Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 67
"Are you ready to leave this place?" Scribonius asked, but I shook my head.
"Give me a moment," I told him, and took that time to compose myself.
Once I felt able, I stood, and offered Tribune Piso my arm.
"You did magnificently," I told him. "And I'm forever in your debt."
The young patrician laughed, but surprising me, shook his head.
"No, Prefect. Your debt's been paid. And very well, I must say."
This mystified me, but when I asked him to clarify, he refused, just winking and tapping the side of his nose.
"Better that's all I say," was the last thing he told me.
With that, he gathered his belongings, slung the extra folds of his toga over his left arm, and surprising me one last time, chose to exit not by the door that led outside, but in the same direction that led to the private office used by the Tribunal. I stared suspiciously at his back, trying to determine if there was some hidden meaning in that, then forced myself to shake it from my mind. Enough, I thought, enough suspicion and worrying about all the hidden meaning in others' words and deeds. Turning to my two friends, I informed them I was now composed enough to leave. Scribonius, somewhat to my surprise, seemed to be in a huge hurry, because he trotted ahead of Diocles and me, as my scribe and friend clutched me around the waist, chattering away like a woman with a fresh piece of gossip. Just before we reached the doorway, I heard a roar of voices, and I realized that Scribonius had hurried to spread the word to my waiting comrades, and it was into a tumult of backslaps, shouts, and laughter that I returned to the sunlight, in more ways than one.
Contrary to what one might assume, that night was not a riotous affair; I think all of us were too drained. Besides, this was one time I refused to let Scribonius stay by my side.
"You go be with Aurelia, you old goat," I told him. "Before your brother gets back and cuts your balls off for sleeping with his wife."
Scribonius snorted in derision.
"As if he could," he retorted. "But, for once, I'll follow your advice."
"What are you going to do next?" I asked him, not needing to expand on what I meant.
He turned serious, pursing his lips as he gave me a painful shrug.
"I don't know." At least he was being honest.
"You need to leave Rome immediately," I told him firmly. "Just because you got away with your skin from the Tribunal like I did, that doesn't mean that Sulpicianus isn't going to make a fuss. Or Lucullus, for that matter."
"Sulpicianus might," he conceded, "but I'm almost positive Lucullus won't breathe a word. Not after what happened at the Tribunal. But," he grinned at me, "I'm not particularly worried about Sulpicianus either. He's lucky he's got someone to help him dress in the morning or else he'd be naked all the time."
That, I had to agree, was certainly true, but I did not back down from my original point.
"I don't know if I can," he said quietly. "I just don't want to leave Aurelia behind again. I did that once and I've always regretted it."
I do not know what possessed me to say what came out next.
"Then, don't," I replied, prompting a look of confusion from my friend.
"But you just said I need to leave Rome," he protested.
"I know. And you do. But," I grinned, "that doesn't mean you have to leave by yourself."
Scribonius stared at me, his mouth open in shock, looking at me as if I had sprouted horns.
"What?" he gasped. "I couldn't do that! It wouldn't be right! I couldn't take her from all that she knows! I..."
Before he came up with more excuses, I cut him off.
"Was it right that your brother stole the woman you loved?" I asked him quietly. "And Sextus, if there's one thing I've learned about women, it's this. They have minds of their own, and they don't tend to appreciate it when a man tries to do their thinking for them."
"But that's what the law says," my friend exclaimed. "The man is supposed to make the decisions!"
I looked at him with open pity, and I will say that I was extremely happy that, for once, it was I who was giving the look that I had always been the recipient of before.
"Sextus," I chided. "Haven't you learned anything from watching me?" I gripped him by the arm and looked him in the eye, intent on trying to impart how serious I was. "Ask Aurelia, at the very least, what she wants. What can it hurt?"
"She probably wouldn't want to go." He looked away as he rubbed his arm, and I saw that this was the real basis for his fear. "Rome is all she knows. It's where her family is, and where she's lived her whole life."
"But is it where her heart is?" I asked him. "From what I've seen, I think the answer is pretty clearly, no."
The look my friend gave me was so full of hope, mixed with equal parts of fear that pulled at my heart.
"You think so?" he whispered.
"There's only way for you to find out," I told him, then with a firm shove, I propelled him to the door.
"Send a message about what happens," were my last words to him, and although I hoped it would not be the case, so far this is the last time I was face to face with Sextus Scribonius.
Shortly before I was about to retire, after Diocles and I shared a quiet, a blessedly quiet, dinner, which I did wash down with a fair amount of wine, there came a banging on the door. This time, I told Diocles I was going to answer it, but before I did, I drew my sword as I approached the door. Grasping the latch, I paused for a moment, then in one movement, yanked it open to the right as I stepped to the left of the doorway, my sword arm angled away but ready to strike. The slave who knocked on the door let out a terrified squawk as he tried to leap backwards, away from the door, but only managed to trip over his own feet, landing heavily on his backside. His eyes never left me, and I saw the naked fear in the man's eyes, making me feel both chagrined and ashamed that I had terrorized an innocent man. Reaching down with my left hand, I offered him help up, but he could only manage to shake his head, his eyes never leaving the sword. Sighing, I handed it to Diocles, who had come to the door at the commotion, and only then did the slave accept my assistance. Pulling him up, I noticed immediately that, while he seemed to be a slave from his dress, he did not wear the bronze placard around his neck. This, as you probably know, gentle reader, is a crime in itself; the fact that he was out after curfew as well meant that if he were caught, he was a dead man. That told me that his reason was both clearly important, and something that his master did not want known publicly.
"M-m-master Titus Pullus?" was what finally came out of his mouth.
"Yes," I replied, although I was sure that he knew already, if only by my dress when compared to Diocles.
"I carry a message for you." He pulled a small scroll out of his belt, but in another surprising move, when I reached to take it, he did not release it. Despite still looking scared out of his wits, he continued, "But I am under very strict instructions, that there are conditions that you must acknowledge you understand and agree to before I can hand it to you."
It is a bit late for that, I thought, seeing how I had hold of it already, and as old and enfeebled as I may have become, I was still fairly certain I could wrest it from his grasp. Nevertheless, I withdrew my hand and nodded for him to continue.
"You will read the message in my presence, and then you will destroy it in my presence as well. You are also required by sacred oath never to speak of its contents to anyone. Is that understood?"
I realized then why the bearer of this message was shaking so; I could imagine how intimidating it must have been for a slave to utter such strong words to a man like me, covered in scars, with a sword still nearby. I did not answer immediately; despite my curiosity, and my belief that part or all of the mystery of what had transpired earlier might be solved, I was still so saturated with all the intrigue to the point that I considered that it would just be better not knowing. Then, my mind went in another direction, as I thought about what might happen if I refused. Sighing, I realized that, as usual, I had no real choice in the matter.
"Very well," I said finally. "I agree to the terms."
Only then did he relinquish the scroll, which I took. Turning so that the light from the lamp was no longer blocked by my body, I examined the document. It bore no seal, which was slightly unusual in itself, but I unrolled it, then read the contents. Using all of my discipline, I kept my face from betraying any emotion as I looked up at the slave. Except I was looking at a different man; gone was the fear, the obsequy, and deference. He stood there, staring directly into my eyes, without a hint of that manner of being that marks a slave.
"Well?" he asked softly, but this time his voice was as different as his physical manifestation. "Do you still agree?"
For a moment, I actually considered saying no, suddenly wanting to make a jump for my sword to give my answer in blood. Then, I was struck by a thought.
"You're not alone, are you?" I asked softly.
The smile he gave me was anything but friendly, yet he did not seem upset by the question. In fact, I would say he was oddly pleased.
"I might have some...associates waiting outside," he allowed, then his face hardened. "So I ask you again, do you still agree?"
"Yes," I said with a sigh, hating myself because I knew that would be the answer I gave all along.
Without another word, I turned to the lamp, and held the scroll over it until the parchment caught. Watching the flames lick up the scroll, my hope was that this, finally, was the end to all of this and that I would finally be allowed to live in peace.
"You may tell your master," I said evenly, "that Titus Pullus agrees to the terms, and gives his sacred oath that he will never speak of this again."
Although I cannot say for sure, I would like to think that the bearer of this message looked slightly relieved, and that it was due to his trepidation of having to face me in the event that I did not. But I knew there was no other choice. When the flames got too close to my fingers, I let the remnants of the scroll drop to the stone floor, and the three of us watched as the fire consumed the rest, leaving nothing but the wooden spools. The man masquerading as a slave took the extra precaution of reaching out with his foot, and smearing the ashes across the floor, I suppose in the event that we tried to somehow piece it back together, although I have no idea how I would have done that. Without another word, he abruptly turned on his heel and walked to the door, only giving a brief glance over his shoulder before exiting.
"What," Diocles' voice was shaky, "was that all about?"
Turning to look him in the eye, I put both hands on his shoulders.
"That, I will never tell you. If," I finished, "you want to live to a ripe old age, that is."
It was easy to see that he did not like it, but he also could see that I was not going to bend. However, I did not release my grip until he nodded that he understood.
"Good.” I released him, " Now, we need to get busy."
"Busy? Doing what?"
"Packing," I told him. "We leave Rome at first light."
Because it was already November, Diocles and I were forced to take the overland route back to Siscia, riding across the peninsula to the veterans' colony founded by Caesar, Fanum Fortunae, before turning north. Usually riding within sight of the coast, Diocles and I, astride Thunder and Ocelus respectively, made good time, despite the weather steadily turning nastier with every passing day. As I had been told to do, we left Rome the morning after the Tribunal, and while I could see that Diocles was absolutely consumed with curiosity, I never talked about the scroll that I had read the night before. My main concern was for Scribonius, and I regret to say that I would stay in a state of suspense for some weeks afterward. Stopping at the inns along the Via Flaminia, it soon became apparent that we could not escape the talk of the trial of Marcus Primus and his execution. If we were to believe everyone we heard, his execution in the Tullianum had drawn a crowd of hundreds, since most of the people we heard talking about it claimed to have gotten their news from an eyewitness. There was much made of not just his trial, but his supposedly bad end, the one common theme in almost every tale we heard. It probably will not surprise anyone to learn that this part of his tale I gave credence to, given what I knew of the man. Nevertheless, it provided the lower classes a great deal of pleasure as they described, in ever more lurid detail, how he moaned and cried like a woman, soiling himself while having to be bodily dragged to the spot of execution. It seemed that the farther we got from Rome, the worse his behavior, and although it grimly pleased me at first, after hearing it so many times, it just got monotonous.
After five days, when we reached Fanum Fortunae, that was when a new piece of news arrived with a relay courier who had caught up with us and paused for a brief rest at the same inn where we were staying. This concerned Fannius Caepio, and Primus' defender Murena. Apparently, they had fled Rome, being declared nefas and were now fugitives, with a price on their heads, for plotting to overthrow the seated Consul of Rome. That was the official version, at least; when we heard, Diocles and I exchanged a glance, and I know his mind was running along the same lines, recalling the conversation we had with Scribonius about the real motivation and target of Caepio, Murena, and whoever was working with them. Despite the stir this news caused, and the eagerness of people to approach a man like me, dressed in the attire of a Legionary officer, I refused to be drawn into any conversations, to the point where I became surly at times. At one point, as a merchant who was returning wherever he was headed, after being in Rome selling pots, or some such, was particularly persistent in his attempts to gather from me a nugget of information that he could then claim as his own, I was struck by a thought. If he understood how much I really know, I thought grimly, the only way I could get him to shut up would be to run him through. Somehow, I managed to avoid doing that, but needless to say, Diocles and I were always the first to retire for the evening, and the first to leave, usually before dawn the next day, and whenever possible, I paid for a room to ourselves. All I could think about at this point was to return to Siscia, and fulfill the terms of what had been dictated on that scroll, so I am afraid that Ocelus, Diocles, and Thunder were pushed to their limits. Frankly, so was I; between the pace and the weather, I felt every one of my almost fifty-eight years. When we reached Aquileia, roughly halfway back, at least as far in terms of the miles covered, we stayed an extra day to rest, but then pushed on. We had left on the Ides of November; a week past the Kalends of December, we approached Siscia, but the closer we got, the slower I rode. It was not that I did not look forward to returning a free man, and to seeing Gaius, and especially young Titus. As I look back on that time some four years ago now, I suppose I somehow knew in the back of my mind that, for all intents and purposes, my career was at an end. What had started forty years before was now behind me, and I felt in my soldier's bones that I had surmounted the last obstacle I would face, that would be a challenge at least. My companion was no less contemplative, so it made for some quiet riding the last day into Siscia.
Unlike our last arrival, there was no fanfare; I think we were hardly noticed, as the townspeople and the men of the Legions stationed there went about their daily business. Passing through the town, much, yet nothing had really changed in the previous almost three months we had been gone. Perhaps it was just the realization that something momentous had occurred, at least in my career, and my life, that I saw the town differently. Whereas before I had seen a raw town, still bearing the marks of being on the frontier here in Pannonia, and one with a military presence at that, now I saw how the people were attempting to make this their home. Even with the restriction against Legionaries having families, the reality was that a large proportion of the people of Siscia had ties, direct or indirect, to the Legions. It was the Legions that gave the town its meaning and purpose, bringing prosperity and order to a part of the world that, from all that I had seen and experienced, badly needed it. On only a couple of occasions did Diocles and I see someone we knew; one was the woman of a Centurion of the 8th that I knew was friends with Iras, who stood open-mouthed as we rode by, barely remembering to answer my wave and smile with one of her own. The other was at the outskirts of town as we headed to the camp, when a man I recognized from being in the 8th was hurrying along, carrying some loaves of panera in a his net bag that we use for forage. Seeing us, he stopped as he tried to determine whether the two riders spelled trouble for him or not, then when he realized that it was not only someone connected with the army, but was in fact the Camp Prefect, it took quite a bit of willpower on my part not to laugh at the sight of him as he tried to decide what to do. I could tell that a large part of his mind was screaming at him to flee away from the road, off into a line of bushes, while another part of him was telling him to brazen it out. Fortunately, he chose the latter course, coming to intente as we rode up. He was forced to shift the bread to his other hand to render a salute, but I returned it as I looked down at him.
