Chapter Five

Despite their best hopes, Germanicus’ strategy of launching Legion-strong forays out into the countryside surrounding what the men now called Old Camp did not yield the desired results, although it was not entirely fruitless in the sense that the Romans despoiled countless fields and razed more villages. Two days after their arrival at Old Camp, they were finally joined by Apronius and the 16^th, fresh from their work in repairing roads and bridges, and they were immediately put into the rotation as the army, now four Legions strong, marched in every direction in their attempt to lure the Chatti into a battle. It was the first week of May when, after the 1^st had conducted three of these smaller expeditions with the other Legions except the 16^th doing as many, Germanicus addressed the situation at the daily briefing with the Primi Pili.

“We,” he announced, his voice reflecting his frustration, “are breaking camp in the morning and returning to the Rhenus.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth that he recognized his Primi Pili’s expressions, and he gave a humorless chuckle, adding, “But you already knew that.” He heaved a sigh, speaking softly enough it might have been to himself, “I don’t even know why I bother trying to keep anything secret.”

“Sir,” Sacrovir spoke, only after glancing at the other three Primi Pili and seeing they were not inclined to do so, “long before you, or for that matter, I ever marched under the standard, the clerks in the praetorium have been letting us poor bastards in the ranks know our fate. And,” he finished with a shrug, “I suspect it will be that way long after we’re turned to ash.”

That Sacrovir spoke to Germanicus in a manner he never would have dared to do with Tiberius, even when the Imperator was just a Legate and presumed to be Augustus’ heir, was just another example of the difference between father and adopted son, and more importantly, of the bond between the men of the Legions and Germanicus. Which, Germanicus well knew, was one reason why Tiberius viewed him with such suspicion, but it was simply not in his nature to behave differently; his personality was just more engaging and open than Tiberius’, and he had a natural affinity for the foul-mouthed, swaggering scoundrels who marched for Rome. Personally, he believed that, in this one area, he and Tiberius were more alike than it might seem to a casual observer but, for whatever reason, the new Imperator had been unable to express this openly to the men. Regardless of the differences between the two, Germanicus knew very well that the rankers respected both of them; what he would never express openly was his recognition that those same men extended more than just their respect to him, and while it was certainly flattering, he was acutely aware of the rancor it stirred in Tiberius. None of which, he also recognized, mattered at this moment, because what the Princeps was expecting were results, and while the Chatti were certainly a consideration for strategic purposes, the Legate never lost sight that ultimately this was about Arminius. This was what made his decision to break camp easier for him to digest, and he was cautiously pleased to see that his Primi Pili at least seemed to agree this was the correct course of action.

For two of Germanicus’ Centurions, the prospect of returning to Mogontiacum was particularly enticing, although for Pullus, it also created a quandary as he tried to think of a way that he could see Giulia without their son finding out about it. This subject occupied Pullus’ thoughts on the return march, as for what he was certain was the hundredth time, he carried on an internal debate, arguing with himself about breaking his promise to the mother of his son who, as Pullus was acutely aware, was marching not far behind him as Germanicus’ army traveled south, back to the relative safety of the Rhenus. His dilemma was solved three days into the march, although it was in a way that did not satisfy Pullus in the slightest. Shortly after the midday break, with the Rhenus no more than ten miles away, the track the army was following intersected with another one running on an east/west axis, whereupon the vanguard Legion, the 5^th on that day, turned west, a fact of which Pullus was unaware for another sixth part of a watch until the 1^st reached the junction and followed suit.

“What are we doing?” he asked Gemellus, although he did not really expect the Signifer to know any more than he did.

Gemellus shrugged as he replied, “I suppose we’re not going to Mogontiacum.”

“You think?” Pullus snorted derisively, instantly regretting it, but, since it was not in his nature to do so, he did not offer an apology.

Gemellus had been Pullus’ Signifer for several years, moving with him when Macer took his own Signifer with him to the Second Cohort, which had created all manner of problems. Moving Signiferi within a Cohort was one thing; while it was not done every single time a Centurion moved up in the Cohort hierarchy, it happened often enough that no eyebrows were raised. Macer taking his Signifer, Publius Atartinus, with him had unsurprisingly not been well received by the Second Cohort’s current Signifer, but there were several factors working against the man, not least of which was the fact that the long-serving Secundus Pilus Prior Lucius Sentius had been one of the Centurions singled out for punishment by the mutineers several months earlier because of his squeezing his men for money. Depending on whom one listened to, his Signifer was either in on it with Sentius, or, what seemed more likely to Gemellus, he had chosen to look the other way. Whatever the cause, Atartinus had been tainted by this association, and then Culleo’s sudden retirement had convinced Macer that a change was in order, not that Gemellus was complaining, since being a Cohort Signifer paid better. None of which mattered at this moment, as Gemellus tried to determine just how foul a mood his Centurion was in because of this sudden change in direction. While Pullus had never confided in him, Gemellus was aware that there was something in Mogontiacum that had captured his Centurion’s attention, and he was fairly certain that it was a woman. Who the woman was, and how it pertained to Centurion Volusenus, he had no idea about; only Macer knew the full truth, but right now, it was clear to the Signifer that this was the cause of Pullus’ foul humor. Consequently, he decided to say nothing that might arouse his Centurion’s ire more than it already had been by this development. It was not until the next rest stop, when Pullus trotted up to find Sacrovir, that the men of the Fourth learned the reason for the change.

“We’re marching back to Ubiorum,” Pullus informed the other Centurions, but while he did his best to hide it, Volusenus could see how bitterly disappointed the Pilus Prior was, and like Gemellus, wondered why.

“Why not Mogontiacum?” Vespillo demanded; Volusenus felt certain that his obvious irritation was because of his nature, and his circumstances at making himself an outcast, but for once, Pullus seemed to appreciate having an ally, because he did not chastise the Pilus Posterior, instead answering sourly, “Because Agrippina and Caligula are in Ubiorum, that’s why.”

Volusenus, like every man in Germanicus’ army, along with those Roman citizens who lived along the Rhenus and in nearby Gaul, was aware of Germanicus’ devotion to his family, and while he had only seen Agrippina from a distance, he could understand why the Legate felt this way. Still, it was highly unusual for a Roman nobleman, but Volusenus did not doubt that this was the real reason, and he knew he was not alone in his belief. The break was over soon after, but when Volusenus was about to talk privately to Pullus, he quickly thought better of it, seeing by the Pilus Prior’s expression that he was in no mood for any kind of interaction. Thankfully, only Pullus was put out; to the men of the 1^st, Ubiorum was home, and once their final destination was known, and they were in what was considered safe territory this close to the Rhenus, the Centurions allowed them to chatter about the kinds of things rankers always talked about. Old exploits out in Ubiorum were rehashed, inevitably leading to squabbles about which version was the correct one; the merits of the small army of whores were discussed, to a level of detail that grew increasingly lurid with every mile, and most often, boasts were made of future depravity that would make all that came before it pale in comparison. As he listened to his men, Volusenus gradually realized that he was beginning to look forward to most of the things his men were talking about, which prompted him to chuckle, mostly at himself.

Macerinus heard, and he glanced over at the Centurion, asking, “What’s so funny?”

“Oh,” Volusenus replied, still smiling, “nothing. I was just realizing something about myself.”

This piqued Macerinus’ interest, but when Volusenus said no more, he demanded, “So, what is that you’ve realized about yourself?”

At first, Volusenus was not inclined to answer, feeling somewhat foolish, but he relented, and he would look back later and think of this as the moment where he began the final process of shedding the skin of his former life, fully accepting that he would be under the standard for the rest of his days, however long the gods granted him.

“Just that I doubt my father would have approved of what I plan on doing when we get back to Ubiorum,” he said this with a grin, but Macerinus sensed that he was serious. Volusenus returned his attention to the front, although he continued, “In fact, I think he would be horrified if he knew that I plan on staying in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you all right, Pilus Prior?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why is that so bad?” Pullus asked. “Did you tell Macerinus that this was just between you two?”

Volusenus hesitated just an instant before admitting, “No, I didn’t. But,” he insisted, “that still doesn’t make it right. He’s my Signifer! I should be able to trust him.”

“You should,” Pullus seemingly agreed. Then he asked pointedly, “So are you saying you don’t trust Macerinus anymore? That you want to replace him?”

Volusenus visibly started at hearing it put this way, and he exclaimed, “Pluto’s balls, no, Pilus Prior!” Shaking his head, he sighed and said ruefully, “And you’re right. It doesn’t really matter.” He chuckled, then added, “Neither of them know my mother, and she’s the one I’m worried about.”

Mention of Giulia caused Pullus to shift in his chair as he instinctively glanced about the taverna, but the other occupants were far more interested in their own conversations to be paying attention to an uncomfortable Centurion and speculate why Volusenus mentioning his mother caused him to squirm. As expected, the Dancing Faun was packed, which was completely understandable, both by Pullus and the proprietor of the place who, as so many owners of such establishments, had marched under the standard until he had lost an arm just below the elbow. And, because Aulus Turbo had once marched in the Fourth Cohort, serving in the Fifth Century until he was cashiered out after his wound, this taverna was the unofficial spot for Pullus and his men. Now, Pullus and Volusenus were sitting together at a table in the corner that was reserved for the officers, although by this point in the impromptu celebration, the other Centurions and Optios had begun circulating among their own men, standing for and sharing drinks with their Centuries, leaving the two largest officers to sit, alone.

Returning to the original subject, Pullus tried to sound casual as he pressed Volusenus, “So, is it true? You plan on staying in past your first enlistment?”

Volusenus did not reply immediately, stalling for time by staring into his cup, then with a shrug replied, “Yes. At least, I think so.” He looked up at Pullus and finished frankly, “It just seems to be the right thing to do.”

Pullus regarded him for a long moment, but while his expression gave nothing away, his mind was racing as he realized that Volusenus was not the only one in a quandary. When he had overheard Macerinus and Gemellus, his initial reaction had been one of happiness at the thought that his son would be essentially carrying on a tradition that would now extend back four generations…even if he was unaware that he was doing so. But now, when he was confronted with the possibility that Volusenus intended to do that very thing, and he might have the ability to nudge him into making that decision, Pullus hesitated. He was caught completely by surprise by the sudden appearance of the voice, faintly but clearly asking, Are you sure this is what you want for your son?

This was what prompted him to caution, “It is a big decision, Gnaeus. And,” he added, “it’s not one you have to make right away.”

“That’s true,” Volusenus acknowledged, but Pullus saw that he was still troubled.

“Let me ask you this,” Pullus decided to try another approach. “What’s the reason for your hesitance?”

As he suspected it might, this seemed to startle Volusenus, the younger man looking up sharply from his cup, and he frowned in thought.

“Actually,” he answered, speaking slowly, “I don’t really know.”

“Is it about the money?” Pullus asked, but when he saw Volusenus did not comprehend the question, he elaborated, “You’re the only child, yes?” Volusenus nodded, and Pullus ignored the sudden tightness in his chest as he pretended to be dispassionate as he continued, “And your father died a few years ago, which means that you’ll inherit everything.”

“That’s true,” Volusenus seemingly agreed, then pointed out, “but that’s been true since he died. I could take control of his estate any time I choose. I’ve just decided that I’d rather not bother with it. Besides,” he chuckled, his tone turning rueful, “my mother is a lot better at managing money than I am.”

Pullus came perilously close to breaking his promise to Giulia, although it was inadvertent, immediately responding, “I know…” Realizing his error, he instantly added, “…that was the case with my mother.”

Volusenus did not react, at least in a manner that betrayed he had caught the slight pause, saying only, “I think that might be the case with a lot of women.” Sighing, he returned to the more immediate subject, “But no, it’s not about the money.”

Hiding his relief, Pullus pressed on, “If it’s not about that, then is it about being able to live a life that most of…” He almost said “us” but realized the hypocrisy in that, given that he was certain that his family fortune dwarfed that of the Volusenus family, or at least it had before his brother Gaius mismanaged it so miserably, so he waved a hand at the other celebrants, “…them would kill to have? Is that what you miss?”

“Actually,” Volusenus replied, with an expression of slight surprise, “I’ve never really thought about that. And,” he shook his head, “now that I am, I can’t say that it is.”

“So if it’s not the money or the benefits that come with it, what’s the cause for your hesitation about this being the life you want?”

For the first time, Volusenus looked, if not embarrassed, then a bit chagrined, but he did answer Pullus, “Honestly, I think it has to do with my mother.” He took a quick swallow of wine, then mumbled, “It just bothers me that if I stay in, she’ll be worried all the time.” As he said this, he had hunched over his cup, and now he glanced up at Pullus, scowling as he added, “Go ahead and say it, Pilus Prior. I’m a mama’s boy.”

Pullus smiled at Volusenus, but to the younger man, it was not in a teasing way; if anything, he thought, Pullus looks sad, although he had no idea why he would be.

Volusenus’ assessment was accurate, but Pullus forced himself to at least appear as if he did not feel like he had been stabbed deep in his vitals as he replied, “Gnaeus, there’s nothing wrong with loving your mother. I’m sure she’s a…lovely woman, and she wants you to be happy.”

This, Volusenus acknowledged to himself, was accurate, and he agreed, “That’s true.”

“And,” Pullus pointed out, “here’s what I know about mothers. You remember that I had a brother.” Volusenus nodded, and Pullus ignored the sudden stab of pain he always experienced when Sextus came up as he continued, “He and I were the only two under the standard, but my mother worried about my brothers Gaius and Septimus just as much.” He lifted his cup to his lips, then before he took a swallow, finished, “It was just about different things.”

As Pullus drained his cup, Volusenus considered this, then began to nod thoughtfully.

“That makes sense,” he allowed, then gave Pullus a grin. “And the gods know if I go back home, I’m likely to bring my bad habits back with me.” Pullus laughed at this as Volusenus continued, “Now that I think about it, I think my mother would probably be more worried about me back in the civilian life knowing all that I know now.”

They fell silent then, both seemingly content to survey the scene surrounding them. While the patrons were mostly male, there were nevertheless a fair number of women, all of them working, and most of those were either sitting or straddling their particular customer. Not surprisingly, the atmosphere was raucous, and both men knew that it would only grow increasingly so as the night progressed and the wine continued flowing, as men either settled or collected their debts from wagers and arguments lost during their foray into Chatti territory. And, just as inevitably, there would be disagreements; early on, they were verbal in nature and were usually settled peacefully. That was what Pullus and Volusenus were watching now, as two men they both recognized belonged to the Second Century were standing facing each other, their faces just inches apart as they were bellowing back and forth.

“What,” Volusenus asked with idle amusement, “do you suppose that’s about?”

Before Pullus could answer, one of the men turned slightly and pointed dramatically down at a woman who was straddling the bench, watching with avid, and both Centurions could see, amused interest; the fact that she had bared her breasts, and was jiggling them enticingly in a clear attempt to incite the two men further was the most informative aspect of this scene.

“Isn’t that the bitch who calls herself Chloe?” Volusenus pointed at the woman. “She does this kind of cac all the time.”

“I think so,” Pullus agreed, although he was forced to squint a bit to make her out more clearly.

“She did this to two of my boys from the Eighth Section,” Volusenus said disgustedly. “They were close comrades, and Bestia almost stabbed Perperna because of it. I had to write Bestia up and he got five lashes for it.”

“When was this?” Pullus demanded, but Volusenus understood and assured him, “It was before you became Pilus Prior. Macer signed off on it.”

Pullus grunted, turning his attention back to the small drama, but it was Volusenus, who, seeing that things were becoming more heated, started to rise from his chair, glancing at Pullus as he did so, asking, “Shouldn’t we do something?”

Pullus made no move, shaking his head and pointing to where Vespillo was sitting, alone, in the corner opposite from their spot.

“No, they’re from his Century, he needs to do something about it,” Pullus said flatly, but this did not dissuade Volusenus, who pointed out, “But you’re their Pilus Prior.”

This served to jerk Pullus’ attention away from the two men and he glared at Volusenus for a moment, which prompted the younger man to drop back into his seat, albeit reluctantly.

Satisfied he had made his point, Pullus spoke in a softer tone, explaining, “Normally, I would, Gnaeus. But I don’t have to tell you that Vespillo has been a rock in my caliga, and,” he added forcefully, “a detriment to the Cohort.” This was something Volusenus could not argue, and when he nodded his understanding, Pullus continued to explain, “I need to build a case to get rid of him. So,” he indicated the two arguing men, “no, I’m not going to do anything…yet.”

Fortunately for the two rankers, and disappointingly to Pullus, Chloe obviously became bored with the game, because she suddenly stood up, tucked her breasts back under her shift, and wandered off to another table, where four men were playing dice, dropping into the lap of one of them and leaving the two abandoned comrades standing, both of them looking sheepish and unsure what exactly they had almost come to blows about.

“Fucking whores,” Pullus muttered in disgust, and Volusenus laughed as he reached over and refilled his cup from the jug. Now that the diversion was over, Pullus returned to the subject they had been discussing; it was his intention that Volusenus’ future would be settled tonight, so he picked back up by saying casually, “It sounds like you’ve actually made up your mind to stay in. Am I reading that correctly?”

Volusenus’ cup was halfway to his lips, and it stopped suddenly. Then he set it down as he stared at it thoughtfully. The moment seemed to drag out, and as often happened to Pullus in battle, the other sounds and all the activity surrounding them faded dramatically as he concentrated on his son’s face. It was only when Volusenus began to slowly nod that he realized he had been holding his breath.

“Yes,” Volusenus answered slowly, still frowning as he looked up from his cup to meet Pullus’ eyes, “I suppose I have.” Saying it aloud seemed to be what Volusenus needed, because his tone became firm, “Yes, I’ve decided this is the life I want.”

It took a tremendous effort on Pullus’ part to keep from reacting in the manner that he really wanted to, with an exuberant bellow.

Instead, he settled on smiling then turned to signal Turbo as he said, “That calls for another jug, I think. Don’t you?”

“As long as you’re buying,” Volusenus answered cheerfully.

It was about a third of a watch later when, after the replacement jug had been drained, and the third was about halfway empty, the door at the far end of the taverna opened, and several men entered. Volusenus was not completely drunk, but he was well on his way, while Pullus, whose tolerance for massive amounts of wine was yet another part of his legend, was just exhibiting the early stages of intoxication, meaning that it was Pullus who took notice first, then suddenly realized that this was not just a case of late arrivals from the Fourth. For as long as anyone could remember, it was an unwritten rule that every Cohort had their own taverna in the towns outside the camp where they were permanently stationed, and the Dancing Faun had been the Fourth’s since its opening about eighteen months after the 1^st arrived in Ubiorum. This practice had been adopted as a way to keep men from the punishment list for brawling with men from other Cohorts, and for the most part, it was accepted and agreed to by the proprietors of these establishments, mainly out of self-preservation. Simply put, whenever men from different Cohorts mixed, it was practically inevitable that the destruction they wrought was not just on each other, but on the furniture of the establishment, and almost as often, the employees and those other patrons who were not attached to that Cohort. That was why, when Pullus looked in their direction and saw that they were not men of the Fourth, he straightened in his chair, suddenly wary. It prompted Volusenus to glance over at him, somewhat blearily, but the expression on Pullus’ face helped cut through the mild haze in his mind, and he followed Pullus’ gaze.

It did take him an extra heartbeat, but then he gasped, “Wait! Are those the bastards from the 15^th?”

“Two of them are,” Pullus confirmed, but while it was obvious that the interlopers, of which Pullus counted a half-dozen, were clearly looking for someone, he made no move from his spot, although he did not take his eyes away as he addressed Volusenus. “And it looks like they brought some friends.”

Three of the men were carrying viti, while the other three were wearing the soldier’s tunic with the white stripe sewn to one shoulder, but it took them several heartbeats before one of them, an Optio, finally turned to face in their direction. Volusenus saw the man stiffen, then nudge one of the Centurions, who looked over sharply, but Volusenus, who had returned to his Century immediately following the incident and was marching them away when the two Centurions had confronted Pullus, was uncertain whether he placed any of them as being those Centurions.

Keeping his eyes on them, he asked Pullus in a low voice, “Do you recognize them? Are any of them the Sextus Pilus Prior or the Princeps Posterior?”

Pullus, like Volusenus, did not look away, watching as the six men seemed suddenly uncertain what to do now that they had spotted the two of them, but he answered tersely, “Yes. They’re both here.”

Then, before he could say anything more, one of the Centurions broke from the group and began walking towards their corner; it was at that moment that Volusenus became aware that the noise level had dramatically subsided, and he saw more heads turning with every step the leader took.

Pullus picked up his cup and lifted it to his lips, using it as cover to ask Volusenus quietly, “You in for this?”

It required an effort on Volusenus’ part to not offer a sharp retort or even betray that he had heard, not wanting to warn the approaching men; instead, he matched Pullus’ tone. “Do you really have to ask?”

Pullus gave a slight smile as he set the cup down, but while Volusenus made to rise out of his chair, the older man used his left hand, which was under the table, to surreptitiously pull him back down.

“Salve,” Pullus said conversationally, “Pilus Prior…Furnius, isn’t it? What brings our comrades in the 15^th here to The Dancing Faun?”

“You know why,” the now-identified Furnius snapped, then jerked a thumb at his party. “The lads here are…upset that that big bastard there,” he pointed directly at Volusenus with his vitus, “placed hands on one of ours without being punished for it!”

Before Pullus could intervene again, Volusenus shot up from his chair so quickly, it toppled over backwards, making a clattering sound that he was dimly aware was the loudest now that men were no longer even making a pretense of doing anything other than watching.

“What did you call me?” Volusenus asked, and he was surprised at how calm he sounded.

Pullus had remained seated, but he made no attempt to hide his amusement at the sudden shifting of Furnius’ comrades at the sight of Volusenus on his feet. Surely, he thought, they knew how big he is, but he assumed that since only Furnius and the Princeps Posterior, who was standing just behind his Pilus Prior, had seen him from a distance, they had miscalculated just how imposing his son was. Or more likely, Furnius had downplayed exactly what these men were biting off, which Pullus was confident would prove to be far more than they could chew.

“You heard me,” Furnius replied tightly, and Pullus noticed how tightly he was clenching his vitus, which prompted him to act.

Heaving a sigh that he was certain was audible to them, he stood up himself, shifting slightly so he was directly to Volusenus’ right, and he pointed down at the twisted vine stick. “What do you plan on doing with that? You already outnumber us, and now you’re waving that thing around?” For the first time, Pullus showed any emotion, his voice turning hard and flat. “Because you’re likely to get it shoved right up your ass if you keep it up.”

Furnius flushed, his lips tightening, but then he gave a curt nod and made a display of laying the vitus on the nearest table, which happened to be occupied by men of Volusenus’ Century, all of whom wore expressions of eager anticipation at the prospect of a brawl; the fact that it would be between Centurions made the prospect even more exciting. Turning partially, Furnius made a gesture with his head, and the other two Centurions followed suit, although the Princeps Posterior did not look particularly happy. This also served as a signal, because from across the room, Structus suddenly stood up, followed by Cornutus, who had been sitting at the same table. Gillo, who was sitting at the table next to the two Centurions, also stood, along with Clustuminus and they began navigating their way through a room that had grown completely silent. Two of Furnius’ party whirled about, their fists clenched, but Pullus held up a hand, and while they were clearly reluctant, they understood, and more importantly, obeyed their Pilus Prior.

“Thanks, boys,” Pullus called to them, although his eyes never left Furnius, “but I don’t think Volusenus and I will need your help.” He risked a quick glance over at Volusenus, and the pair exchanged a grin, then Pullus bellowed, “Let’s have some fun!”

“Forty.” Clink. “Fifty.” Clink. “Sixty.” Clink.

Volusenus watched as Pullus dropped the coins into the outstretched hand of Turbo, unconsciously rubbing his jaw, although he was bothered more by his left eye that was rapidly closing. When his glance flickered up from Turbo’s upturned palm to the man’s face, without thinking about it, he grinned, which reopened the split lip and caused him to groan softly but audibly enough for Pullus to momentarily stop paying the taverna keeper, glance over, and shake his head with a grin of his own on his face.

“What are you smiling at?” Volusenus demanded, mostly good-naturedly. “You don’t look any better than I do!”

“And neither of you look as bad as my place!” Turbo wailed, shaking his only hand in an obvious demand for more coin.

That, Volusenus had to admit as he glanced around, was not an exaggeration. More than a dozen tables had been overturned, but some of the remaining patrons were helping put them back in their proper spots except for the one that had been smashed; the chairs were in even more disarray, and that was not counting those which were now splintered from one cause or another. Adding to the debris, the wooden floor had several puddles, and while most of them were from shattered winecups and jugs, not all of it was, the blood being slightly darker. The only thing that was missing were the half-dozen men of the 15^th; the two men who could still move under their own power were reduced to begging for help removing their four inert comrades, including Furnius, who ironically enough had been the first to be knocked out of the fight, by Pullus, and with a single, well-aimed blow. The sight of all this destruction actually made Volusenus smile even more broadly, but he said nothing as Pullus finished counting out what was about six months’ pay for a Gregarius. However, when Pullus then added another ten coins, he was about to protest that his Pilus Prior was overpaying, but Pullus cut him off with a look.

“The extra is for the troubles we caused you, Aulus,” Pullus explained. “We don’t want you to make The Dancing Faun off-limits to our boys.” At this, he turned to look directly at Volusenus. “Do, we Centurion?”

“No, Pilus Prior,” Volusenus answered, understanding now why Pullus had done as he had done.

“Well,” Turbo grumbled, “I’ll have to think about it.” Then a grin spread across his face as he admitted, “But I’ll tell you, Pullus. I haven’t enjoyed seeing my place destroyed as much as I did tonight. Those cunni,” his battered face mirrored his indignation, “coming in here like that, thinking they fucking owned the place! They should have known better than to do that! But,” Turbo nudged Pullus, grinning up at him, “you set them straight! I don’t think any bastard from the 15^th will come wandering in here for a year at least!”

“If they do,” Pullus replied, “you need to let me know.”

Turbo’s grin faded, recognizing that not only was Pullus being serious, he had reason to be; it was far from unknown that the men of a defeated Legion in a brawl like this took out their anger on the spot where their defeat had taken place.

The taverna keeper gave a grim nod, promising, “I’ll send my boy the instant they show their face, Pilus Prior.”

“Good.” Pullus patted him on the shoulder, then turned away to walk over to where the remaining Centurion and two Optios were standing, with Volusenus following behind.

Structus grinned at the pair. “That was something to see! I’ll be telling my children about this one, by the gods!”

Gillo and Fabricius were the pair of Optios, and they hurried out in front of their Centurions, opening the door out into the street, with one of them looking to the left, the other to the right, searching for any sign of men looking for retribution. Signaling to Structus, who was standing just inside the doorway, the party made their way out of the taverna, which was now the site of a victory that would become famous throughout both Legions, of the type that did not make it into the Legion diary but was savored almost as much by the victors as one that did, and would sting the losers for some time to come.

Volusenus noticed that Pullus was hobbling slightly, and he asked with some concern, “What happened? Why are you limping?”

Pullus laughed, but he sounded rueful. “I think I pulled a muscle when I was throwing that bastard into that other bastard.”

Volusenus laughed as well, recalling the moment vividly, and he allowed, “Well, he was halfway across the room. So maybe it’s not just because you’re old.” Puffing his chest out slightly, he added, “Even I might have pulled a muscle like that.”

“You put paid to that Princeps Posterior,” Pullus commented, giving his son a playful nudge as he added, “Although I got him softened up for you.”

“Those cunni will never live this down,” Structus crowed. “Two of you and six of them? You handled them like they were fucking tiros!” Pullus’ former Optio shook his head in mock sadness. “I suppose the 15^th just doesn’t have as high a standard as we do.”

They entered the camp, and for a moment, it appeared as if there might be more trouble when it turned out that it was a Cohort of the 15^th who was standing watch, and it quickly became obvious that they were aware of what had taken place out in the town. The Centurion at the gate seemed to be considering making an issue of it as, when he saw Pullus and Volusenus and clearly having been made aware of the unusual size of the combatants, called a section of men to stand behind him, blocking the street that led from Ubiorum to the main gate.

“Juno’s cunnus,” Structus muttered under his breath, but when he moved to place himself in front of Pullus, the Pilus Prior put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him.

“Let’s see what this is about,” he said softly.

While Structus did not argue, both Gillo and Fabricius moved from their position, which had been just behind Pullus and Volusenus, to place themselves abreast of the three Centurions, and when Pullus stopped a few paces away from the waiting Centurion, they followed suit.

“Salve, Centurion,” Pullus’ tone was, if not friendly, was certainly not antagonistic, but the same could not be said for the watch Centurion.

“Fortuna,” he said flatly, his mouth turned down into an angry scowl.

Pullus sighed, but he provided the watchword to the challenge that had been issued for the day readily enough.

“Jupiter.”

This should have been enough for the Centurion to step aside and command his men to do so, yet he made no move to do so, and Volusenus immediately sensed Pullus stiffen, although he still sounded calm when he asked, “Is there a problem, Centurion? I gave you the correct watchword, didn’t I?”

Rather than respond the question, the Centurion lifted his vitus and pointed at Volusenus’ face, which was illuminated by the torches that were placed in sconces attached to the gate.

“What happened to your face, Centurion? Have you been in some sort of fight out in town?”

There was no mistaking the hostility in the Centurion’s tone, and now Volusenus felt the sudden surge of anger that he was certain Pullus was experiencing, but when he began to take a step forward, Pullus grabbed him none too gently.

Still, the Pilus Prior sounded calm when he answered the Centurion with a question of his own, “Why do you ask, Centurion?”

The Centurion raised one eyebrow, obviously affecting a tone of surprise as he replied, “Why? Because brawling in the town is against regulations. And,” now he gave the party a grin, but it held nothing pleasant in it, “as duty Centurion, I’m obliged to make a report of it to the Praetorium.” Before Pullus could reply, he added with a shake of the head that was as exaggerated, “I suppose you boys in the 1^st don’t know the regulations very well.”

“The 1^st?” Pullus pounced, and Volusenus had to smother a grin as the Pilus Prior adopted the same tone as his challenger. “Now how do you know we’re from the 1^st? There’s four Legions here in camp right now, and we all were given liberty of the town.” Cutting the Centurion off, his mouth just opening to say something, Pullus continued, “I suppose you’d know your own, but there are two hundred-forty Centurions and as many Optios out and about. So,” his voice suddenly hardened, and he pointed his own vitus at the Centurion, “either you’re blessed by Fortuna, or someone warned you we’d be coming, and who we belong to. Now, that makes me wonder why?” Again, Pullus did not allow the Centurion to reply, and Volusenus was happy to see that the man suddenly did not seem so sure of himself as his Pilus Prior finished, “And if you’re going to accuse us of brawling, Centurion, you must know that we’re going to demand that whoever accuses us of doing it provide witnesses to substantiate the charge. Although,” for the first time, Pullus smiled at the Centurion, but his tone became even more scornful, “I doubt they’re very eager to testify, it being so hard for them to talk right now.”

He stopped then, and Volusenus watched the duty Centurion, who was clearly fuming but just as obviously knew that as unpalatable as it may have been, the huge Centurion facing him was speaking the truth.

Suddenly, his shoulders slumped, and he stepped aside, ordering his men to do the same with a jerk of his head, sullenly muttering, “You may pass.”

Volusenus was about to say something as they walked past, but Pullus caught his eye and gave him a shake of his head, which he correctly interpreted, and their party entered the camp. It was not until they were several paces away before, without a word being said, they all burst into laughter.

When Pullus and Volusenus entered the Legion office, the fact that they were wearing freshly laundered tunics, their balteae were newly varnished, and they had given each other a minute inspection was the most visible indication that this was not a routine visit. The summons from Sacrovir had come shortly after the morning formation, but both men had at least gotten a subtle but unmistakable warning that this lay in their future by the glare from their Primus Pilus as they stood in the forum to receive their orders of the day. The pair had briefly discussed it on their way back to their Cohort area, and both had immediately alerted their clerks to make the necessary preparations. Alex had actually anticipated this, having heard from Pullus the night before about the events of that evening, so for him, it was just a matter of laying out the tunic and the spare baltea that Pullus used for inspections, but Krateros was forced to scramble to make sure his Centurion was properly attired. When they arrived at the Legion office, the fact that the chief clerk ushered them into the Primus Pilus’ office immediately did not put Volusenus at ease, and he saw that Pullus was no less discomfited. They strode to the desk, behind which Sacrovir was seated, although he was perusing a scroll, which actually made Volusenus feel slightly better since this was the part of the little game Centurions liked to play with anyone of a subordinate rank, and it was a tactic Volusenus had learned almost within his first week as a paid man.

Snapping to intente, Volusenus used his peripheral vision to time his salute with his Pilus Prior, pleased with himself at the precision of the movement. Which, of course, did not appear to impress Sacrovir in the slightest, although he did return it perfunctorily before returning his attention to the scroll. At least, Volusenus thought, this one has writing on it, aware that using a blank scroll or tablet was also fairly common, although it had never happened to him, but he ascribed that to the fact that, because of his height, it was practically impossible for someone seated to use that with him. What could happen, and did in this case, was what Sacrovir was doing now, ignoring the two Centurions as he continued to study the contents of the scroll, but again using his peripheral vision, this time the bottom of it, Volusenus could see that Sacrovir was not unrolling the scroll as he read. Oddly enough, it made him feel slightly better to know that the Primus Pilus was only pretending to read whatever was contained in this seemingly important missive. Finally, Sacrovir tossed the scroll on his desk, then leaned back in his chair to eye the two men, while both of them stared at an imaginary spot on the wall behind him.

“It appears,” Sacrovir broke the silence, his tone bland, almost bored, “that you two must have had a bit of excitement last night.”

On their way to the Praetorium, Pullus had informed Volusenus that he was to do all the talking, which suited Volusenus perfectly, but he was unprepared for Pullus to ask innocently, “Excitement, Primus Pilus?” Volusenus saw him shake his head as he said, “Not that I can recall. Although,” his voice altered slightly, telling Volusenus that Pullus was grinning now, “that might be because of how much I drank. Everything is…fuzzy.”

Sacrovir snorted, but Volusenus did not risk a glance to read the Primus Pilus’ expression to see how he was receiving Pullus’ attempt to disarm the potentially serious situation, although he answered immediately, “Ah, I see. So,” for the first time, Volusenus got an idea that the scroll had not just been a prop, because he saw Sacrovir indicate it, “the Primus Pilus of the 15^th Legion is full of cac, is he? That the two of you didn’t beat his Sextus Pilus Prior half to death, along with…” For this, he actually picked up the scroll and consulted it before he continued, “…the Sextus Pilus Posterior, the Sextus Hastatus Prior, and their three Optios? According to this,” he waved the scroll in their direction, “these men are going to be out of commission for quite some time. And,” now his voice changed, and Volusenus felt a sense of deep unease as he thought, If Sacrovir is faking this, he is doing a good job of it, “depending on how long we stay in Ubiorum before we march again, they may not be able to go back out against Arminius?”

Volusenus was close enough to Pullus to hear his low groan, but he was equally annoyed with himself as he realized this had not occurred to him either.

Sacrovir had stopped speaking and was glaring at the pair, his eyes moving from one to the other, but finally, he lost patience, snapping, “Well? Do either of you have any fucking excuse for this?”

Feeling that Sacrovir would not take it amiss, Volusenus broke from his intente to glance over at Pullus, but while he did not say anything, he could see Pullus understood his silent plea, because he gave a slight nod.

“This is what happened, Primus Pilus,” Pullus began, then talked for the next several moments.

As his Pilus Prior spoke, Volusenus gave up any pretense of staring over Sacrovir’s head, instead watching the Primus Pilus carefully, searching for some clue that would give him an indication how Sacrovir was taking Pullus’ account. Which, as far as Volusenus was concerned, was not only accurate, it was also uncomfortably forthcoming, because Pullus related the cause of what had taken place at The Dancing Faun. And, for the first time, Volusenus felt a stab of hope because he was certain he saw Sacrovir’s mouth twitch, as if he was fighting a smile, as Pullus offered not just the bare bones of what took place when the Fourth had entered the camp after their malodorous duty, but some of the gossip it engendered, including the story that Volusenus had flung the ranker, whose name they had never learned, over his tent and into the next street. Pullus finished immediately after that, making Volusenus wonder if this was calculated on his part.

Sacrovir was silent for a few heartbeats before he said, “Actually, I did hear about that…from the Primus Pilus of the 15^th, the next day when we met in the praetorium.” His lined face suddenly broke into a grin, and Volusenus realized with some surprise that the last time he had been close enough to Sacrovir to see his teeth, there had been one more than there were now. Chuckling as he spoke, Sacrovir went on, “Yes, Mancinas went on about that for some time, I’ll tell you that.” Looking at the pair, he said, “Gods know that both of you are strong as bulls, but throwing a full-grown man ten feet in the air and fifty feet away?” He shook his head, his tone bemused as he continued, “I get that rankers will think all sorts of nonsense, but Mancinas is a Primus Pilus! He should know better.” Stopping then, he remained silent for a couple of heartbeats before he looked at each of them as he asked, “Is that all you have to say? Anything else to add?”

“No, sir,” Pullus answered immediately, and Volusenus promptly echoed him.

Nodding, Sacrovir said, “Very well. Now, I’m going to tell you what I told Primus Pilus Mancinas. Regardless of what did or didn’t happen between Hastatus Posterior Volusenus and a ranker from the Second of the Sixth of the 15^th, no official report was made, either to me or to Primus Pilus Mancinas the day it happened, which he admitted to me. Therefore,” he paused for just a heartbeat, “the fact that neither Sextus Pilus Prior Furnius nor his Pilus Posterior made an official complaint means that when they went to The Dancing Faun, they did so in violation of a long-standing agreement that’s been in place for men under the standard long before any of us were ever born.” He began smiling, but it was one that exhibited a ferocity and savage delight as he finished, “And I told Mancinas that he needed to make an offering to blessed Fortuna that the two of you didn’t beat every one of his fucking men to death.”

Volusenus immediately glanced over at Pullus, but he saw that the Pilus Prior was no less surprised than he was, although he did not seem to feel nearly as relieved as Volusenus.

He understood why when Pullus asked cautiously, “We certainly appreciate your support, Primus Pilus, but what happens if Mancinas makes a stink about this and goes to Germanicus?”

Sacrovir did not answer directly, instead countering, “And what will he say exactly? No matter how he tries to dress it up, the facts are that three of his Centurions and three of his Optios walked into a taverna that is well known to belong to your Cohort. And Germanicus will know that if he starts asking questions, we’ll be able to provide about a hundred witnesses, including the owner, that Furnius and his men came in hunting trouble.” As Sacrovir spoke, Volusenus became more relaxed, but then Sacrovir looked at Pullus as he finished, “Besides, if that happens, you can always go to Germanicus and take care of it. You and he have a special relationship, don’t you?”

Volusenus did not care for the manner in which the Primus Pilus said this, but he saw it was a shade compared to Pullus, whose weathered features suddenly flushed, yet somehow, his voice managed to sound as if he was unbothered by Sacrovir’s words as he replied evenly, “Hopefully, it won’t come to that, Primus Pilus.”

To Volusenus’ eye, Sacrovir seemed slightly disappointed that Pullus had not reacted more strongly, and the Primus Pilus stood, saying only, “I hope not as well.” Returning their salute, he stood watching as the pair took two steps back, then executed their about turn, but just before they began to march out, Sacrovir called out, “And you two try not to hurt any more Centurions from other Legions, neh?”

Neither of them replied, but both were grinning broadly as they left the office.

The small dramas of brawling Legions notwithstanding, the men of the army quickly became bored and restive as they waited for what came next. It seemed that every day, a new rumor would filter through the Legion streets about when they would be departing, although where they were headed was agreed upon by all those who took part in the speculation. Pullus and Volusenus enjoyed the fruits of their labors in The Dancing Faun, in the form of being invited to every single taverna that served the Cohorts of the 1^st Legion, where they were plied with drink, the only requirement being the retelling of what became known as the Slaughter at The Dancing Faun, at least by the men of the 1^st. The men of the 15^th called it something else entirely, but only on those rare occasions when it was ever mentioned. By the third or fourth telling, the two had developed their tale so that it was more of a performance than a simple retelling, where they would alternate back and forth, but somewhat unusually, what Pullus described was what he saw Volusenus do, while Volusenus did the same for Pullus. And, as tended to happen in such matters, certain aspects were embellished, while the scope of the beating became worse, and various humorous bits were added, so that by the time they had told their tale for the fifth time, it had become universally agreed that it was one of the best stories these men had heard in many years. This was not the only time the two spent together; Volusenus had no idea why, but Pullus had begun inviting him to share the evening meal with him every night, and while this had certainly happened before, it was not every single night. Not that Volusenus was inclined to argue; not only was Pullus his Pilus Prior, he found that he thoroughly enjoyed spending time with the older Centurion. Seemingly with every meal, he discovered how he shared something with Pullus, some insight or a common attitude towards all manner of things, but more than anything, he realized they shared the same sense of humor, preferring to look at things in a caustic, almost morbid way that emphasized some of the absurdities of their shared life under the standard. What Volusenus quickly discerned as well was that Pullus was attempting to share and impart the knowledge he had gleaned, not just from his own time in the Legions, but from his illustrious grandfather and his father. Gradually, Volusenus also noticed how remarkably well informed Pullus was about his grandfather, to a degree of detail that he felt certain his Pilus Prior would not have gleaned just by sitting at the family table listening, especially because Volusenus knew that Pullus was only ten when his grandfather died, and that the Prefect had relocated to Arelate almost three years earlier. More than once, Volusenus was struck by the thought as he listened to Pullus that it was as almost as if the Prefect had written something down, but he quickly dismissed that as preposterous given what he knew about the first and greatest Titus Pullus. That he would be learning how erroneous his assessment of the Prefect was would cause him more than one sleepless night as he worried that he had betrayed this to his father, his real father.

Not every moment of this interlude in Ubiorum was pleasant, as Pullus discovered when a man he recognized as one of Germanicus’ clerks appeared in his office.

“The Legate asks you to attend to him as soon as you’re able,” he told Pullus, which was a slightly unusual phrasing.

Regardless of how it was put, Pullus interpreted it as an order, so he immediately grabbed his vitus and walked to the Praetorium with the clerk, yet despite his best attempts, the man was either unable or unwilling to tell Pullus the reason for the summons. His concern was not tamped down by the expression on Germanicus’ face, but as he marched to the Legate’s desk, he did take notice of a man standing off by himself, not exactly in a corner, but to Pullus’ eye, he was doing his best to look unobtrusive. The fact that he was wearing a light cloak was one thing; it was the insignia pinned to it that told Pullus that this man was one of the Imperial couriers, but then he was standing in front of Germanicus, so he offered his salute, which the Legate returned, though without rising from his seat.

“This won’t take long, Pullus,” he began, and his expression was grave. “But I wanted you to hear this from me and not from someone else.”

Pullus’ concern immediately bloomed into alarm, and while a part of him understood how ludicrous it was, he could not help blurting out, “What is it, sir? Did something happen to my family?”

He got his answer by the startled look Germanicus gave him, and he held up a hand as he said, “No, Pullus! No!” Shaking his head, he added, “But I can see why you would think that, given how I put it. No, Pullus, this has nothing to do with your family. But it does have something to do with someone we both know.”

Pullus’ relief was so intense that it took him a heartbeat to grasp the meaning of the last sentence Germanicus uttered, but he could not think of who Germanicus might mean.

“Who’s that, sir?”

Germanicus did not reply immediately, but his eyes darted over to where the courier was standing; once he saw the man did not seem to be paying attention because he was involved in a conversation with one of the clerks, only then did he reply, “It’s about Tiberius Dolabella.”

“Dolabella?” Pullus asked, actually more bewildered than he had been a moment earlier. “What about him?”

“He’s dead,” Germanicus replied flatly.

Pullus felt as if he suffered a body blow, and without thinking, he actually took a slight step backward, awash with conflicting emotions, in the form of a series of memories, as a part of his mind recognized that there had been a time up until recently that he would have rejoiced at the news of Tiberius Dolabella’s death.

Germanicus had said nothing more, giving Pullus the impression he was waiting for him to ask, so he did. “How did it happen? And when?”

Now Germanicus’ face hardened, and while his voice was seemingly devoid of emotion, Pullus was certain he heard the undercurrent of, if not anger, then at least tension.

“He was arrested, tried, and executed for plotting against the Imperator,” he began, but Pullus’ gasp of shock cut him off.

“Gerrae!” he exclaimed, forgetting he was speaking to his commander. “That’s a load of cac! Dolabella may have been a lot of things, but he would never plot against Tiberius!” Suddenly, Pullus experienced a stab in his gut that was almost physical in nature, certain that he knew the answer before he asked, “And who was his accuser?”

Germanicus’ grim smile indicated to Pullus that the Legate suspected he knew the answer, “Prefect Sejanus.”

“That fucking son of a whore,” Pullus swore without thinking, and Germanicus hissed a warning, his eyes cutting to where the Imperial courier was standing there, but Pullus was too incensed to heed the Legate as he continued to rage, “I should have gutted that cocksucking, treacherous bastard when I had the…”

“Pullus!”

Germanicus had come to his feet, reminding Pullus that, when he chose to, Germanicus could bellow in a manner that would do credit to any Centurion.

The Legate was glaring at him, but while his tone returned to normal, there was no warmth in it, warning Pullus, “That will be enough about the Prefect, Pullus. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir.” Pullus tried to sound contrite, but he was still seething with anger, and his jaw was clenched as he uttered the ritual, “I understand and will obey. Sir.”

Nodding, Germanicus dropped back into his seat, his expression also softening somewhat as he said, “That being said, I do understand why you’re upset, Pullus. As I recall, you two had become…close last year, when…” Now Germanicus looked uncomfortable, reminding Pullus how everyone involved with what had taken place the year before was still reluctant to use the word “mutiny,” and he settled on, “…everything happened.”

Pullus was both touched and slightly concerned that Germanicus was aware that this was, in fact, the case; after almost two decades of antipathy between himself and first Augustus’ then Tiberius’ spymaster, the time they spent together during the mutinies by the Rhenus and Pannonian Legions had changed their mutual distrust. More than anything else, it was the act of kindness Dolabella conferred on Pullus in allowing him to spend extra time in Arelate, although it ran more deeply than that. Nevertheless, Pullus was surprised at the sudden sense of grief he experienced, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

“Do you know the specific charge, sir?” Pullus asked, but Germanicus shook his head, saying, “No, Pullus, I’m afraid not. And does it matter?”

“Not really,” Pullus agreed. Then he thought of something, asking Germanicus, “Excuse me, sir, but you said that it was Prefect Sejanus?” When Germanicus nodded, Pullus frowned, “I thought he was a Tribune.”

“He was,” Germanicus answered, assuming a neutral expression, “but he was just promoted by my father the Imperator.”

Then, there was nothing more to say, and Germanicus dismissed him, but just as he reached the door, the Legate called to him.

“Pullus,” his expression seemed sincere to Pullus, “I am truly sorry about Dolabella. He was a…” Suddenly, he stopped, looking embarrassed at the thought of using the word “good,” and he settled on, “…loyal servant of Rome.”

And that, Pullus thought as he left the office, was perhaps the best way to sum up the life of Tiberius Dolabella.

It was a few days later when Alex came bursting into Pullus’ private office, breathless and wearing an expression that Pullus immediately recognized, prompting him to drop his stylus.

“When I was at the Praetorium dropping off the daily report, I saw some men come in,” he began. “Two of them I recognized as being Gaesorix’s men, but there were some Germans with them.” He paused before blurting out what was actually the crucial part of the news. “And they were wearing Cherusci colors!”

Pullus shot to his feet, but while he was about to demand whether Alex was certain, he managed to stop himself; Alex would not have imparted this unless he was sure.

Instead, he asked quickly, “How long ago?”

“Just now,” Alex answered, then flushed slightly when he realized what Pullus was referring to, assuring him, “I didn’t go see Algaia, I came straight here.”

“I didn’t say you did,” Pullus protested, but he saw Alex was not fooled, so he offered his nephew a grin. As Pullus was moving towards the door, he told him, “I’m going to be out for a bit, trying to find out what this is about. Go find the other Centurions, but if anyone else comes looking for me…” but Alex cut him off, using what was Pullus’ standard reason for being missing, “I know, you’re out at the stakes.”

Offering a wave, Pullus hurried out into the street, then stopped for a moment, looking in the direction of the Praetorium. If this was something big, he knew, there would be more traffic as the word spread with a rapidity that always dismayed Legates like Germanicus, but at that moment, he did not see any other men running down the street, so he began walking towards the Legion headquarters, which was in the direction of the forum. He stopped at the Second Cohort’s office, and without knocking, entered the outer office, whereupon Lucco looked up, then nodded as he crossed to the inner door. Rapping twice, he entered to find Macer lying on his bunk, reading a scroll.

“Is that the one you borrowed from me?” Pullus asked.

Macer nodded as he swung his legs back onto the floor, but before he could say anything, Pullus told him about Alex’s news, his friend’s expression essentially mirroring Pullus’ when he had learned.

“The Cherusci?” Macer asked, rubbing his chin when Pullus nodded, then said thoughtfully, “I wonder why. I mean,” he glanced up at his friend, “it’s not very fucking likely that Arminius is sending emissaries to negotiate a truce. Is it?”

Pullus did not hesitate, replying, “I seriously doubt it, even though we did hurt the Chatti, and the Marsi haven’t recovered from the beating we gave them last winter. Yes, they’re important to him, but not nearly as important as some of the other tribes.”

The pair were silent for a moment, then Macer stood and walked over to pick up his vitus.

“I think I might stretch my legs,” he said with a grin, which Pullus returned, asking with mock seriousness, “Anyplace you’re heading in particular?”

“Oh, I might wander over in the neighborhood of the forum,” Macer answered.

“In that case, I think I’ll come with you. And,” he added with a laugh as he followed Macer out, “if we walk slow enough, by the time we get there, we’ll run into Publius telling us everything.”

Although they did not learn the truth before they reached the forum, they did not have to stay long before they saw Sacrovir come striding out of the Praetorium, and the expression on his face told them that there was, at the very least, something important happening. The Primus Pilus spotted them and headed in their direction, and by the time he reached the pair, they had been joined by more than a dozen other Centurions from the 1^st.

“I’m not going to tell you everything here,” Sacrovir began, then turned to address the majority of the Centurions, “but I’ll be calling a meeting of the Pili Priores immediately, then they’ll tell you once I’m done.”

“What can you tell us?” Macer asked, and Sacrovir was not irritated by the question; in fact, to Pullus, he appeared to be eager to share something, and he took a quick glance around before he lowered his voice. “What I will tell you is this. One of those Cherusci is Segimundus.”

He said nothing more, mainly because Pullus, Macer, and a couple other Centurions present began talking at once, but Volusenus, who had been warned by Alex as Pullus had instructed him and had just arrived, had no idea why this name evoked such a reaction.

“What the fuck is that traitorous bastard doing here?” Pullus demanded, but Sacrovir did not answer, at least immediately.

Instead, he took a quick glance around again, then said, “We’re going to have a meeting in my office as soon as I get back there and have Paterculus sound the call, then I’ll tell you what’s going on.”

He hurried away, leaving the gathered men to speculate about what was happening.

“I thought Segimundus was with Arminius,” Maluginensis said, having arrived in time to hear the name.

“He was,” Pullus answered, frowning at Sacrovir’s back as he hurried away, although he was not angry at the Primus Pilus. “So I wonder why he came walking in here? He had to know that Germanicus would throw him in chains the moment he set foot in camp.”

“Unless,” Macer put in, “Germanicus already knew he was coming and had arranged for a safe passage for him.”

This Pullus realized, was most likely the case, yet he could not think of a circumstance where the Legate would be willing to forgive a man who had been aligned with Arminius during the time when he had lured Varus and the three Legions to their collective doom.

Finally, he could only think to say, “Hopefully, Sacrovir will be able to tell us what the fuck is going on.”

“Segestes sent his brother Segimundus to Germanicus to ask for help,” Sacrovir began, addressing the Pili Priores in his quarters. “I’m guessing you’ve all heard how things are going between him and Arminius.”

“But aren’t Segestes and Arminius related?” Lucius Regulus, the Decimus Pilus Prior, asked this question, but while Pullus and Macer exchanged an amused glance, they said nothing, allowing Sacrovir to answer.

With a patience that was clearly exaggerated, Sacrovir explained, “Yes, they are, Regulus, just like the they were the last time you asked this, but it’s by marriage. Arminius is married to Segestes’ daughter. And,” he offered a grim smile, “there’s no love lost between father and son-in-law. In fact,” at this, he glanced down at the wax tablet on his desk with the notes he had taken during his meeting with Germanicus, “Segimundus told Germanicus that there have been three attempts on his brother’s life in the last month alone.”

Before Sacrovir could continue, he was interrupted by Tiberius Cinna, the Septimus Pilus Prior. “Why should we care about a couple of fucking barbarians killing each other?”

This time, Sacrovir was either unable or chose not to control his ire, snapping at Cinna, “Because Segestes is the only fucking German who warned us what Arminius was up to, or have you forgotten that? Just because Varus was too pigheaded to listen doesn’t change the fact that Segestes did his best to warn him! He was named a Friend and Ally of Rome by Divus Augustus, and Tiberius extended that status for another five years. Now,” his tone turned caustic, “may I continue, Pilus Prior Cinna?”

“Er, yes, Primus Pilus,” Cinna mumbled, dropping his gaze to examine his feet, but Sacrovir was apparently satisfied with his chastisement, returned his attention to the tablet.

“As I was saying, Segestes asked Germanicus for help for himself and his family. And,” now he looked up, and his expression gave Pullus the barest hint of what to expect, which was also formed by his familiarity with Germanicus, “the Legate has decided to answer his call. So,” Sacrovir took a deep breath, let it out, then informed them, “Germanicus is leading us on a fast march into Cherusci territory to rescue them.”

He stopped then, and there was a silence, but then Macer raised his hand to ask quietly, “When you say ‘us,’ who exactly do you mean, Primus Pilus?”

Sacrovir smiled, but it held no humor, and he answered, “I mean the 1^st Legion, Macer.”

He said nothing more, but it took a few heartbeats for the other Centurions present to understand what this meant, that silence suddenly shattered when the nine other men seemingly began talking at once.

It was Clepsina, the Quintus Pilus Prior, whose voice managed to override the others as he exclaimed, “Has Germanicus gone mad? We’re going to march on the Cherusci all by ourselves?”

Sacrovir opened his mouth to answer, but the other Pili Priores, with one exception, were still trying to make themselves heard over their counterparts, and finally, he was forced to bellow, “Tacete!” Thankfully for Sacrovir’s temper, the other Centurions joined Pullus who, after his initial outburst, had fallen silent, mainly because he thought he might have an idea what their Legate had in mind. Their obedience did not stop Sacrovir from glaring at them for another couple of heartbeats before he resumed, and while he sounded calm, his Pili Priores knew when he was making an effort, and this was one of those times. “Yes, we are going to be marching alone. However,” he held up a hand, “Germanicus has no intention of leading us into battle against the Cherusci.” While this mollified the Centurions somewhat, as they listened to Sacrovir relay what Germanicus had in mind, none of them looked relieved in the slightest. The Primus Pilus finished talking by asking, “Questions?”

He was clearly not surprised when several hands shot up, although he was obviously irritated, but instead of pointing to one of his Centurions with their hands in the air, he indicated Pullus, who did not notice immediately because he was staring at the floor thoughtfully.

“Pullus,” Sacrovir finally called his name, causing him to look up with some embarrassment, “I asked you, what do you think?”

Suddenly and acutely aware that nine sets of eyes were on him, Pullus answered somewhat uncomfortably, “What do I think, Primus Pilus?” Realizing that Sacrovir would know he was stalling, he continued before the Primus Pilus could say as much, so he hurried on, “We did something similar to this with the Legio Germanicus, moving fast and light, so the Legate knows what he’s asking of us.” Now he did pause, thinking for a moment before he asked Sacrovir, “Am I correct in assuming that we’ll be marching in light order, Primus Pilus?”

Sacrovir’s face gave nothing away, but he was secretly grateful to Pullus for the deft manner in which he moved away from the list of all the reasons the other Centurions would have to object, answering quickly, “You’re correct, Pullus. No heavy baggage, no artillery, no wagons. We’re going to be marching with section mules only, along with an extra two mules per Century to carry the extra rations we’ll need.”

“But where are we marching to?” Maluginensis asked. “You didn’t mention that.”

“That’s because we don’t know exactly,” Sacrovir admitted, but he held up a hand to preempt the protests he knew were coming. “Arminius has been moving around a lot, and he’s made sure that Segestes and all of Segestes’ family are with him when he moves. According to Segimundus, he’s actually moving to the western edge of Cherusci territory because he’s either getting ready to make some sort of move against us somewhere along the Rhenus, or more likely is expecting us to move against him and he wants to pick the ground.”

“Well, that narrows it down.”

Pullus was fairly certain that Clepsina had not intended to say this as loudly as he had, and despite the tension in the room, it elicited laughter from his counterparts; even Sacrovir chuckled, though it was fleeting, and his sober expression quickly returned.

“Nobody is saying this will be easy,” Sacrovir admitted. “But we should feel honored that Germanicus has chosen the 1^st to be the Legion to do this, because it’s of the utmost importance to the Imperator, not just to Germanicus.” He paused, scanning the faces of his most senior Centurions, and he finished sternly, “And I expect you to make sure your boys know that, from top to bottom. Now,” he stood up, signaling the end of the meeting, “go start making preparations. As I said, light order; packs, full sets of tools, carrying five days instead of three days of rations. I expect the Legion to be ready to march by first light tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!”

“Primus Pilus, that’s not enough time!”

“That means our boys are going to be working all night!”

Sacrovir listened for a moment, but for some reason, he did not appear perturbed, or in danger of losing his temper, which puzzled Pullus slightly.

Finally, when the protesting Centurions paused for breath, he asked mildly, “Are you done?” One by one, they informed Sacrovir that indeed they were through offering their complaints. Pointing to the door, Sacrovir said, “That’s time you just wasted that could have been spent carrying out your orders.”

Pullus and Macer exchanged an amused glance; the Secundus Pilus Prior had chosen to remain silent like Pullus, but as they were filing out, Sacrovir called Pullus’ name, which was why Pullus had chosen to bring up the rear, certain this would happen.

“I’ll catch up,” he told Macer quietly, then turned around and came back to the chairs in front of Sacrovir’s desk, while the Primus Pilus had dropped back into his own chair.

The Primus Pilus waved at him to sit, and as soon as Macer shut the door behind him, Sacrovir began by asking, “Well, Pullus, what do you think? Is Germanicus doing the right thing?” This was so startling, and unusual, that Pullus’ jaw dropped as he stared at Sacrovir, which seemed to alert the Primus Pilus to the implications of how his words could be construed, and he hastily amended, “What I meant to say is, do you think Germanicus is capable of moving as quickly as we need to?”

That, Pullus thought dismally, isn’t much better than the first question, but he also understood it was a valid concern.

Fortunately, he did not feel he was playing Sacrovir falsely as he assured him, “Absolutely, Primus Pilus. Remember, he cut his teeth during the Batonian Revolt. We fought rebels who were in their own territory, and we had to move quickly if we wanted to catch up with those cunni. He knows what he’s about, not just in a general sense when leading the entire army, but for something like this as well.”

Sacrovir listened, and when Pullus was finished, he nodded his head thoughtfully.

“That makes sense,” he allowed. He stood again, smiling thinly at Pullus. “I apologize for delaying you, Pullus. As your fellow Pili Priores made it clear, you all have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. Which,” Sacrovir moved from behind the desk, “includes my own Cohort.”

The pair left the private office, and Pullus was reminded of how, while as Pilus Prior he had to worry about six Centuries, including his own, the post of Primus Pilus was exactly ten times more difficult. As he exited out onto the street while Sacrovir went striding over to the First Cohort area and he headed for the Fourth, his thoughts were less about what needed to be done and more about why he had ever coveted the post of Primus Pilus.