Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 68
"Salve Gregarius," I said genially.
"Salve, Prefect," he answered, trying to keep his eyes fixed above me, which made him look somewhat ridiculous since I was on Ocelus, so his eyes were almost rolled back in his head. "It's good to see you back, sir."
"It's good to be back," I responded, and in this, at least, I was being honest. Pointing down to his net bag, I continued, "I see you brought your empty net to gather forage."
The Gregarius looked down at the net, which was clearly not empty, then back up, this time looking at me, confusion plainly written on his face.
"Sir? I'm afraid I don't understand. My net is..."
"Is empty," I cut him off, sharpening my tone a bit. "Because if it wasn't, of course, then that would be a problem, wouldn't it? If, for example, it was full of panera loaves that a Gregarius was sneaking out of camp to take to his family? A family," I felt compelled to add, "that he's not supposed to have in the first place. So," I concluded, "it's just a good thing the net is empty. Isn't that true, Gregarius?"
Now that the Legionary had caught on, I saw the corners of his mouth twisting as he tried to keep from smiling.
"Why, yes, Prefect," he answered. "That would indeed be a problem. But, as you say, the net is empty."
"Very good." I gave Ocelus a nudge. "Have a good day, Gregarius, and good luck finding forage."
"Yes, sir!" Surprisingly, he was extremely enthusiastic. "Thank you, sir! And I will do my best to come back with forage, sir."
We parted, and I did not bother trying not to smile as I thought it was good to be back in a place where the problems were so simple to solve.
"Avus!" Even with that slight warning, I must admit that I almost had my legs knocked out from under me as little Titus barreled directly into them, wrapping his arms tightly around them to the point I could not move.
"Easy there, nepos." I laughed. "I think you've grown so much since I've been gone, you're going to knock me over!"
"Where is Ocedus?" the boy demanded as he held his arms up in that gesture that I believe children of every nation and race learn very early.
Sweeping him up into the air, which was his favorite game, for a brief moment, he hung above my hands that were waiting to catch him, and his curls were standing out straight from his head as his mouth opened in a shout of pure joy and, in that moment, I do not believe I had been happier than this in a very, very long time. It is an image that I treasure still and, as I caught him, we both threw back our heads and laughed, long and hard. His arms around my neck, I looked over at Iras, who had opened the door, and seeing her standing there with Gaius' first daughter on her hip, suddenly, it all made sense. Everything that I had been through, all the horrible moments I had endured, and all the terrible things I had done, had led me to this moment as, for the first time I allowed myself to think, I have done it.
"I said," Titus jerked me from my reverie with the demanding tone that only a small child can use, unless he is Caesar, "where is Ocedus?"
"Nepos," I told him, "I'll answer you in a moment, but first I have to greet your mother."
I will admit I was somewhat surprised when he relented, and I bent down to kiss Iras on the cheek. Her eyes were shining, and the question was clear to read in her eyes, forcing me to stifle a sharp reminder that she still belonged to me, and I knew my well-being was not what she wanted to know about. Then, I caught myself; more accurately, I looked down at Titus, and then to the baby, and I forced myself to be honest. Why should she not have that as her first interest? I chided myself. She was a mother now, and I knew that this was her primary concern; any gain she might realize from my exoneration I was, and am, sure was secondary. So, I just gave her a nod and a wink. Suddenly, her eyes flooded with tears, which I did not expect. Iras had never been overly emotional, but now, with her free hand, she grabbed my arm and came to bury her head in my chest, as both Titus and I looked down in bemusement.
"Why is Mama crying?" he asked me, but I could only answer with a shrug.
"Because she's happy." Iras' voice was muffled by my tunic, but then she pulled her face away to look up at me, her eyes still shining. "I was so worried! I want you to know that I made sacrifices every single day! I'm just so happy that you're back, and Gaius will be so pleased!"
Staring down at her, every fiber of my being wanted to believe she was sincere for my sake, and my sake alone, and not just because her children's inheritance and status was now secure. But then I realized that the power rested with me, so I chose to believe her words as she spoke them.
"I'm happy too," was all I could think to say.
By this point, there was no denying Titus, who reached up with both small hands, placed one on each of my cheeks and, with surprising strength, twisted my head so that we were locked eye to eye.
"Where. Is. Ocedus?" he asked for the third time, and his look of ferocious determination made me break out in laughter again.
"I imagine he's in the stable by now," I told him. "Getting a rubdown and his bag of oats."
"What about his apple?" Titus demanded, and then, he raised an eyebrow in a look that evoked such a strong memory of my sister Valeria from when we were young, and she was questioning me about some misdeed that I inevitably lied about, it made me weak in the knees.
"I gave him his apple every day," I promised him past the lump in my throat.
The eyebrow stayed raised as he asked me suspiciously, "Every day?"
"Well," I conceded, and over his head, I saw Iras grinning. "Almost every day."
"Avus," Titus scolded me. "You promised you would feed him his apple every day, from me!"
When I looked away from Iras, who was covering her mouth, clearly greatly amused at the sight of the Camp Prefect of the Army of Pannonia, and hero of the 10th Legion being dressed down by a five-year-old, I could see that Titus was clearly upset that I had not fulfilled my obligation. There was a telltale quivering of the lower lip that prompted me to head off what would be an unpleasant experience for all of us, and wreck what had been a perfect homecoming to that point.
"I just missed today," I made up on the fly. "So that you could feed him his apple. Are you ready to go see him?"
"Yes!"
His proximity to my ear did not help, but I would have flinched anyway.
"This boy has a powerful set of lungs," I mumbled as I stepped past Iras, moving out of their quarters to head to the stables.
"Yes, I'm aware of that," his mother said in the kind of understatement that made me think of Miriam.
"We'll be back," I called over my shoulder, while Titus waved at her.
Normally, by this age, he would have insisted on walking to the stables on his own, as a big boy should, but this time, he was content to ride in my arms, and I was perfectly happy to carry him.
With Titus’ and Ocelus' reunion out of the way, only then did I leave him with his mother to go report to Norbanus at the Praetorium. There was still a bit of daylight left, so I had the hope that he was still in his office; I wanted to get this over with and not put it off until the next day. Fortunately, in another good omen, he was present, sitting in his office at his desk. Not surprisingly, I did not have to wait long outside in the main office before the clerk came and beckoned at me to follow him. Entering the office, I was pleased to see that Norbanus was not even pretending to be reading a scroll, but sat looking expectantly as I approached the desk. His return of my salute was as close to perfunctory as it could be, and was followed quickly by his sending all the other occupants, clerks mostly, out of his office.
The door was barely closed when he demanded, "Well?"
Now, I knew that what he was really asking had very little to do with the Tribunal, and I admit that I was tempted for a moment to exact a petty revenge by prolonging his agony, but I was tired. Consequently, instead of answering immediately, I pulled a scroll from my belt, and offered it to him.
"This," I told him, "is your letter. Although I appreciate it, it wasn't needed."
I suppose I should have been offended at the obvious look of relief that flooded his face, his shoulders slumping, but I was not. He had taken a huge risk when I had not asked him to, so I did not begrudge him looking relieved that his gesture was not needed.
"So, you were exonerated?" he asked, his eyes searching my face.
"Yes," I said, then added, "It wasn't a unanimous vote, but it was still enough to clear me."
"I imagine you're relieved." He uttered a barking sound that I had learned was his laugh.
"That," I replied dryly, "would be one way of putting it, yes."
"Did you see Augustus?" His tone sharpened, and he suddenly sat straighter as he eyed me.
"No, I didn't. He was out of Rome most of the time." I decided that a small lie would not harm matters.
Besides, I reasoned to myself, it was mostly true. I saw no need for him to learn of Octavian's dramatic appearance from the countryside during Primus' trial from me. Norbanus gave a grunt at my answer, but I could not tell whether it was good or bad that he did so.
"What about Agrippa?" he asked suddenly, and if he was trying to catch me off-balance, he did a fair job.
"What about him?" I asked cautiously, but he was not going to be thrown off.
"You know what I'm asking. Did you see Agrippa?"
Hesitating, my mind raced through the possible reasons I might have had not to answer, but finally I replied, "Yes, I saw him. More than once, as it turns out."
"And? How does he seem?" Norbanus was now looking at me with an intensity that told me that there was an underlying reason for his query.
Suddenly, I was so very, very weary of being poked, prodded, and harried for information about one noble from another noble that I lost patience.
"General, if you want to know the state of Marcus Agrippa's health, I suggest you write him and ask," I snapped.
Naturally, I cursed myself for letting my tongue slip.
However, to my surprise, although Norbanus' face turned red, his tone was even as he replied, "You're right, Pullus. I shouldn't be asking you all of these questions when you've just gotten back from what had to be an ordeal, even if it did turn out well. Which," he added, "it should have."
Of course, I felt a pang of guilt at snapping at a man who in fact had been one of the only noble Romans to offer me help.
Mollified, I said, "Thank you, and forgive me, General. I apologize for speaking so rudely. You're right; I am tired. If I could have some time to rest and recover, then I would be happy to answer your questions."
Apparently satisfied with this, Norbanus assured me that all was well. Then we briefly discussed matters pertaining to the army, some things that had happened during my absence. I was happy to see that, in fact, nothing had happened that would indicate the Legions would be marching. Finally, we finished our business and I was dismissed.
All that was left was when Gaius returned to his quarters, whereupon Iras sent one of their slaves to my quarters to let me know.
"Master Porcinus wants to know if you will dine with him and his family," was the message, to which I naturally replied that I would.
By this point in time, there was no question that when Gaius invited me to dinner, Diocles was included, and the two of us returned to my nephew's quarters. Walking in, I was greeted by a crying baby, and Titus was in the middle of a tantrum about not being allowed to eat the candied plum he had decided he must consume before dinner, and I have never been more content. Sitting down to the meal, I told the both of them all that had happened in Rome, with Diocles adding his own observations, or filling in a point that I had missed. Not surprisingly, this meant dinner lasted well into the night; the baby had been put to bed long before, but Titus, insisting that he was old enough to remain with the grownups, had finally succumbed, and now lay sprawled between his own chair and Gaius' lap. I told them of Scribonius, and Aurelia, which seemed to please both of them a great deal, although Iras was positively beaming.
"He deserves to be happy," was how she put it, and that I could not argue.
The only thing I left out was the contents of the scroll, and while I did touch very lightly on what the three of us had surmised about Agrippa, and why he had chosen to provide help, I did not stay long on that topic. I could tell that this did not pass unnoticed by Gaius, but he was wise enough to refrain from saying anything. Once I had informed them of all that had transpired in Rome, naturally the talk turned to other topics that, while not quite as germane to the overall subject of the dinner, were at least safer. Namely, Iras wanted to know what the women of Rome were wearing. Just the fact that she asked I found greatly amusing, but much to my surprise, my Greek was actually able to provide some details for her that she found worthwhile.
"What?" he asked defensively after I looked over at him in clear amusement. "I knew that she would want to know. Besides," he added, "all that time I was wandering around the Palatine looking for Claudius, I couldn't help noticing."
That, I was forced to acknowledge, was very true, and was a logical explanation, but I still found it humorous. Gaius, on the other hand, only wanted the latest news on how his favorite gladiators were faring, and which of the chariot teams was more dominant, the Blues or the Whites. On the former, I could actually provide something.
"Felix the Thracian," I was referring to the gladiator that Gaius had seen when he and the 8th had marched in Marcus Crassus' triumph, and who he had become enamored with after watching one of his bouts, "finally ran out of luck. He was defeated by a Murmillo, as I recall."
"A Murmillo?" Gaius asked, and I was happy that I had a piece of information that my gladiator-obsessed nephew did not possess.
"Yes, it's a new style that was introduced by Augustus a couple of years ago, apparently," I explained. "It replaces the Gallus, because they're practically civilized now, and he thought they found it upsetting that they were still considered so barbarous."
"Ah," he exclaimed as he nodded his head. "Now I remember. I'd heard something about them a while back. So this Murmillo defeated Felix? How? When?"
Unfortunately, that was all the detail I could provide. Regardless, I will admit that secretly I was happy that Felix had been defeated, since it would rob Gaius of someone to worship. Even as this thought crossed my mind, I could practically hear the voice of Scribonius ask, "You mean, other than you?"
And, in my secret heart, I know this has something to do with it, but it also had to do with my overall disdain for gladiators in general. Prixus, I am aware, had much to do with my attitude, and, almost in reflex, I looked down at the now-worn leather sling that still covered the stub of my little finger. In all probability, I did not need it anymore, but I was just more comfortable wearing it, although I had worn several of them out. With the night drawing to a close, I cleared my throat, fighting down a laugh as I was struck by the sudden thought of how I sounded like the Senior Tribune.
"Now that this is behind us," I began, "it's time to talk about what happens next."
"What happens next?" Gaius asked in puzzlement. "What happens is that you go back to being Camp Prefect, and finish serving your time."
"Yes, I know," I acknowledged. "But that's only part of it. What I'm talking about is tying up all the loose ends that need to be taken care of when that moment arrives."
"Such as?" This came from Iras, but it was her I was referring to, and I turned to look her directly in the eye.
"Such as writing out the documents of manumission, giving you your freedom."
It did not surprise me that her eyes filled with tears; what did surprise me that Gaius was similarly affected.
"Uncle," he began, but I cut him off with a chopping motion of my hand.
"First, this is long overdue. And second, you need to stop calling me ‘Uncle.’ I'm adopting you, after all."
"But that doesn't happen until...until, you...." Gaius stammered, which I found grimly amusing.
He was now in his early thirties, but to a man of my age and experience, that is still very young.
"Until I die," I finished for him. "Yes, I know. But you might as well get used to the idea that I'm your father. Even," I hastened to add, "if it is adopted. I have no intention of replacing your father."
Gaius' eyes took on a faraway look, and I imagine he was looking across the vast distance between where we were sitting in his quarters, and the farm on which he had grown up.
"My father," he finally said softly, "was a good man. A very good man. But," he turned to look me in the eye, "he was a farmer, and I never was. As much as I loved him, and still do, I've learned more from you than I did him. So I would be honored to call you 'father.'"
"As long as you don't call me ‘Tata,’" I joked, but that was more to cover up the feeling growing inside me at his words.
Just hearing the word coming from my mouth sparked a giggle in Iras, which was quickly picked up by Diocles. Soon, we were all roaring with laughter, which woke up young Titus. who did not seem the least bit amused.
There is not much more to relate about my final battle, such as it was, except for one noteworthy event that occurred in the spring of the new year. With the arrival of the first of the ships that sailed across from Italia every spring, there comes all the routine mail that is not considered urgent or of official importance. Such a ship carried a letter across the sea, addressed to me, arriving along with a wagonload of other goods. Once more, it bore the name of a Greek bookseller, but was written in a hand I knew well. The letter, in and of itself, was nothing remarkable; just some commentary on what the weather had been like, which delayed shipments of some books he had been expecting, and some talk about some particularly interesting titles that had come into his hands. Then, almost in an aside, he mentioned that he had taken on a housekeeper, a woman at that. Most importantly, he expressed his happiness at how well the new housekeeper had blended in with his house, and how pleased he was with the quality of her work. All in all, it was a completely banal letter that made me, Diocles, Gaius, and Iras extremely happy. In truth, if someone from the outside of our world were to observe, they would undoubtedly find our giddiness and joy at the simple addition of a domestic to a bookseller's household to be quite unnecessary and over exuberant. Most interestingly was yet another letter carried on a ship that clearly had not been far behind the first one. This one, however, was from someone I knew, if only slightly. Scribonius' brother was quite irate, and demanded that if I knew anything about the whereabouts of his brother and his faithless wife, that I would do the honorable thing and let him know their location immediately. As far as I know, he is still waiting for my reply. Hopefully, he has moved on.
