was my uncertainty about what lay ahead that I did not take this suggestion. The closer we got to Siscia, the direr the tales; from one fleeing merchant, we heard that the Legions had slaughtered not only Legate Blaesus, but every Tribune, and the majority of the Centurions. He based this on his supposed inside knowledge, which came through being one of the main suppliers to the Army of Pannonia of grain. Only after being pressed did he finally admit that he had no firsthand knowledge, though he insisted that the source for this information was a man he completely trusted. Once we let him go on his way, Dolabella and I quietly discussed it, yet while neither of us thought it likely, we could not completely disregard the possibility that the merchant was telling the truth. Which meant, of course, that we would be too late, and if that was true, then the fate of men like Domitius, presuming he was on the side of the mutineers, was already sealed. The only thing we knew with any certainty was that we were closing in on Drusus and his party, although incrementally, since they were essentially doing the same thing that we were, riding horses into the ground to reach the army as quickly as possible, at least so we believed.
Dolabella held out hope that, knowing Drusus as he did, Tiberius’ natural son would, after several days of hard travel, be too tempted by the baths and pleasures of Siscia, such as they were, and would stop for at least a night. This was something I found hard to believe, but Dolabella proved that he knew Drusus quite well, because we learned immediately upon our arrival at the camp, still a mile outside of Siscia, that Drusus had done that very thing. This was all well and good, but neither the auxiliary sentry nor the Centurion in command of the auxiliaries left behind by the army could provide anything more substantial than the knowledge that Drusus and his company were staying in the town and not in the camp. This was enough, however, since there were only two possibilities where a man of Drusus’ rank would deign to spend a night, and Dolabella seemed certain which of the two he would choose. Although it would not be correct to say that Siscia was deserted, the traffic in the streets was noticeably thinner than was normal for the time of day, late afternoon, but it was the demeanor of the people that was the most telling that something quite unsettling was taking place. Dolabella’s guess, if it could be called that, proved correct, and when I asked him how he had been so sure, he laughed.
“Remember, I know Siscia pretty well myself.” He pointed to the building next to the inn, which was decorated in a style that was understated yet in such a manner that it left no doubt as to the carnal pleasures that lay within its confines. “I remember Juno’s Chamber. And,” he added with a grin, “I remember mentioning something of it to Drusus once.”
I complimented him on his powers of deduction, but when I began to swing out of the saddle, Dolabella stopped me with a hand on my arm, all traces of his smile from an instant before gone.
“Actually, Pullus,” he spoke in a low tone, a habit of his that I had long before supposed he had developed because of his work, “I don’t think you should come in.” When I opened my mouth, he said quickly, “It has nothing to do with being worried about you being around Drusus. Although,” for the merest flash, I saw his mouth twitch, “it might do him some good to be around someone like you before he goes and tries to cow the Legions here. No,” he shook his head, “I think it’s in our best interest if you get to where the army is camped, ahead of Drusus and whatever message he plans to deliver.”
I felt my jaw go slack as I stared at him in astonishment; this was not at all what I had been expecting.
Somehow, I managed to speak loudly enough to be heard. “You expect me to go down there by myself? And to do what?”
He did not look surprised at the question, because he answered readily, “I think you need to find Domitius and talk to him. Let him know why you’re there and why you’re worried.” There was no mistaking the grimness of his tone. “I’ve told you of my concerns about how Drusus will handle this, but if I’m right about who one of his companions is, I think the chances of him handling this badly are about as close to certain as you can get.”
I tried to recall Dolabella’s mentioning of whoever this mystery man may have been, but I could not recall, yet when I asked him, he said evasively, “It might be nothing. I just want to be certain. Besides,” he pointed out, “it can’t hurt to try and contact Domitius before things become really official, because once Drusus shows up, he is Tiberius’ representative, and he’s been empowered by his father to act as he sees fit, and Tiberius trusts Drusus’ judgment. The problem with that is,” Dolabella sighed, “Tiberius is blind when it comes to seeing any faults with his natural son, just like he’s blind to seeing anything good about Germanicus. At least,” he amended, “as far as politics goes.” Shaking his head, he finished with, “I’m just trying to do what I can to make sure that this turns out as well for all parties as can be arranged.”
Now, I will say that there was a time when, if Tiberius Dolabella had said this, I would have called him a liar and probably would have ended up with my hands around his neck again, something that had become something of a joke between us. But on this journey, I had glimpsed a side to the spymaster I had never seen, and I have wondered on occasion if it had always been there, but my hostility for the man had blinded me to it, or if this was one of the effects of Dolabella aging. The gods knew that, as I grow older, some of the things I viewed as absolute truths no longer seem as absolute, and I doubt I am unique. And, once I shoved the thoughts of my own safety to the back of my mind, I had to acknowledge that Dolabella was correct; if I could get to Domitius somehow, as slim a chance as it might have been, to affect some sort of positive ending to this drama, it was worth taking it.
“What about Titus and Algaia?” I asked him.
“They can stay with me,” he replied. “In fact, it might be best if they stay in Siscia when I leave with Drusus.”
“I’m going with you, Uncle Titus.” Young Titus, who, along with the girl, had been completely forgotten, had nudged his horse forward so that he was beside us.
“No you’re not,” I answered firmly. “I have no idea what I’m heading into, but the one thing I’m sure of, I’m going to have enough to worry about just keeping my own head on my shoulders. I can’t afford to worry about you.”
He opened his mouth, but while I could guess it was going to be some sort of objection, the Breuci girl, also moving her horse, reached out and touched Diocles’ youngest son on the elbow. When he turned to face her, she said nothing but just gave a slight shake of her head, and I was thankful that Titus was facing the opposite direction, because if he had seen Dolabella and me giving each other a glance and grinning, his young pride would have been pricked, and there is no telling what might have happened.
“Fine,” he said sulkily, then twisted his mount’s head around to return to the spot he had been a moment before.
The girl did not look triumphant, nor did she look all that pleased, and I suspected she knew that she had embarrassed Titus, but I also knew it was the right thing for her to do, and while I did not say as much, I gave her a grave nod of thanks, which she acknowledged before she also turned to join Titus.
“Take care of them,” was all I said to Dolabella. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. And,” I confess this was something of an afterthought, “try to watch after the girl. I still plan and freeing her once I have the chance.”
This clearly surprised Dolabella, and he took a quick glance over his shoulder before turning back and saying softly, “Have you talked to her about this?”
This caught me off guard, so I answered a bit brusquely, “I told her the day we left Arelate. She knows.” Suddenly, I felt a glimmer of doubt, which prompted me to ask, “Doesn’t she?”
“I think,” Dolabella made no attempt to hide his amusement, “things may have changed on that account.”
I was about to answer, then realized this was not something that was immediately important, so instead, I turned my horse in preparation to leave Siscia.
“May Fortuna bless you, Titus,” Dolabella said solemnly while offering his arm.
“And you, Tiberius,” I answered, then grasped it.
“Hopefully I’ll still be alive the next time you see me.” I tried to sound lighthearted, as if it was a joke, but it did not feel like one, nor did Dolabella take it as such.
“So do I,” he answered soberly.
Then, I kicked the spare horse I was riding, and leading Latobius and the other mounts, I went immediately to the trot, leaving Siscia. I had spent the first ten years of my life, then after an interval, another ten years here, but on this occasion, I was inside the town walls less than a third of a watch.
From the moment I left Ubiorum, this journey had proven to be one of the most trying, strangest trips I had ever taken. Between the interval in Arelate, and now, when I was revisiting the countryside where I had seen, experienced and suffered so much, I quickly began to feel the hand of the gods at work, something that I have been unable to shake since. Roads as familiar to me as any I have ever traveled, with memories both pleasant and painful that colored my view of almost every mile, created such an intense sensation that twice I had to stop and catch my breath, despite the fact that I was sitting in a saddle. I was not the only one affected; even Latobius seemed different, his ears pricked forward, blowing through his huge nostrils as he took in scents that were familiar to him, or so I assumed. We gave Splonum a wide berth, but I was not fooled into thinking that I was passing through Colapiani, Breuci, and Maezaei territory unobserved; my hope was that whoever was watching me was at a sufficient distance that I was not recognized, either by my size or by my features. The camp was located almost equidistant between the Maezaei mining town of Clandate, where I had burned the village against the express orders of Primus Pilus Atticus in the immediate aftermath of Sextus’ death, and Raetinium, which I had helped subdue with Germanicus, and where one of my oldest comrades Servius Metellus had died. I bring this up as a way to explain my state of mind, and why, despite knowing the dangers of this country better than perhaps anyone, I was caught by surprise by a party of men. The only reason I am alive is because they were fellow Romans, Legionaries from the 9th Legion, who, much like the mutineers back in Germania, had been sent out to forage by their leaders, and they saw me approaching from the north, on the road that served as a secondary artery to the lower half of Pannonia. I only got a bare moment’s warning, from Latobius, who came to a sudden stop, his head jerking up, blowing a huge breath out that I knew was his way of warning me that he had picked up the scent of men.
“Salve, Centurion!”
The words may have been friendly, but the tone was not, as a half-dozen men suddenly appeared from the underbrush that lined the track, the man who had called out stepping out into the middle of the road, although it was the gladius in his hand that gave me a clearer indication of his possible intentions.
“Salve, Gregarius,” I replied, keeping my voice mild, even as I inched my hand closer to the hilt of my own blade. “Is there a problem?”
As I hoped, this seemed to catch the man by surprise, but he recovered quickly enough, shooting a look over at his comrades, who had arranged themselves in a line across the track. I could have probably cut my way through them, but that was not only not my intention, Latobius gave me a second warning, his ears suddenly twitching and twisting rearward, so without looking, I was certain that there were men behind me as well. And, I thought, if this bunch are even somewhat competent, those men would have javelins, ready to hurl right into my back if I did try to escape.
“I don’t know, Centurion,” the Legionary I took to be their leader, though he was not an Optio, answered me after his glance back at his friends. “I suppose that depends on why you’re here.”
This, I knew, was a delicate moment, yet before I could provide an answer, I heard an exclamation from behind me.
“Hold there, Glabius!” While I did not turn, not wanting to move suddenly, the voice seemed somewhat familiar as he said, “This is Titus Pullus!”
I must confess I was slightly disappointed when my name did not seem to make an impression on the leader, who shrugged and answered offhandedly, “If you say so. But,” he shook his head, “I don’t know who that is or why I should care.”
“Because,” the location of the voice had moved, and then a figure appeared at the edge of my vision as he walked to stand in such a way that he was facing both me and the other Legionary, “he was in the 8th, and he was Domitius’ best friend.”
This, I instantly saw, did mean something, but before either of them could speak up, I said, “I’d like to think I still am. And,” I added, “that’s who I came to see.”
That proved to be enough to allow me to pass, although not alone. Despite my protest that being accompanied by men on foot would slow me down, the man identified as Glabius refused to let me continue on alone.
“We’re only a couple miles from the camp,” he said sourly, and I got the distinct impression that he had been looking forward to some sort of confrontation with me. “It’ll only take a little longer.”
Given my sense that he wanted me to argue, instead I simply nodded my head, though I did kick Latobius into motion, keeping him at a walk to be sure, but it made the mutineers hurry to catch up with me. As we made our way in the direction this Glabius had indicated, I called to my unidentified savior, who came to walk beside me.
“You’re familiar to me,” I told him, “but I don’t recall your name, Gregarius.”
“No reason you should know it,” he answered readily enough, “but I was in the Fourth of the Fifth before I transferred to the Ninth.” While I instantly understood the deeper meaning, he continued, “I was there the night of the ambush by the Colapiani and Draxo, when you and Domitius guided us into position.”
Just the mention of that night brought yet another flood of memories, but it served to make the time pass as the man, his name Gaius Norbanus, and I reminisced about that night, and naturally, Primus Pilus Urso.
“He was a right hard bastard,” Norbanus said, though without any rancor, “but I tell you, Pullus, they don’t make men like that anymore.”
“No,” I agreed, “they don’t.”
Even as I said this, I wondered how much Norbanus knew of my tangled, complicated relationship with the man who had once been my father’s second in command, of the Fourth Cohort, how I had been one of the men Urso used for his “off the books” business of selling armor to tribes like the Colapiani, and how, in fact, I had been indirectly responsible for Draxo’s rebellion, although it was only because I followed Urso’s orders to break a woman’s arm. I did not mention any of this, but mainly because I surmised from the sidelong glance upward that Norbanus gave me, sitting on Latobius, that he knew at least part of the story. Besides, I was more occupied by grappling with the realization that, now that two decades had passed, the passionate hatred I had felt for Urso had faded to the point where, when I thought about the man, most of what I felt was positive. He was as crooked as a warped vitus, as we like to say, yet despite his greed, when it came to the skills a Primus Pilus needs in order to properly lead a Legion, I recognized that I put him second only to his successor, Gaius Sempronius Atticus, as the best Primi Pili I had served under. I might have considered Sacrovir, but I had not served with him long enough for me to be willing to make that declaration, while I honestly never really warmed to Crescens’, nor his style of leadership.
It was the thought of Atticus that prompted me to ask Norbanus, “Where’s Prefect Atticus? Is he in camp with the Legate?”
Norbanus gave me a surprised look, searching my face, then he grunted, “Ah. Yes, I suppose there’s no reason you’d know about that.”
“Know about what?” I asked sharply, suddenly worried that these mutineers had done something even worse than what they had done to Rufus, which he seemed to understand.
Holding up a hand in a placating gesture, Norbanus responded, “No, it’s not what you think, Centurion. Prefect Atticus died about six weeks ago.” He paused for a moment, I guessed to torment me a bit, before finishing, “Of a bilious fever.”
Yet another hammer blow to my mind landed then, and I was assailed by a sudden feeling that my world and all that I had known was collapsing down around my ears. Following immediately behind this came another thought, but this one was something I took great care in expressing to Norbanus, especially when, at that moment, the man Glabius looked over his shoulder to glower at me.
“Six weeks ago?” I asked with a casualness that sounded forced to my ears.
“Two days before Augustus, as it turns out,” Norbanus confirmed. He took a step away from Latobius’ side, and I saw him glance at Glabius’ back now that the man had returned his attention to the front, then he whispered, “I think things might have gone a lot differently if he hadn’t died, Centurion.” Pausing for a moment, Norbanus kept his eyes glued to Glabius, then continued in the same tone, “Without the Prefect, Blaesus was lost, and it seems like every decision he made was the wrong one.” Shaking his head, he sighed, then turned to look up at me and said, “I never wanted this, Centurion. Most of us didn’t want this, if the truth be known. But men like him,” he nodded his head in Glabius’ direction, “they did a good job of swaying those boys who will go whichever way the strongest wind blows. And,” he chuckled bitterly, “the gods know there was a lot of wind, if you take my meaning.”
“Anyone in particular?” I said this without thinking, and I immediately knew I had erred, Norbanus’ expression turning suspicious, and I added hastily, “I’m just worried about Domitius’ part in all this, Norbanus. That’s really all that concerns me.”
This seemed to allay his doubt, and he answered readily, “Oh, Domitius is one of the cool heads in the camp. I don’t think he wanted things to go the way they did either, but once it became clear that this was going to happen, he and some of the other Centurions have been doing their best to keep the real hotheads from doing anything so stupid or damaging that it can’t be undone.”
Even though this confirmed what we had heard, I still had to hide my relief, and despite the circumstances, I felt a jolt of pleasant anticipation at the thought of seeing Domitius again. And, rounding the bend in the road that followed the stream that flowed along a north/south axis, I saw the turf walls of the camp where the mutiny was taking place. From a distance, it looked no different than any other marching camp, but as we drew closer, the signs that something unusual was taking place became more evident with every passing foot. The gates were not only opened, they were unmanned, but it was the sight of men wandering in and out as if it was a festival day that gave the strongest indication of how much discipline had deteriorated.
Almost as if he had read my mind, Norbanus commented, “It wouldn’t take a whole lot of effort on the Breuci’s part to come down on our heads and wipe us out, would it?” When I agreed, he shook his head disgustedly, saying only, “Not even Domitius or the other Centurions have been able to convince Percennius and his bunch to mount a guard.”
“Percennius?” I was not familiar with the name; try as I might, I could not recall of ever hearing of a Centurion or Tribune by that name. “Who’s that?”
Norbanus shot me a bitterly amused look, saying only, “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” He seemed to consider for a moment, but I suppose he was encouraged when Glabius, obviously spying a comrade, let out a shout in the man’s direction and went trotting ahead. “I suppose he’s sort of the leader of this thing, whatever it is.” Then, while I know Norbanus was unaware of the import of what he was about to say, he nevertheless identified what I will go into the afterlife convinced was the ultimate cause of the dual rebellions. “He was one of those men the Princeps sent from Rome after the Varus disaster. Supposedly, he was some sort of famous actor in the theaters there. That,” Norbanus shrugged, “I don’t know about, but I will say that the cunnus has a gilded tongue, I’ll tell you that.”
Although this explained a great deal, there was one part that puzzled me.
“I thought Augustus only sent that scum up to us in Germania.”
“He did,” Norbanus agreed, “but the Primus Pilus of the 2nd up there somehow managed to get rid of him from his Legion and got him sent to the 9th.” Giving me a sardonically amused look, he added, “Supposedly, our Primus Pilus took a hefty bribe to take the bastard; I wonder how he feels about it now.”
Before I could reply, we were at the gates, where Glabius had stopped, waiting for us to arrive.
Pointing at me, he spoke in what I sensed was a deliberately provocative manner, saying abruptly, “You need to dismount, then follow me.”
Without waiting to see if I complied, he turned about and began stalking into the camp.
Sighing, I swung off Latobius, but when one of the men who seemed to always be at Glabius’ side reached out to take the reins, I stopped him with a look.
“You’re not touching my horse,” I said this quietly enough, since I had no real desire for a confrontation, but he clearly understood I was serious, because he flushed deeply, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, giving an elaborate shrug as if it did not matter.
“Suit yourself,” he said, but I was already moving, stretching my legs to catch up to Glabius before he could sense I was lagging behind.
This man was cowed easily enough, but I had become convinced that Glabius would not only welcome the chance to make an issue of it, he was spoiling for some sort of fight. Fortunately, by the time he did turn around, I had managed to catch up.
“This is where I leave you, Centurion,” Norbanus informed me, then under his breath, he said, “May Fortuna bless you.”
I made no real reply, giving him a nod instead as he headed down a Cohort street, leaving me alone in what was clearly a largely unfriendly environment, making me glad I was wearing my armor. Not all the looks I received were hostile; some of the men seemed more curious than angry, while I actually heard my name mentioned, and I did recognize some faces. Not many, reminding me how much time had passed since I last served with the 8th, which meant that men like Tiburtinus and Atilius had retired, both of them shortly after the end of the Batonian Rebellion. However, along with Domitius, there were two other men I was almost as anxious to see, but given their respective positions in the 8th, I was expecting to find both of them clapped in irons, and that was the best possibility I could imagine. Even if I had been disposed to ask Glabius about them, there was no time, because we approached the forum from the Porta Praetoria side, where I saw a sight that not only took me a moment to decipher, but was something I had never seen before. Matters were made more difficult because the forum was thronged with men, all of them in their tunics, and with a large number of them not bothering with their baltea, yet another sign of the total lack of discipline. As striking as this was, it was the sight of a large rostrum, made not of shields but of squares of turf that I judged to be every bit as high as the turf walls of the camp. Now, a rostrum, even in a marching camp is not all that unusual, except that it is almost always made of stacks of boxes, or sometimes shields, never something as semi-permanent as turf. This was not its only unusual feature; this rostrum was several times larger than a normal one, large enough that it could fit several chairs, one of them curule, with more than enough space left over for several men to stand upon and not be crowded.
As Glabius and his bunch cleared a path, shoving men aside who, from my judgment, were too drunk to take offense at this treatment, I kept my eyes on the large turf structure, the thought suddenly striking me; it looks almost like a stage. The moment it came to me, I recalled what Norbanus had said just a few moments before, about this Percennius character, who I assumed to be the man seated in the curule chair, surveying the scene before him with a satisfied smile. Standing immediately to either side, and I noticed, slightly behind the chair, were a pair of men, one of them carrying a vitus, while the other was holding a cudgel, which rested on his shoulder. As if the scene could not be even stranger, it was the combination of the sparkling white toga that the man who I assumed, correctly, to be Percennius was wearing, along with a crudely fashioned garland of ivy that was perched on his head at a jaunty angle that had me almost convinced this was a dream. Since Percennius was absorbed in something that was taking place immediately in front of the rostrum, which I could not make out because of the men thronged around the base of it, all of them equally absorbed in whatever was taking place, it was left to the man with the vitus to notice our approach. I saw him lean down and say something to Percennius, whose expression of avid interest instantly changed, and he stood to look in our direction, which in turn alerted the men on the ground with their backs to us that something was happening behind them.
“Wait here.” Glabius had to raise his voice to be heard, because now that our presence had drawn attention, the men immediately around us began talking excitedly, their attention torn away from the sight that had captivated them a moment before, which I now could see clearly.
At the base of the rostrum, perhaps a half-dozen men were either on their knees or crouched around a woman, the tattered remnants of her clothing strewn about, where they had clearly been taking turns raping her. And, not surprisingly, they were the only men not paying attention to me.
“Who’s that big bastard?”
“I bet Tiberius sent him!”
“To do what? He wouldn’t send just a Centurion! By the gods, Mummius, you’re a thick one!”
“Maybe Tiberius sent him to kill me!”
This came from Percennius himself, who was now standing on the edge of the rostrum, and I noticed the heavy silver cup in his hand, the contents sloshing out as he weaved a bit. In contrast, however, there was no tremor in his voice, and as soon as his words came out, my ears detected the signs of a man trained in the arts of the theater, his voice projecting farther than normal, his speech distinct despite his state of at least mild inebriation, or, the thought came to me, this was all just part of the act. Regardless, his words created an instant effect, as the men around me went from a state of curiosity to hostility in the blink of an eye, and the air of menace surrounding me was so palpable that I had to fight the urge to draw my gladius, knowing that it would mean my death.
“However,” Percennius continued, after a pause that I was certain was a calculated warning to me, “I do not believe that is why he is here, comrades! Am I correct, Centurion?”
My throat had gone so dry that I was not sure I could answer, yet I surprised myself by responding in what sounded to me like a cool, calm tone of voice. “You are correct…” My voice trailed off in such a way that he correctly interpreted it.
“Aulus Percennius,” he said grandly, then made the kind of low, sweeping bow that actors like to give at the end of a performance, “at your service, Centurion.” There was no missing the mocking note in his voice, and when he straightened up, any cordiality, however fake it may have been, was gone. “Now, who might you be, and if you’re not here to kill me, why are you here?”
Before I could answer, a voice from outside the ring of men called out, “I don’t know why he’s here, but I can tell you who he is. This is Titus Porcinianus Pullus, grandson of the first Camp Prefect of the Army of Pannonia, son of Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, Quartus Pilus Prior of the 8th. And,” the tone hardened, “he’s my best and longest friend.”
I did not need to see him to recognize the voice of Titus Domitius, and I turned in time to see men parting, moving out of his way as he made his way towards me. For the moment, I forgot everything else; the peril I was in, the reason I was there, none of it mattered as I first saw just the top of his head approaching through the crowd, a smile forming on my face despite the circumstances. Then, he stepped past the last man between us, and we were there, facing each other, yet while I immediately recognized him, in appearance, it was a very different Titus Domitius from the man I had last seen more than five years earlier, although that did not matter. I felt the stinging of tears threatening to push their way out from behind my eyes, and I could see by his own eye that he was experiencing the same powerful emotions I was. Perhaps, dear reader, you noticed my use of the singular when I describe him, but this is no accident. While his right eye was visible, and to me looked exactly the same, if not for a few extra wrinkles around it, his left was covered with a patch. This in itself would have been bad enough, but the skin around his left eye, extending down his cheek to just above the jawline, was a knot of scar tissue not dissimilar to my left outer forearm, while the top half of his ear was missing altogether. Despite myself, I felt my jaw drop, and the words I had been about to utter vanished as we stood there, just a couple paces apart. If men were talking or even whispering, I did not hear them, such was my concentration on Domitius.
His voice seemed to have suddenly gone hoarse as he said, “And I’m still better looking than you are.”
I cannot recall what I said in response, if anything, other than to laugh, and weep at the same time as we embraced, hugging each other tightly about the neck; I was only dimly aware of hearing the men around us cheering.
Finally, I managed to get out, “Pluto’s cock, Titus! What have you done to yourself?”
Even with one eye, the look of amusement he gave me stirred so many memories as he replied lightly, “What, do you think? I cut myself shaving? I’m not nearly as clumsy as you are, you big oaf.”
My laughter seemed to please him, but before either of us could say anything, Percennius’ voice brought us back to the present.
“As touching as this is,” he said mockingly, still standing at the edge of the rostrum looking down at us, “I am assuming that your friend…Pullus, was it?” At my nod, he continued, “…Isn’t here just to catch up with you, Domitius. Am I correct, Centurion?”
“You are,” I confirmed, but I was not disposed to say anything more, which, once it became obvious, clearly irritated Percennius.
“Well,” he asked, acidly, and I did not miss that he raised his voice, “are you going to enlighten us as to why you’re here?”
I had known when I left Siscia that I would be facing this moment, and I was under no illusions about whether or not Domitius would be able to protect me if the leaders of this mutiny wished to make an example of me, and I had carefully rehearsed in my mind what I was going to say.
“I’ve been sent by Tiberius’ representative to observe for myself the mood of the men, and to determine how seriously the Imperator needs to treat your demands.”
Percennius smiled, but it was more a baring of his teeth as he replied in the same mocking tone he had used earlier, “So, an emissary sends an emissary? That doesn’t seem to me that Tiberius is taking us seriously!” Suddenly, he lifted his face to address the larger crowd, “What do you think, my comrades? Does it sound like our new Imperator is taking us seriously?”
“No!” It was not in unison, exactly, but the roar of hundreds of voices shouting the same word was impossible to misinterpret.
As bad as this was, though not unexpected, I could pick out individual men shouting out their own ideas for what should happen next.
“Flog him! With the scourge! Send him back in bloody bits!”
“Crucify him like a slave! That’s what he is!”
“Cut his tongue out!”
This last one caught my attention, mainly because, the part of my mind that is always detached even in moments of danger thought, That would make it hard for me to tell Drusus he needs to take this seriously. Percennius seemed content to let all these ideas for my demise be expressed for the span of a dozen or more heartbeats as he gazed down at me, with what now seemed to be a genuine smile, one of real pleasure, and I wondered if it was because some of these suggestions sounded good to him, or if he simply enjoyed watching me sweat. That was something I was determined not to let him see, and I kept my face a hard mask as I met his gaze, reading the malice in his eyes as plainly as if he was speaking. Finally, he lifted one hand in a simple gesture, and the noise died down; gradually, it should be said, which I saw irritated him, which gave me an insight into the man himself. He likes the power, I thought. He’s not drunk from wine, he’s drunk from the idea that he’s in control of…this.
Once it had quieted some, Percennius said teasingly, “Well, Centurion Pullus. I don’t know about you, but I think some of those ideas show some imagination. Perhaps I should consider giving my comrades what they seem to want.”
I was not able to respond, because Domitius, taking a single step to interpose himself between me and Percennius, looked up at him and said flatly, “You’re not going to do anything, Percennius, except shut your fucking mouth.”
Honestly, I could not decide what was more shocking; what my friend had said to the man I had assumed was either the lone leader or the most influential one of this mutiny, or the manner in which Percennius reacted. So certain was I that he would turn and order the two men still standing behind the chair to come and intervene, I actually did drop my hand to my gladius, but Percennius seemed to physically shrink back.
“I was only having some fun, Domitius.” His voice took on a whining quality to it, transforming from a man in supreme command to a cringing cur so quickly that I was not certain it was not some sort of trick.
“You’ve had more than enough fun,” my friend snapped, then he turned to indicate me, saying, “Pullus and I are going to my tent to talk.”
Without waiting for any reply, Domitius turned, and beckoned to me to follow. Still leading Latobius, I watched the men instantly stepping aside as I followed my friend out of the forum, and I was not fooled into thinking that they were moving so hastily for me. Once we were on the street that bordered one side of the forum, the way was relatively clear, although men were still wandering about. More bemused now than I had been shortly before, I followed along behind him.
Turning and glancing over his shoulder, he grinned, and for the first time, I saw the old Domitius, and he asked me, “Are you still spoiling that horse, Titus?”
“Why does everyone think I spoil him?” I complained, though it was done in jest; I was well aware of how much I indulged my horse.
“Because you do,” he answered, laughing.
The rest of the way to his tent was spent with us conducting a mock argument about Latobius, who even as we did so, kept shoving his nose into my back, reminding me that he was due for an apple.
“How did you know I was here?” I asked as soon as we were inside his tent.
“Norbanus came and found me,” Domitius told me, which confirmed my suspicion this had been the case.
I followed him into the partitioned portion that are the private quarters of a Pilus Prior, which are slightly larger than those of the lower grade Centurions, and this was the first indication I had that he had been promoted.
“When did this happen?” I asked, and I heard the wounded tone in my voice, but honestly, I was quite put out, and Domitius heard it as well, flushing slightly.
“A year ago,” he admitted.
“A year?” I was incredulous. “You haven’t written a word in that time!”
“I know!” Domitius protested, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “I was just…busy,” he finished lamely.
“No busier than I was,” I snapped. “And I found time to write!”
“I know, Titus!” he repeated, then he heaved a sigh, his eye closed, and I saw a tear caught by the lamp he had lit make a glittering trail down his cheek. “I just…couldn’t. Not after Petrilla died.”
Before he could say anything more, I walked to him, and grasped his shoulders, and told him, “I grieve with you, Titus. Petrilla was a good wife and a good mother. I know you still miss her.”
“I do,” Domitius replied miserably. “I really do.”
“How are the children?” I asked, and he shifted uncomfortably, turning his face away from me.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” he admitted. “I hired a woman to take care of them, but I don’t go into town to check on them as much as I should. I…I just can’t.”
Since I had no idea what to say, I did not even try, and we stood there, regarding each other awkwardly, then with a self-conscious laugh, Domitius wiped the tear away, pointed to the chair on the other side of his desk, and poured two cups of wine. Handing me one, he dropped into his chair, and I realized that, as much as I was enjoying just spending time with my friend, time was our enemy, as it had been from the moment I began this journey.
“The reason I’m here is because Dolabella sent me ahead to try and talk to you,” I began, but Domitius cut me off with a frown.
“Dolabella?” He repeated the name, and his good eye narrowed in suspicion. “Titus, what are you doing having anything to do with Dolabella? That cunnus has almost gotten you killed more times than I can count.”
This was something I could not deny, so I did not try, agreeing, “That’s true. But,” I paused for a heartbeat to frame my thoughts for what I was going to say next, understanding that in many ways this would be the most important thing I had to say, “this time is different, Titus. Dolabella doesn’t want to see good men suffer because of the misdeeds of a few.”
“’Misdeeds’?” Domitius interjected, a frown on his face. “While I agree that men like Percennius aren’t helping matters, Titus, surely you see that we have legitimate grievances!”
“I do,” I agreed, and I was not being false. “And I think that Tiberius might listen to our grievances, as long as they’re presented in the correct manner.”
“You mean like Augustus did?” Domitius shot back. “How many petitions did the Army of the Rhenus send to the Princeps the last five years?”
“Quite a few,” I sighed.
“And we sent at least a dozen,” Domitius argued, “but nothing happened with any of them. So,” he sat back and crossed his arms, staring hard at me, “why would Tiberius do anything different?”
“Because,” this at least I was prepared for, “he’s just become Imperator, and he doesn’t need two of his armies rebelling when he has to solidify his position. You know as well as I do how those patricians are back in Rome. They all think they’d make a better Imperator than anyone else. Tiberius has enough on his hands right now making sure they don’t form some sort of coalition to bring him down.”
“Which is all the more reason for us to strike now,” Domitius said flatly.
Again, I could not argue against his logic, not with any conviction, because the truth is that I agreed with him, not only that there were issues that needed to be addressed, but that from a strategic viewpoint, this was the best time to stage some sort of demonstration, although not necessarily for the men who Tiberius determined were the leaders of this revolt. Nevertheless, there was something that stuck in my gut about this business, yet I knew I had to tread carefully.
“While I agree with your reasoning,” I began, “there’s one thing that’s working against you, and I’m afraid is something that’s going to be more important to Tiberius in the long run.”
“Which is?” Domitius asked, his eye fixed on my face.
“Do you remember me writing you about one of the men in my Century?” I asked, which was an indirect approach that I normally would not have taken. “One of the men sent to us after the Varus disaster?”
Domitius pursed his lips, thinking for a moment, “I remember something about him. What was his name? It started with a P.”
“Pusio,” I confirmed. “Yes, that’s him. He and men like him are behind what’s happening up in Germania, and from what I’ve seen here with this Percennius character, the same thing is true. And,” I added, “Norbanus told me that he was originally from the Rome dilectus that Augustus held to get rid of all the troublemakers and dump them on us.”
“Percennius is scum,” Domitius replied instantly. Then, he hesitated for a moment, as if he was considering saying more. “I wouldn’t worry about Percennius. He isn’t as…influential as he likes to think.”
“Well, that’s good to know, but is he going to be the man Drusus is going to talk to?” I asked him, and now he looked uncomfortable, which I assumed was because of the nature of the man himself.
“Yes,” he admitted, clearly reluctant, then insisted, “but he’s just a figurehead, really. He’s not going to make any decisions that have to do with what’s going on here.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me,” I replied. “Just from what I saw, he looks very much like he’s running things, and all the men in the forum seemed fine with it.”
Domitius did not respond, not immediately, and I sat watching as he stared down into his cup, as if seeking some sort of answer there.
Finally, he raised his head and said quietly, “Appearances can be deceiving, Titus. Trust me,” his voice hardened, “he’s not making any decisions.”
“Well, who is then?” I asked, puzzled. “Who should we go talk to once we’re done here?”
The answer came in the form of the silence that suddenly draped over us, coupled with his unblinking gaze directly into my eyes, and I felt as if I had been punched in the stomach by the recognition of what this meant.
“You?” I gasped. “You’re the leader of, of…all this?” I waved a hand in a gesture that encompassed everything around us. “By the gods, Titus! Are you mad? Do you know what Tiberius is capable of?”
“No, I’m not mad, and yes, I think I know what Tiberius can and would do to me,” Domitius replied calmly.
“I don’t think you do,” I snapped, still struggling to fully comprehend what this all meant, not just for our personal relationship, but for the mutiny itself. “And believe me when I tell you, I do know what Tiberius is capable of.,.”
“Because you were the man who did his dirty work?” Domitius challenged, yet despite the flare of anger this caused me, I could neither deny the truth nor did I want to, and I shot right back, “Yes, because of that. No matter what happens, if Tiberius ever discovers that you’re the true leader of this, he’ll destroy you, Titus. And,” I could not keep my thoughts from running in this direction, compelling me to add bitterly, “he’ll probably order me to be the one to do whatever it is he decides.”
“And?” Domitius asked me quietly. “Would you?”
Despite several attempts to do so, all of which I have scratched out in this account, I cannot summon the words that come close to properly describing the sensations that assailed my mind and body in that moment, as the feeling of reliving a moment struck me with a palpable force. Yet, even as I sat there, I understood that this feeling was not created by anything I had personally experienced, and I confess it took me a moment to realize from where it came.
“Pharsalus.” I believed I only thought this, but I must have spoken aloud, because Domitius not only heard, but understood.
“Pharsalus,” he agreed. Then, he gave me a smile, the likes of which I had never seen on his face before; a combination of sadness, understanding, and a bit of dark humor at the manner in which the gods choose to amuse themselves. “Just like our grandfathers, neh?”
“Just like our grandfathers,” I agreed numbly.
For this was exactly what was happening; because of a cruel whim of the gods, Titus Domitius and I were reliving an event that had had a profound impact on the lives of the first Titus Pullus and his longest and best friend Vibius Domitius, and like the ripples in a pond, extended down to us. Granted, some of the trappings were different; Vibius had been an Optio, while my Avus had been Secundus Pilus Prior, and the mutiny of Caesar’s army had occurred at the end of a long, grueling campaign against Pompeius Magnus, after a battle that had sealed Magnus’ fate and elevated Caesar to the status of First Man. Also, Vibius had been a minor part of a larger mutiny, but these differences were superficial; the essence was ultimately the same. I was on the side of the man who wielded ultimate power over all men under the standard, while Domitius was representing men who were my comrades in arms, many of whom I knew personally, just like my Avus and Vibius. And, I understood, all I had to do in order to advance my own career would be to do essentially the same thing that my Avus had done, side with the man who had the power. Tiberius is many things, but I had never known him not to reward those men he considered to be faithful to him, and I held little doubt that he would reward me. I had long since given up on the dream of becoming a Primus Pilus like the first Titus Pullus; my aspirations at this point in time was perhaps being a Pilus Prior like my father, but I knew that was as far as I would rise, at least until this moment.
“So?” Domitius asked, quietly. “What are you going to do, Titus?”
I left the camp about a third of a watch later, almost immediately going to the gallop, heading north, knowing that Drusus had in all likelihood set out from Siscia by this time. There was a risk that I would take the wrong road, but I was gambling that, now that Dolabella was with Drusus’ party, he would guide them around Splonum and use the same route I had taken to get to the camp. My faith was rewarded about fifteen miles north of the camp, when I saw in the distance a cloud of dust that I knew was too large to be just a few riders. Deciding to slow Latobius but continue moving, it was not long before I caught a glimpse of a standard, one of the polished metal disks catching the rays of the sun, which was my first hint that Drusus had come with a substantial force of his own. Closing the distance quickly, I was able to see a force of at least five hundred horsemen leading the way, but it was the neat, compact groups of men on foot that ignited a sense of unease, although it also explained how we were able to catch Drusus.
.
“Who are they?” I wondered aloud; Latobius did not seem to know either, though he twitched an ear, his sign that he had heard me at least.
My initial reaction quickly turned into a sense of real dismay as I got close enough to make out the blue tunics of not just the mounted men leading the way, but of the marching men as well, all of whom were wearing their armor. Only Praetorians wear blue tunics, and I spent the remaining time before meeting the oncoming party trying to determine what this meant, although I knew that there was nothing good about it. When I got within a hundred paces, a group of seven riders detached themselves and came at the canter, and I decided the prudent thing to do would be to pull up.
One of the men wore the black feathered crest of a Tribune, and he naturally was leading the small group, yet despite my clear indication that I had no ill intentions, the Tribune snapped an order, and the other half-dozen cavalrymen moved around me, effectively surrounding me.
“Who are you?” the Tribune, who appeared to be in his early thirties, asked abruptly, without any attempt at courtesy or greeting. “State your business!”
“I am Quartus Princeps Prior Titus Pullus, of the 1st Legion,” I tried to keep my voice calm, while at the same time conveying that I had no ill intent, “and my business is to talk to Drusus Julius Caesar.”
“And why would a Centurion from the Army of the Rhenus be down here in Pannonia?” The Tribune was openly skeptical. Suddenly, something seemed to occur to him. “Unless you’re one of the faithless dogs behind this illegal mutiny, and you’re down here to confer with the other ringleaders.” Before I could respond, or react in any way, the Tribune pointed at me and shouted, “Take this man into custody by my order!”
“Hold! He’s with me!”
I had not noticed that Dolabella, seeing me approach, had come from his spot near the rear of the mounted contingent, cantering up to where I sat, already surrounded by a ring of hard-faced, scowling Praetorian cavalrymen.
The Tribune turned at the shout, watching as Dolabella approached, a sneer on his face, and his tone was just as brusque with Dolabella as he taunted, “So one of the spymaster’s spies, is that it?”
“I’m not a spy, Tribune.” I said this with more heat than I knew was wise, but I was already angry before this slur. “I am exactly who I say I am.”
“I sent him ahead to speak with the leaders of the mutiny.” Dolabella rode in between the Tribune and one of the cavalrymen to reach my side. “And that’s all you need to know, Sejanus.” Without waiting for the now-identified Tribune to offer a reply, Dolabella indicated I should follow him with a jerk of his head, leading the way back to where the main party had stopped. This Sejanus character was clearly angry, but I was not all that surprised that he did not make an issue of Dolabella’s curt rebuke, and I felt his eyes boring into my back as I followed the spymaster.
Once we were out of earshot, Dolabella slowed long enough for me to pull beside him, and he muttered, “You need to watch yourself around that one, Titus. He’s probably one of the most dangerous of Tiberius’ clients, and not just because he and his father command the Praetorians. Sejanus has more ambition than a man of his station should, and he’s got a cruel streak in him.” That, I thought, is probably one reason Tiberius has him around, though I did not articulate that. He had slowed to a walk as we got closer to where I could now see a man who, if I had not known better, I would have sworn was the nobleman for whom I had marched in my first campaign more than twenty years earlier, and for whom this man was named, and his voice dropped lower. “So? Did you talk to whoever is leading the mutiny?”
“Yes,” I answered him, but I kept my eyes on Drusus, realizing as we got closer that, while there was certainly a resemblance, there were also distinct differences.
“And?” Dolabella asked irritably, pointing out, “You’re going to be standing in front of Drusus in a moment, so if there’s anything I should know that you don’t want him to hear, this is your only chance.”
This was such a decidedly odd thing for him to say that it caused me to look over at him, and I saw that he was regarding me closely. As if, I thought, he’s actually waiting for me to confirm something he suspects; the sudden lurch in my stomach made it difficult to maintain my composure.
Somehow, I managed to answer him, without any hesitation or without betraying myself, telling him, “There’s nothing unusual. The leader is a cunnus named Percennius…”
“Percennius?” Dolabella cut me off, his face registering surprise. “You mean, Percennius the actor?”
“Honestly,” I answered, and I was being truthful with this at least, “I didn’t know he was an actor until someone told me, but yes, I’m assuming that’s the same man.”
“I thought we sent him to the Army of the Rhenus,” he muttered, and now it was my turn to stare at him in surprise, but before I could press him, we had come close enough to where Drusus, sitting his horse, was waiting.
“Well, Dolabella?” he demanded abruptly, barely giving me a glance. “Is this the man you were talking about?”
“Yes,” Dolabella replied, and I noticed that, while his tone was respectful enough, he did not make any other attempt to show Tiberius’ natural son deference, which Drusus clearly noticed and equally obviously did not like. “He’s just returned from the camp after talking to the leaders.”
“Actually,” I interjected, “there really only appears to be one man who matters. His name is Aulus Percennius, and he’s the man I talked to.”
This was certainly true, strictly speaking, that I had spoken to him, but I had no intention of divulging that my conversation with Percennius had been anything but an exchange that held no real bearing on the outcome of this mutiny.
“And?” Drusus demanded. “What does he want?”
In answer, I related the things that Domitius had listed, and while I did not specifically mention Percennius’ name, if Drusus made the assumption that they had come from only him, that was perfectly fine with me.
Once I finished, it was not Drusus who spoke, but another nobleman who appeared to be about the same age as Tiberius’ son, sitting on a dun stallion slightly behind and to the side of Drusus, exclaiming, “That’s exactly the same list of demands that I brought to you from my father, Drusus!”
Drusus looked irritated, but his tone was civil as he answered, “Yes, I understand, Blaesus. But this confirmation is important in itself. Hopefully,” he added pointedly, “you can see that.”
From where I was sitting, it appeared that Blaesus’ son, who I learned later was serving as a Tribune on his father’s staff, had been prepared for some sort of argument, so when Drusus agreed, he looked decidedly nonplussed, finally mumbling something that I could not make out, but I assumed to be agreement. Before Drusus could say anything more, I heard horses approaching from behind me and turned to see that the Tribune Sejanus and the other Praetorians were rejoining us; I chose to ignore that Sejanus was still staring at me with a hostility that, frankly, was more puzzling than anything else. Usually, I thought to myself, people have to at least have met me before they hate me like he apparently did.
“Proconsul,” Sejanus addressed Drusus, “what are your orders?”
The title Sejanus used surprised me at first, then I thought about it and realized that it made sense; Tiberius would not have sent anyone of Legate rank, and in our system, a Proconsul holds rank over a Legate.
“We’re going to continue on to their camp,” Drusus told Sejanus, but that was clearly not what Sejanus meant, because in response, he turned and pointed at me.
“I meant what are your orders concerning this…Centurion?” His lips, which were abnormally thin and barely visible under normal conditions twisted into a sneer as he uttered my rank. “Do you want him in chains?”
Drusus appeared startled at this, but not nearly as much as I was, and I nudged Latobius with one knee so that he sidestepped slightly, though not in a manner that suggested I had flight in mind; instead, I got closer to Sejanus, my thought being that he would interpret my doing so as an implicit threat, and I stared, hard, directly at him, which he clearly noticed and was taking correctly if his sudden nervousness was any guide.
My movement seemed to jerk Drusus from his surprise, and he shook his head, answering abruptly, “No, Sejanus. That won’t be necessary.” The Praetorian Legate opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Drusus went on, “But I suppose it would be prudent that the Centurion ride with an…escort.” He turned to me, and the look he gave me was purely Tiberius in coldness and demeanor, and I imagined that this was how the new Imperator looked when he was Drusus’ age. His voice matched his expression as he asked me a question that I knew was an order. “I don’t believe the Centurion will have a problem with that. Will you?”
Of course I had a problem with it, but I knew better than to argue, so I simply answered in my best Stupid Legionary manner, “No, sir.”
With this settled, Drusus led his party past us, which Sejanus rejoined, glaring at me, while his men and I moved aside to allow them by, but when the end of the mounted contingent passed by, and one of the Praetorians reached out to take hold of Latobius’ bridle, I said, “You’re going to lose your hand if you touch my horse.”
Apparently, he believed me, because while his face darkened; he was still a trooper, and Praetorian or no, I was a Centurion, so he gave an abrupt nod, whereupon I nudged my horse forward, falling in at the end of the mounted party. Dolabella remained near Drusus, but I did not hold this against him, and when it became clear that the Praetorians surrounding me were content to either ignore me or only glare at me when they thought I was not looking, I was perfectly content to ride in silence as I retraced my steps back to the camp.
Since we were marching with men on foot, and Drusus was not willing to leave two Cohorts of Praetorians behind given what might lay ahead, our progress back was much slower. One consequence of this was that, while they still did not address me, the Praetorians around me quickly grew bored with the silence and began talking among themselves. Not surprisingly, they did not discuss anything political, instead chattering about the chariot races, their favorite gladiators, and which whore was the best in the brothel that serviced the Praetorians. Frankly, I did not mind, and in truth, I welcomed the distraction of listening to something that was more like what a man under the standard was likely to hear around the fire, and not all the political talk that had dominated our collective conversations for the last few weeks. As I sat on Latobius, pretending not to listen, the thought crossed my mind that, with help from Fortuna, maybe by the time I got back to Ubiorum, Germanicus would have quelled the mutiny there. As far as where things stood between the Army of Pannonia and Drusus, my foremost concern was that Domitius’ role never be revealed, although I felt somewhat certain that Dolabella, at the very least, suspected that he was more than just a moderating voice. Secondarily, while I had not marched with the 8th for many years, I still had many friends in the ranks, both in the First and Fourth Cohorts, including the man who had been my first Optio and was now the Primus Pilus of the Legion. Aulus Galens had been Primus Pilus for three years, with Appius Asinius serving as the Primus Pilus Posterior. By this point in time, how these two men came into their respective roles I was sure was known outright by no more than a half-dozen men, although I also felt certain that many more men knew aspects of the story, or had their own suspicions that were close to the truth. Not that it mattered anymore, but I suppose I felt a certain level of ownership in the circumstances that found both my first Optio, and the first Sergeant of the Tenth Section, First of the Fourth rising to the first and second in command of my former Legion, although the true architect was Corvinus, my father’s successor as Quartus Pilus Prior and my first Centurion.
Suddenly, as two men were arguing about the outcome of some bout where one of them was convinced it was fixed, I was reminded what might have been the true origin of the sequence of events, that Urso had been selling armor to the Colapiani, and as we learned later, other tribes like the Latobici and Varciani. Using his knowledge about this, Corvinus had approached Urso and essentially extorted the Primus Pilus, an extraordinarily dangerous thing to do, even for Corvinus, demanding that Galens be made a Centurion in the First Cohort, while Urso take on Asinius as his Optio, which of course made him my Optio after my transfer into the First of the First. And, as quickly as I recalled this, I recognized that, ultimately, I was the true cause, because in acting as he did, Corvinus was fulfilling a promise made to my deceased father, that he do everything within his power to protect me as long as I marched in the 8th. Not lost on me was the recognition that, most of the time, whenever I had to be saved, it was from myself, in the form of my own actions, going all the way back to my first campaign when I had defied orders to remove myself from the front rank, all in order to slay Vergorix. Yes, it had won me my first accolades, from no less a personage than the man for whom the young Proconsul leading our party was named, but only with time can I recognize now that it set a pattern for my future actions. Because of who I was, both as the son of Gaius Porcinus, but more as the grandson of the first Titus Pullus, I had always assumed that the rules and regulations did not truly apply to me, at least to the extent that it did with other men. Strictly speaking, my entire career was a testament to that truth; after all, I had sparked more than one rebellion, although the first time, and the one that resulted in Draxo slaying Urso, only to be in turn slain by me, I was only the instrument when I obeyed Urso’s orders to break a Colapiani woman’s arm for the “crime” of trying to keep her son from being forcibly impressed into the auxiliaries. The second, however, started by my avenging Sextus’ death, I knew fully well would likely end up in the manner in which it did, with yet another rebellion. However, while it resulted in my transfer to the 1st, I knew at the time that it was only because of the intervention of someone else, Atticus in this case, that I did not suffer an even harsher punishment. As the miles slowly rolled by, I alternated between listening to the men continue their bickering and looking more deeply within myself, realizing how, in one way or another, my connection to Titus Pullus was what had sustained my career, far more than it had hampered it, as I once believed. My one hope now, heading towards the camp, was that I could play some small role in protecting my friends and comrades in the same manner they had protected me.
There was perhaps a full watch of daylight left when we rounded the bend and the camp came into view, although the one difference this time was that we had not run into any parties out on the road. Not, I was sure, because they had all returned to camp; it would be a foolhardy bunch of mutineers to allow themselves to be snatched up by a large force of Praetorians. More than once, I was certain that I saw a flash of sun on metal off in the undergrowth near the road, but the Praetorians were oblivious, reminding me how few of them actually had any real experience in the Legions. It is true that most of the rankers are recruited from the ranks of the Legions, but it was an open secret that such men considered perfect for this duty in Rome were more known for their political reliability, their physical stature, and their willingness to obey all orders without any questions or qualms, than for the number of barbarians they had slain. Consequently, I was not surprised a bit when something that would have caused an entire Century or Cohort to become alert went completely unnoticed by the men around me, or the men marching behind us. Once the camp came within view, however, the scene was much the same as it had been on my first arrival, with men milling about just outside the gates, except that it was obvious they were all turned in our direction, watching us approach. This was when Dolabella came trotting back to summon me.
“Proconsul Drusus wants you with us to identify Percennius in case he decides to try and blend in,” he said louder than he needed to, indicating that perhaps Sejanus had given the Praetorians around me some orders of his own, but they did nothing to impede me as I joined Dolabella.
By the time we were within a couple furlongs, the few men who had been congregated outside clearly communicated our approach, because rankers began pouring out of the gate. None of them were attired for battle, but Drusus still called a halt, obviously nervous at the sudden appearance of so many men, despite their lack of armor or weapons. Not surprisingly, it was Sejanus, who in my short association with him, seemed to have taken it upon himself to serve as some sort of adviser to Drusus, who suggested that the mounted portion stay put while the two Cohorts of Praetorians marched forward.
“Naturally,” Sejanus said, “I volunteer to be the representative for you when we move into position. If those mutineers have anything treacherous in mind, you’ll be safe.”
“They’re unarmed and not wearing their armor,” Drusus pointed out, but Sejanus was unmoved, rejoining, “Those we can see aren’t. But, sir, that’s not a full Legion’s worth of men, and there are three Legions in that camp. We don’t know what they have planned!”
This clearly had an impact on the young Proconsul, but as I watched, I could see the emotions play across his stern features, as the pride that is a feature of a young man, particularly a Roman, that bridles at the thought of appearing to be cowed, no matter what the reason, warred with his understanding that what Sejanus was saying was, on its face, the truth. During his moment of indecision, those mutineers outside the gates were in the process of forming up into a rough semblance of the kind of formation that we use to welcome men of high rank. Oh, it was ragged, and I had the distinct impression that this was something that had not been planned beforehand, but this made Drusus’ decision for him, because he indicated the two ranks, each arranged on opposing sides of the gate.
“They clearly don’t mean me any harm, Sejanus.” Drusus sounded confident at least, but I saw his eyes darting between the two bodies of men, giving me the strong impression that he was not certain this was the case. “We’ll be fine.”
Then he urged his horse forward, and I confess that I was impressed with the young nobleman’s courage; his common sense I was not as certain about, although I did not think it was likely the mutineers would assault Drusus. Not, I thought, until they have an idea whether or not he is going to give them what they want.
Dolabella turned to me and said softly, “Let’s just wait here for now. When Drusus wants us, he’ll let us know.”
I had no objection to this, not that it mattered, but when Drusus’ personal bodyguards, Germans naturally, began moving with him, as did young Blaesus, the Proconsul gave a firm shake of his head, moving forward alone. When he reached the nearest edge of the two lines, I felt myself tense, and I could sense the others around me doing the same, but none of the men on either side, moved from their position. Both ranks were longer than they were wide, extending for more than a hundred paces to the gate, and they were about five men deep, although their alignment and spacing was something one might see with a batch of tiros, not men of a veteran Legion. Neither, we immediately saw, did they render a salute to Drusus, and I was close enough to see him stiffen in his saddle when he realized that he would not be afforded the honors due to a man of Proconsular rank. This group of mutineers might not have been acting in a physical sense, but before Drusus had passed the first three or four files, the relative quiet evaporated.
“Are you here to give us what we want?”
“You can see for yourself how worn down we are!”
“What is your father going to do to help our suffering?”
Those were just the calls I could make out, as within a heartbeat or two, it sounded as if every man present added his own question or demand. And, very quickly, what began as a plaintive call to a man these mutineers hoped was empowered to help them turned into something darker and more demanding, as the frustration and anger clearly came boiling out of them. We all heard this change, and Dolabella and I exchanged an alarmed glance, while Sejanus began cursing bitterly.
The Praetorian commander turned to snap an order to the Decurion next to him. “Go back and tell Fibulanus to bring up the First Cohort immediately! We’re going to teach this scum a lesson they won’t forget!”
“That,” Blaesus surprised me by being the one to speak up, “isn’t what Drusus wants.”
“The Proconsul is brave,” Sejanus shot back, “but he’s young, and he doesn’t know these lowborn bastards like I do!” Turning back to the Decurion, he reiterated his orders, but before the man could respond, someone else interjected.
“You’re not going to do that.” For the first time, an older man, who I had barely noticed, spoke up and told the Decurion, calmly and without any real heat to his words, which made the Decurion’s response a confirmation of my surmise that this man had to be important in his own right, because he actually complied, not moving his horse.
“This isn’t your area of expertise, sir!” Sejanus wheeled on the older man, his thin mouth now offering a smile that was as false as it was obsequious. “The security of the Proconsul is my responsibility, not yours! Need I remind you, with all respect, of course, that you have no authority over me and my men!”
“No,” the old man agreed, which seemed to surprise Sejanus, then he pointed out, “but the Proconsul does, and his orders were clear. Has he given any signal that he needs help?”
This naturally made Sejanus return his attention to Drusus, whose back was to us, but the men still had not moved from their spots and were not making any overtly threatening gestures; mainly, it was the tone of their collective voices that could be described as hostile. Drusus had stopped his horse, roughly midway between our party and the camp gates, and at least from where I sat, appeared to be doing his best to listen to what had to be an absolute cacophony of noise. Frankly, I did not believe it was even possible for him to actually hear a single question or demand these men were hurling his way, yet I also realized that at this moment, the appearance of listening was more important than the actual act of doing so. Finally, he raised both hands in a clear plea for silence, and much to my surprise, the men quieted down more quickly than I would have thought, although it made sense.
“Who speaks for you?” Drusus’ voice drifted back to us, but we were a bit too far away for me to hear if there was a tremor in it that betrayed his nerves.
At this, a man down at the farthest end of one of the lines, nearest to the gate, stepped forward, and while he was in just his tunic and baltea, he also carried a vitus, and for a moment, I felt as if I would topple from the saddle, thinking that it was my friend Domitius. Fortunately, when he turned to face Drusus, I could see that he was not missing an eye, although he was about the same size and stature as my former close comrade.
“I do, sir.” The man’s voice was a bit easier to hear since he was facing our direction. “My name is Aulus Gabinius Clemens, Sextus Hastatus Prior of the 9th Legion, Proconsul.” The salute he rendered was proper, but it engendered some angry shouts from the mutineers, which both Drusus and the Centurion wisely ignored. Drusus returned the salute, then Clemens turned slightly and made a gesture in the direction of the gate, which was partially open but not enough to allow any of us an unobstructed view. Nothing happened for a moment, and I did notice the noise level had dropped dramatically, as now everyone’s attention was focused in the direction where Drusus was still seated on his mount, Clemens standing facing his direction a few paces away, and the gate behind the Centurion. I, for one, was completely unsure what to expect, but my surprise was nothing compared to that of young Blaesus, when his father came striding out, wearing the regalia of a Legate of Rome, and to my eyes, appearing completely unharmed.
“Father!” the youngster blurted out with such obvious relieved joy that I was struck by an unexpected pang, thinking that this would have been my reaction if it had been my father appearing from such a precarious situation. Oblivious to the rest of us, Blaesus still spoke aloud, “He’s lost weight, but otherwise, he looks fine.”
“Did they threaten your father?” Dolabella asked.
“At first,” the son answered, but he still kept his eyes on his father, “but when he offered himself up to them, telling them to kill him rather than make him endure this shame…” His voice trailed off, and I glanced over to see that there was a glint in his eyes that I knew were unshed tears, making me wonder whether his grief was because his father had been shamed, or from the relief that he had clearly survived. “…they stopped threatening him and gave him the freedom of the camp.” His mouth twisted into a bitter grimace. “Under escort, of course. He wasn’t even allowed to go the latrines alone!”
As young Blaesus was speaking, I kept my eyes on Drusus, conferring with the Centurion and Legate, trying to get a sense of the tenor of whatever it was they were discussing. I saw Drusus nod his head, then he wheeled his mount and came trotting back in our direction, although he only came within hailing distance.
The mutineers had quieted sufficiently for him to be heard when he called out, “Dolabella, Centurion…” He did seem embarrassed that he had forgotten my name, but he clearly indicated me with a gesture. “…Lentulus, Blaesus and my personal bodyguard and lictors will come into the camp with me. The rest of you will remain here…”
I was not particularly surprised that Sejanus cut him off in mid-sentence, nor the fact that Drusus’ face darkened, his jaw setting in a manner that reinforced the unfortunate resemblance to a turtle, as the Praetorian Legate said hotly, “That’s unwise…sir! Very unwise! I insist that I be allowed to bring at least one Cohort of the Praetorians with you.”
“This isn’t your decision to make, Sejanus!” Drusus snapped. “My orders stand. You’ll remain here, outside the camp. The Legate has guaranteed my safety.”
Sejanus was not impressed in the slightest, that sneer of his returning as he shot back, “He’s been their prisoner for almost two weeks now, but you can see for yourself there’s not a bruise on the man! There has to be a reason for that.”
“I told you the reason!” Blaesus turned his horse, clearly furious, and while I was not nervous, strictly speaking, I was acutely aware that Dolabella and I were in between Sejanus and the Legate’s son.
“That’s your version of what happened,” Sejanus countered, then in what I could only think was a deliberate insult, ignored Blaesus and returned his attention to Drusus. “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to…”
“Allow me?” Drusus did not shout, exactly, but just by the expressions of the mutineers nearest him, they clearly heard him. “You don’t allow me to do anything, Sejanus! I’m the one with Proconsular authority here, not you! You answer to me, not the other way around.”
I was curious as to how Sejanus would respond; from what I had seen, I thought he was likely to respond in the same tone, but instead, he held up a placating hand, and to my ears, his voice had a wheedling, sycophantic quality to it as he replied, “You’re right, of course, sir. It’s just that your father, the Imperator Tiberius…”
“I know who my father is,” Drusus cut him off, “and I know that he sent you along to watch out for me. And,” the young Roman took a deep breath, “I do appreciate your concern. But I am in command here. You and the rest of the Praetorians will wait here. Now,” the manner in which he deliberately turned away from Sejanus could not have been a clearer rebuke, “we’ve wasted enough time. Come with me.”
Without waiting to see if we obeyed, he wheeled his mount and went at the trot to where the Legate and the Centurion from the 9th were waiting.
“If you let anything happen to him, Dolabella,” Sejanus hissed as we began moving, “I swear by the Furies I’ll flay you alive.” I glanced over at Dolabella, curious to see how he would respond, but he chose to ignore it, although I noticed his face went a shade pale, but before we got out of earshot, Sejanus called to me, “That goes for you too, Centurion! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!”
As far as I remember it, it was Latobius who, of his own volition, spun about on his hindquarters and brought me back to face Sejanus; since I was already there, I suppose I decided that this was as good a time as any to make another enemy for life.
“The only way someone like you could take an inch of my skin is with help,” I said, and while my voice was as calm as I could make it, for the second time recently, I felt that beast inside me begin to uncoil itself, a small fire beginning in my belly. “You wouldn’t last a dozen heartbeats facing me, Sejanus. Apparently,” I added this as I turned my horse, “your spies in the Legions aren’t nearly as good as you think they are, or you’d know that already.”
When I cantered up and rejoined Dolabella, he gave me a sidelong glance, then with a sigh, simply asked, “What did you do this time, Titus?”
The way he said it made me laugh, and I replied cheerfully, “You know me. I like making friends wherever I go.”
This made Dolabella chuckle, but it did not last long, and he reminded me, “Remember what I said about him, Titus. He’s a dangerous, dangerous man.”
“Well,” I shot back, still grinning, “so am I.” Seeing that it had been the old man who joined us, I thought I knew his identity, but I asked Dolabella, “Is that Publius Cornelius Lentulus? The former Consul?”
“You’re partly right,” Dolabella allowed. “He was a Consul, but that’s Gnaeus Lentulus; he was co-Consul with the other one.”
I thought for a moment as I tried to recall what I could about this lesser known Lentulus, finally asking, “Wasn’t he the Legate who conducted a campaign against the Getae? That didn’t go so well?”
“The one and the same,” Dolabella confirmed, then he looked over and warned, “And I would be careful about saying that where Lentulus can hear you, Titus. He’s…sensitive about that. Yes,” he allowed, “he’s old, but he’s still powerful. And,” he grinned as he finished, but I knew he was being serious, “you’ve already made Sejanus your enemy. Try to keep it at that.”
And with that, we followed Drusus and the others, right into a trap; it turned out that Sejanus was right after all.