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    Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas
    Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas
    Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas
    Ebook846 pages12 hours

    Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas

    By R.W. Peake

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    As Titus Porcinianus Pullus has learned, some enemies wear the same uniform, but now Titus is confronted with the fact that not all threats to him and those he loves can be dispatched with the Gallic sword passed down to him by his famous grandfather, Camp Prefect Titus Pullus. In Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas, the eleventh installment of the international bestselling Marching With Caesar® series, Titus’ professional challenges are secondary to those posed by the enlistment of his brother Sextus into the 8th Legion, a doomed romance with the daughter of an equestrian merchant, and the ambitions of his current Primus Pilus, Gaius Sempronius Atticus. These events occur against the backdrop of the larger political actions taking place in the middle of the reign of the Augustus, as powerful men in Rome try to manipulate events behind the scenes, centered on Augustus’ stepson Tiberius. Through a combination of events that are beyond his control, Titus finds himself accompanying his Primus Pilus, following in the footsteps of his illustrious grandfather, to face a Tribunal in Rome. But will he finally come face to face with Augustus, the man who has had such a dramatic impact on the fortunes of the Pullus family and on whom he had sworn to avenge himself in his family’s name?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherR.W. Peake
    Release dateJun 2, 2024
    ISBN9781941226131
    Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas
    Author

    R.W. Peake

    R.W. Peake wrote his first novel when he was 10.He published his first novel when he was 50.Obviously, a lot happened in between, including a career as a “grunt” in the Marine Corps, another career as a software executive, a stint as a semi-professional cyclist, and becoming a dad.But, through it all, there was one constant: his fascination with history, which led him back to school in his 30s to earn a degree in History from the Honors College at the University of Houston.One morning years later, R.W. was listening to Caesar's Commentaries while he was on his morning commute to a job he hated. A specific passage about Caesar’s men digging a 17 mile ditch between Lake Geneva and the Jura Mountains suddenly jumped out at him.He was reminded of his own first job at 13 digging a ditch in Hardin, Texas. For the rest of the drive that morning, he daydreamed about what life must have been like not for the Caesars of the world, but for the everyday people who were doing the fighting and dying for Rome, and the idea for Marching with Caesar was born.Not too long after that, he quit that job, moved into a trailer halfway across the country, and devoted the next four years to researching and writing the first installments of Marching with Caesar.Some of his research methods-like hiking several miles around Big Bend National Park in the heat of summer wearing a suit of chainmail and carrying a sword so he would know what it felt like to be a Roman legionary-were a bit unconventional and made his friends and family question his sanity.But such was his commitment to bringing these stories to life for his readers with as much detail and accuracy as possible.Even as his catalog continues to grow, he still brings that passion to every story he tells.He has moved out of the trailer, but he still lives on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington with his Yellow Lab, Titus Pomponius Pullus and his rescue dog, Peach.

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      Book preview

      Marching With Caesar-Fraternitas - R.W. Peake

      Marching With Caesar®

      Fraternitas

      By R.W. Peake

      Also by R.W Peake

      Marching with Caesar®- Birth of the 10th

      Marching with Caesar-Conquest of Gaul

      Marching with Caesar-Civil War

      Marching with Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra, Parts I & II

      Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

      Marching With Caesar-Last Campaign

      Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

      Marching With Caesar-A New Era

      Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

      Caesar Triumphant

      Critical praise for the Marching with Caesar series:

      Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony

      "Peake has become a master of depicting Roman military life and action, and in this latest novel he proves adept at evoking the subtleties of his characters, often with an understated humour and surprising pathos. Very highly recommended."

      Marching With Caesar-Civil War

      "Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended."

      ~The Historical Novel Society

      "The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best."

      ~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

      Marching with Caesar Fraternitas by R.W. Peake

      Copyright © 2015 by R.W. Peake

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      Cover Art by Marina Shipova

      Cover Artwork Copyright © 2015 R. W. Peake

      All Rights Reserved

      Foreword

      For as long as I can remember, I’ve been fascinated by all things martial. The original focus of my passion was the American Civil War, and believe it or not, my goal is to one day tell the story of a descendant of Titus Pullus carrying a musket. As far as which side, let’s just say you’ll have to wait and see. The first adult book I ever read came as a result of my membership in the Military Book Club, and I got Basil Liddell-Hart’s Strategy, along with Jomini’s Art of War as part of my free trial offer. As I recall, I was around ten, but in the spirit of full disclosure, I can’t honestly say I did more than read the captions of the pictures, and perhaps some of the text.

      But equally fascinating to me is, from where exactly, did my passion come from? Certainly not from my family; at least, the side with which I was most familiar, my mother’s side. I don’t have any intention on explaining why this was the case, because it’s not germane. What is, in fact, the important part of my story is that, from a variety of circumstances, I knew next to nothing about my father, or his family. Why I didn’t know my father is fairly straightforward. He died, in uniform, on April 1st, 1959; my birth came three weeks later. However, it wasn’t until I was twenty that, not only did I learn more about where I came from, but I saw for the first time, a picture of my father. And when I did, something just….clicked, if only because I was staring at anyone who’s seen both me and his picture will acknowledge is a carbon copy.

      Suddenly, I was aware that, while I had never felt this way with my mom’s side of the family, I belonged somewhere. I want to stress, my disconnect with my mom’s side of the family has nothing to do with who they are or how I was treated; like most families, they are for the most part good, hard-working people, with no more or no less of the black sheep that pepper any family tree. Except that I was the black sheep, but not by virtue of my actions, nor by the way I was treated by other members of my family. I just never felt any real sense of connection, yet as I learned more about my father and his kin, the more things just made sense.

      Why am I bringing this up? Because Marching With Caesar®-Fraternitas is about brotherhood….and so much more. It’s about the power of blood, and how, despite all the advances of our modern world, there is something primal and instinctive that guides us all, whether we recognize it or not. Two thousand years ago would have made this reality even more immediate.

      This has been the hardest book title for me to conjure up, because in many ways, it’s unlike any book of the series. And, speaking frankly, I completely understand the inherent risk I am running in not giving readers more of the Pullus family where they’re wading in blood and gore. However, one of my primary goals in this quest to tell a story that began so many years ago was to be authentic in the telling of it, and that I would come as close as I could to the spirit of Titus, both in the original and now in his grandson. Consequently, once I thought about it, I realized that, if I was writing a record of my life for whomever carried my name to follow, it was highly unlikely I would leave out such a formative and powerful period as this, a time where, as far as the history books say, not much was going on during the Pax Romana.

      After all, what makes up our lives? Is it only the victories we’ve won in our professional careers, the opponents we vanquished in our respective arenas? Or would we talk about the other successes, and failures, that make up the bulk of a person’s life? How realistic is it to read a story where the protagonist essentially skips over what you’re (hopefully) about to read in the pages of Fraternitas?

      Yeah, I fell in love; yeah, my brother’s actions impacted me; yeah, my boss’ ambition got all of us in trouble, but that’s not worth mentioning. Let’s just skip to the part where I thrust my sword into another man’s body.

      I don’t believe (and I feel cautiously confident you’ll agree) that this would be the case. Victory, and defeat, takes many forms, and even in the times in which Titus Porcinianus Pullus lived, not all of these successes and failures occurred on a battlefield, facing a man with a sword in his hand. Hence, we have this continuation of Titus Porcinianus Pullus’ story, Fraternitas.

      And of the word itself, essentially it means brotherhood or the state of being a brother, but as I suspect you’ll agree, there is much more involved in that word. It’s about the power of our common blood, and the hold it has over us all. It’s about fraternity brothers, but in a deeper sense of the word than what covers the world of keggers and initiation pranks.

      Going back to my own story, it doesn’t take Dr. Phil to figure out that, growing up the way I did, without any tangible connection to the man who gave me life, has exerted a powerful influence on my life. But, thanks to the Internet, I’ve been able at last to fill in some of the missing pieces of my particular puzzle, and in doing so, I suppose in some small way I’m answering the call of my blood.

      In its simplest form, the two people who created me, and by extension created Titus Pullus, can be divided into two camps. My mother’s side of the family is, without exception, from what we in the United States call The North, and going back now to about eight or nine generations, none of them served in uniform.

      My father’s side of the family is another story, one that’s almost diametrically opposite of my mother’s, in that I am the only Southern-born member of the family. But more specifically, my family has worn a uniform in every war in which this country has fought. And, as I have discovered, this tradition goes back even farther, to the English Civil War, where one of my ancestors was given a knighthood for refusing the oath of allegiance to Oliver Cromwell.

      My conclusion is this: It’s the power of blood that set me on a path that found me here, after doing my part to serve my country, and I’m now writing stories of fighting men.

      And, if I had to sum up what Fraternitas is about, it’s the almost mystical hold our heritage and those microscopic strands of DNA have on each of us, whether we want to acknowledge it or not. Titus Porcinianus Pullus does what he does, suffers what he suffers, and achieves what he achieves, powered by the ichor flowing through his veins that serve as the driving force behind who he is and what he does. It is, after all, the power of blood.

      As always, I need to thank my always ready, always faithful team; my editor, Beth Lynne, for encouraging me to take this path, to my artist Marina Shipova, who manages to capture my almost-manic attempts to describe the visual part of the story that graces this cover. And to Stu MacPherson, who managed to carve out time to read this part of the story, despite the lack of, as he calls them the stabby stabby bits.

      But, ultimately, Fraternitas is to Henry Richard Peake, and all those of his line who came before him, and me. Scots-Irish to the core, inhabiting the hills and valleys of the area around North Carolina and Tennessee, in the Asheville area, they answered the call of their country, and as far as I know, they never asked why they were serving; they just did it. It’s what those of us who share the same blood do, after all.

      Semper Fidelis,

      R.W. Peake

      June 26, 2015

      Marching with Caesar

      Fraternitas

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 1

      I remember reading in my Avus’ account, about how some moments seem to last for days, while years can pass by in what one is sure is a blink of the eye. Such was the case after the year of the Consulships of Gaius Marcius Censorinus and Gaius Asinius Gallus, which by any definition was an eventful year for the men of the 8th Legion. The fact that if one asked the average citizen of Rome of any class their likely answer about the state of affairs in Pannonia, they would have probably uttered the words, All is quiet in Pannonia does not necessarily make it so. As I have come to learn, the difference between what my fellow citizens are told about matters along the frontiers of this Empire, and the reality, are often stark. And in the aforementioned year, not only did we have a revolt by two tribes, the Colapiani and the Varciani, we lost Publius Canidius, our Primus Pilus. Even more than one might expect, the turmoil from the series of events that culminated with the appointment of Gaius Sempronius Atticus as Primus Pilus was substantial, and rippled outward from the event itself, impacting many lives. However, once matters settled down and I became more comfortable in my role as Sergeant of the First Section, First Century of the First Cohort, the life of a Legion in garrison quickly settled into a routine. A routine that, seemingly overnight, meant I awoke one morning and three years had passed. This is not to say there were not notable events during that time, just that they were more of a personal nature than anything that would have been recorded in the annals, or even in the Legion diary. Although, being fair, the enlistment of my younger brother Sextus into the Legion was worthy of an entry being made. However, while it rated little more than a single line entry in the diary, in my personal life, it created quite a stir.

      It began when, on Sextus’ seventeenth birthday, almost eighteen months after his arrival back into my life, I, standing in as paterfamilias in place of my father, informed him that while he would be enlisting as we had planned, it would not be into the Fourth Cohort as he expected, and it would not be for another year. In retrospect, I recognize that I shoulder much of the responsibility for the acrimony and bitter feelings stemming from my announcement because I had known this for quite some time. In fact, this was something I was aware of within a few heartbeats after I learned from Sextus, and Diocles, of his intention to enlist. Now I can clearly see why I should have spoken up earlier; if not then, I had eighteen months where I spent several watches a week with my little brother, teaching him in the same manner in which my father had taught me. This is not to say my father had not done the same for Sextus, but as I had learned from Diocles, and Sextus finally admitted, grudgingly, my brother had not been as studious in his pursuit of martial skills as I had been. Nor, as it became apparent, did he have the same level of dedication, or enthusiasm, to attain those skills which are, frankly, indispensable to a Legionary with any ambition to ascend the ladder of promotion. Nevertheless, the day I told him he would not be enlisting that year, or entering the Fourth Cohort, was one I would like to forget.

      What??? But why?

      Yet one more error in my actions that day was that I had told him this just a few heartbeats after he had entered the main room of Diocles’ apartment, where he had his own room. Our long-time friend – I can never think of him as a servant, let alone a slave, despite the fact that this was his status when he became connected to our family – had just presented my brother with the gift from the Greek and his family. Compounding my error was the fact that the rest of Diocles’ family was present as part of the celebration of this day. Specifically, the presence of one member in particular meant my announcement to him that he would not be entering the Fourth Cohort was practically a guarantee that there would be a conflict, and it would be spectacular in nature. The fact that it was Birgit, Diocles’ wife, made matters, if not more complicated, certainly more interesting. By this time, not even a blind man could have missed the signs that Sextus was hopelessly smitten by Birgit, although I am positive that his passion was unrequited, because equally as obvious was the fact that Birgit only had eyes for Diocles. Granted, I will be the first to admit that, at least from appearances, the idea that a beautiful young woman like Birgit who was, and still is a true beauty, could be so hopelessly in love with a Greek in his sixties who was actually shorter than she was, even if he still had all of his hair and at least some of his teeth, was hard to fathom. Until, that is, you knew Diocles. But, as anyone who has been alive for a substantial number of years can tell you, there is no logic to what the heart wants, and this is especially true when one is young. Consequently, my choice to tell Sextus of my decision in this environment guaranteed the worst possible result. Nevertheless, I was determined to be the calm one, so when I answered my brother, I tried to keep my tone level and matter of fact.

      Because they’re a first line Cohort, I explained to him. And, Sextus, you’re not ready to be in a Cohort in the first line. And you’re not ready to enlist yet, either.

      This was my next mistake, although at least with this one, I understood I had erred the instant I opened my mouth; the fact that it was true only made matters worse.

      Why do you say that? My younger brother’s face had turned a deep shade of red, and his tone was bellicose, prompting me to think, If only you’d shown this kind of passion at the stakes. "I’m farther ahead than just about every other tiro who enlists," he pointed out.

      That, I was forced to admit, is true. But, Sextus, I decided to try a different approach, using reason, even though I was sure it would be futile, "you know who you are, who we are. And anyone who bears the name Pullus is going to be expected to be better than any other tiro."

      And you’re saying I’m not? he retorted, drawing himself up to his full height, which it must be said was only a couple inches shorter than mine.

      Sighing, I paused as I tried to think of a diplomatic way to express my concerns; as usual, I ended up just telling him bluntly, Yes, that’s what I’m saying, Sextus. Before he could say anything in protest, I held up my hand and allowed, "I’m not saying that you wouldn’t be ahead of the other tiros. What I’m saying is that you’re not good enough….for a Pullus."

      I do not believe if I had slapped him that he would have looked more stricken than he did then, and for a brief moment, I felt horrible. But, I reminded myself, your eyes aren’t deceiving you; you’ve seen him and sparred with him. Still, despite understanding it was the right decision, I did not feel good.

      I’m going to write to Tata, he suddenly announced. "I’ll tell him how hard I’ve been working, and how far I’ve come. Something that even you, he pointed an accusing finger at me, have admitted."

      You have, I agreed, wondering why I was the one sounding defensive, from where you started. But, Sextus, I had to make an effort to remain patient, you should have been farther along when you got here than you were.

      That’s not true. He was shouting now. I came here because of the other…problems!

      And those other problems are why Tata couldn’t make you stick to your training, I shot right back.

      Now I was getting angry as I thought about my father, missing his leg and standing at the stakes our Avus had set up in his villa at Arelate, waiting for Sextus to come for his daily lesson. I do not remember when or how it happened, but my brother and I were now standing nose to nose; what it also told me was how truly angry my brother was.

      I’m writing Tata, he said again.

      I believe it was the sight of his lip sticking out that finally ignited my ire, yet while I did not physically strike Sextus, I knew how to hurt my younger brother without leaving a mark on him.

      You can, I snapped, but I already did! And he fully supports my decision! In fact, there was no need for me to add this, other than the fact that I was truly irate, he told me that if I decide to hold you back for even another year after this one, he’d support my decision!

      Sextus’ mouth dropped open, although he did not say anything. It was the sight of his eyes filling with tears that made my anger disappear as quickly as it had come. Suddenly, he spun about, and, without a word, fled into his room, slamming the door, leaving me and Diocles’ family standing there. The children, all four of them, were standing there wide-eyed, while the youngest, Scribonia, burst into tears, making me feel horrible as I realized this was the first time they had seen the man they called Uncle Titus truly angry. Suddenly, I felt terribly embarrassed, but apologizing, despite my growing maturity, was still something I did not do well; being honest, I am not much better at it now, in my thirties.

      So, Diocles broke the silence, that was enjoyable.

      As I am sure he hoped, this made me laugh despite myself, while Birgit and the children began giggling. Despite my best effort to stifle my laughter, I could not help it.

      This isn’t helping, I scolded Diocles, shooting my eyes to Sextus’ door.

      You should talk, he snorted. Turning serious, he asked me, So, what’s this all about?

      Weren’t you listening? I replied, hoping that he would be satisfied.

      But Diocles had known me since the day I was born; he had seen me grow up, and when I turned ten, he became my tutor. And this day, he was not fooled in the slightest. However, as usual, he knew that by not saying anything and just waiting me out, I would finally divulge my real reasons.

      Fine, I finally relented, grumbling as I did it. You win. I paused as I tried to frame my thoughts. Finally, I just blurted out, As long as Corvinus is Pilus Prior, Sextus isn’t going to be in the Fourth Cohort. And, I added firmly, he’s not ready for any Cohort, not right now.

      As I knew he would, Diocles reacted with equal measures of both surprise and bewilderment, gasping, But why? I mean, he amended, about the Fourth? I understand about the delay, but surely after another year, he’ll be ready for the Fourth.

      That was the question, wasn’t it? I thought bitterly. How had I come to view Gnaeus Corvinus, my first Pilus Prior and my father’s best friend, in such a negative light? Before I explained, I took a seat at their table and asked Birgit for a cup of wine, unwatered, from which I drank deeply before I began.

      Do you remember me telling you about everything that happened two years ago? I asked him.

      I’m old, but I’m not decrepit just yet, he commented dryly. So, yes, I remember. About Urso, yes?

      Yes, I had to laugh at his words, although my mirth did not last long, about Urso. But, I drew an extra breath, there was more to it than that. I found out something about Corvinus’ involvement in what Urso was doing that… My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the proper words. Finally, I settled with, …bothered me.

      Diocles did not respond immediately, sitting back in his chair, seemingly more interested in what was in his own cup than what I had said.

      Finally, he broke the silence, asking, And was it that he started out as partners with Urso in running their off-the-books…business?

      Frankly, I was too stunned to respond, at least immediately. How had he known that? I wondered.

      And, I managed to articulate that thought aloud, how did you know that?

      Diocles shrugged, but I could not help notice that he seemed careful to keep his gaze on his cup as he replied, Because your father told me about it when he found out.

      I must confess this revelation struck me hard; it was beyond my imagination that the man I knew my father to be could have knowledge of such matters and still remain friends with Corvinus.

      What do you mean, ‘when he found out’? I challenged Diocles. Surely you’re not saying he knew what they were up to!

      Once more, there was a long, and for me at least, extremely uncomfortable silence as Diocles seemed to ponder the question and whether or not he should answer.

      Finally, he answered, Your father did know. At least, he held up a hand to stop my protest, he found out about it at some point. Relatively early.

      How can that be? I demanded.

      I am not blind to the irony of the moment; just a short time before, I had told my younger brother something that had rocked his view of our father. Now here I was, reacting exactly the same way because Diocles had told me something that did not fit into my own mental picture of him.

      Because your father saw things as they were, not as he wanted them to be, Diocles said. And neither Corvinus nor Urso, for that matter, were unique. It’s been a game played by Centurions on their men for… He finished with a shrug.

      That doesn’t make it right, I argued.

      No, he acknowledged, it doesn’t. And I’m not saying your father liked it. But he also realized that there wasn’t much he could do about it.

      I pondered this for a moment, but it did not mollify me in the slightest. When all was said and done, at that moment, I was still a ranker, and I viewed our officers as being paragons of virtue and honor; at least, I believed this was how they should behave. Even now, while I am certainly no longer so naïve, I cannot deny there is a part of me that still wants this to be true. What I have come to accept, albeit grudgingly, is that at this point in my life and given my current station, I can only control my own actions, and right now, that of my Optio. When I take command of a Cohort is another story, however.

      But he let it happen, I grumbled.

      Now I could see I was trying Diocles’ patience, his lips thinning down in an expression I knew all too well.

      Your father didn’t let it happen, he snapped, because it would have happened no matter what he did! Suddenly, he leaned forward and stabbed a finger at me and continued, And what does that really have to do with anything? As quickly as his anger came, it seemed to disappear, and he slumped back into his chair. The question you should be asking is if you think Gnaeus Corvinus and the Fourth is the best spot to put your brother so he has a chance to survive his first battle.

      When put the way Diocles did, the question was no longer quite so clear, and inwardly I cursed the Greek for always providing the truth, no matter how awkward.

      Despite myself, I was forced to consider the question, but while Diocles’ point did remove one obstacle, it had nothing to do with the other.

      No, I finally relented. You’re right. If I wanted to put Sextus in a spot where he’d be looked after by someone, the First of the Fourth would be the spot. But, I shook my head, there’s more to it than that.

      Thankfully, Diocles either took pity on me or he had just worked it out for himself, so he relieved me of the burden of articulating what, if I am pressed to admit, was the real cause for my decision.

      You don’t think Sextus is ready for a first line Cohort, he said.

      No, I answered grimly but without hesitation. I don’t think he is.

      It’s true that he’s been a bit…lax in his training, Diocles admitted, but…

      He got no further.

      Stop it, I pointed a finger at him, feeling a resurgence of the anger I felt whenever I considered this subject. Stop making excuses for him, Diocles. You, I heard the bitterness I felt in my voice as I continued, and my parents have been making excuses for him ever since he was a child! I shook my head, feeling as if I was truly all alone in this. But he’s not ready.

      Rather than argue, Diocles surprised me by nodding his head in agreement. However, I was not prepared for what he said next.

      You’re right, he admitted. And I know you are. But, he looked at me levelly, remember that I’m older than you. And my history with your family goes back to…

      He did not finish, nor did he need to, but I was unprepared for the sudden glinting in his eye as he thought back to earlier days. Understanding him, I reached out and put my hand on his arm as, for a moment, we shared the memory of my Avus, the great Titus Pullus of legend, the greatest man who ever marched under the standard of a Legion of Rome.

      Once he regained his composure, Diocles said, What I’m thinking back to is how your Avus worried about your father.

      Cutting him off, I was sure I knew the story; I was wrong.

      I know that, I interrupted, but this isn’t just about worrying about Sextus the way Avus worried about Tata. I understand it’s going to be part of my life from here on.

      I’m not talking about that, Diocles retorted. You read your Avus’ story, didn’t you?

      Of course. I was nettled, to say the least. I’ve read it twice.

      Obviously not. He was no less adamant. Or you’d remember how hopeless your Avus thought your father was when he came to us from the 14th.

      Much to my chagrin, I suddenly realized I had, in fact, forgotten about that. Once Diocles brought it up, I did recall reading about Titus Pullus’ initial despair that his nephew would be able to survive his first battle. But it was my Avus’ best friend, and not lost on me, my father’s first Pilus Prior who had insisted that young Gaius Porcinus, as he was known then, would give a better accounting of himself than Titus Pullus believed. However, as I was discovering, when I was actually the one who had to make the determination about my brother’s fitness to hold a sword, it was not nearly as simple.

      I do remember that, I finally allowed, if unwillingly. But this is Sextus we’re talking about. Suddenly inspired, I pointed out, And if I remember correctly, Tata actually was willing to work quite hard at it, wasn’t he?

      I saw that I had scored a major victory with Diocles, his face shadowing as he admitted, Yes, yes he was. And he did work very, very hard.

      Well, I was not about to relent now, Sextus isn’t as willing. I have to drag him out to the stakes just to get him to train.

      Nothing was said between us for several heartbeats, but finally, Diocles signaled his acquiescence, if not his complete agreement, asking, So where do you want to put him?

      The Seventh, I answered instantly.

      In some ways, I understood it was not quite fair; I had given this a lot of thought, while Diocles was just dealing with this now.

      Why the Seventh? he asked.

      Because Tiburtinus is the Hastatus Prior, I told him. And I trust him.

      Gnaeus Tiburtinus? he asked, squinting as he tried to place the name. Wasn’t he your…?

      Before he could finish, I supplied the answer for him. He was my Optio when I joined the First. But then he got promoted to the Ninth. He got bumped up to the Seventh when a slot opened up there.

      Opened up? His eyebrow raised, yet although I flushed a bit, neither could I deny his jibe, understanding he knew our system as well as anyone. You mean he saved enough money?

      Maybe. I could not help my defensive tone, but I was not about to be swayed in my belief that Tiburtinus was truly worthy of his promotion. But I’d be happy to move to the Seventh if I could!

      The Greek stared at me for a moment, except I could return his gaze because I was being completely sincere.

      Seeming to sense this, he grunted as he sat back, asking in a light tone that did not fool me, And is Tiburtinus willing to take Sextus on?

      Yes, I assured him. And honestly, I leaned forward in an attempt to impress on Diocles I was being truthful, I think that Sextus would be happier in the Seventh than the Fourth. You know the second line Cohorts are the ones who’re sent out for independent duty more than us. That should make him feel...

      Like he’s not worthless? Diocles supplied for me, and although I winced at the blunt way he put it, neither could I deny the truth of his words.

      Exactly, I confirmed. He’ll get the chance to march around the province, and maybe get blooded in a way that’s not like what I had to face in Germania.

      This isn’t going to make him happy, Diocles commented. I know he’s dreamed of at least matching your record.

      He can dream all he wants, I replied harshly, but he hasn’t put in the same amount of work that I have. And, I jabbed my finger at Diocles, you know that’s the truth.

      Like I had been a few moments before, Diocles was in a position where he could not deny the truth of my words.

      I suppose, he finally allowed, that you’re right.

      I am, I assured him. And I’m doing what’s best for Sextus.

      I believe that is the truth to this day, no matter how things transpired.

      Once Sextus realized I was deadly serious about holding him back for another year, he accepted his fate and even I was forced to admit that he became more dedicated with his training. The delay had a hidden benefit; I was able to convince him over the course of that extra year that he was better served in the Seventh than in the Fourth. I could tell one reason this appealed to him was the idea that his climb up into the First Cohort, which he made no secret was his ultimate desire, would be more spectacular than mine was.

      When I go from a second line Cohort all the way to the First, he had boasted one day, you’re going to be known as Sextus Pullus’ brother! We were at the stakes this day, and I will always remember his grin as he crowed, They’ll say ‘There goes the brother of Sextus Pullus! What was his name again?’

      As I am sure he hoped, this made me laugh and, at least temporarily, forget how he was still sloppy on his recovery after he made a third position thrust. Being honest, I was more relieved that the struggle between us concerning his enlistment delay did not last the entire year, despite the fact that, unlike the Legions in other armies, in Pannonia the plumping up process of taking on new tiros occurred twice a year instead of the normal one time. Once the first training period passed, I believe even Sextus recognized he was better served to wait until the next autumn, instead of being thrust into a Century in the middle of the campaign season.

      The other major event in my life was the fact that I became involved in my first semi-permanent liaison with a woman in town. I say woman; she was all of seventeen when we met, the daughter of an equestrian. Giulia Tullia was the only daughter of Lucius Julius Livinius and the fact that I was able to approach her at all was based in one simple point; Livinius had been a resident of Siscia for many years, moving there to pursue his interests in a shipping company, although he branched out fairly quickly. Consequently, my last name was not only well known to him, my father’s status as Quartus Pilus Prior, and I suspect being an heir of Titus Pullus, particularly of his name, did not hurt my chances. I spied Giulia at the market one day as she was perusing the wares of various merchants, with an escort of course. Accompanying her was an old crone named Plotina; at least I thought of her as ancient, although she was probably in her late forties. As I would come to learn, Plotina had been Giulia’s nurse since she was born and was devoted to her young mistress, fiercely so, and she would prove to be an even tougher obstacle to navigate than Livinius, or Giulia’s mother Tullia. The main reason for that is, putting it in its simplest terms, she saw right through me, understanding me and my motivations much better than probably even I did. I wish I could say that her fears were groundless, but they were not, because from the moment I saw Giulia, I confess I had one goal in mind, at least in the beginning. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen to that point, even more so than Birgit, and the sight of her had frozen me in my tracks as I watched her haggling over a bolt of cloth with one of the merchants. Her style of dress and, more importantly, the quality, announced her status as belonging to a family of some means, and with her hair being partially covered with a veil, announced to the world she was an unmarried maiden. Still, while she dressed conservatively, I thought I saw a hint of daring in how she allowed the veil to only partially cover her hair, and although she wore an otherwise normal stola, it was cut in such a way that it accentuated her figure rather than hid it. Her hair was a deep black, but was naturally curly, hanging in ringlets that framed her face that, to my eyes at least, was a perfect oval shape.

      On this day in the market, I found myself completely paralyzed; until, that is, she concluded her business and turned to leave the forum. Quickly determining her direction, I hurried around the edge of the stalls to put myself in a perfect position for an ambush, while my mind worked rapidly, trying to come up with the perfect array of words that would captivate her interest. I desperately wanted to impress her, certainly, but the truth is that my self-assurance was such that I was confident that just my very size and the way my tunic was stretched so tightly across my body would obviate the need for words. The sleeves of my Legionary tunic were similarly tight because of my upper arms, but although I was self-conscious of my horribly scarred arm, which was fading very slowly and was still mostly pink, I also considered it to be a secret ally. All of the other women with whom I had dallied in the intervening time since I suffered this wound had cooed and fawned over my arm, telling me how brave I must have been and how this was as much a mark of my courage as any phalarae or torq. However, it was the scar on my cheekbone that I was the proudest of back then, thinking it lent me an air of mystery, hinting at exploits I would be too modest to mention. Unless I was asked, of course. As I was about to learn, my conviction that my scars would stand me in good stead with this young maiden was based on a faulty premise, that the whores who service a Legion and utter such flatteries to young Gregarii like I was then about how attractive they found my scars, and the idea that a daughter of an equestrian would feel the same way. Making matters worse, the instant I pivoted from behind the stall to stand in the path of this maiden and her escort, the witty, seemingly offhand remark that I had been sure would capture her interest fled my mind as rapidly as barbarians routed from the field. In retrospect, I believe it was being close enough to notice that, in striking contrast to her black hair, her eyes were a color of blue I was sure I had never seen before, which rendered me mute. Consequently, instead of saying anything, I stood there like a huge lump of meat, with my mouth hanging open.

      The old crone glared at me and, while I was completely flummoxed, I did notice how she stepped in front of my quarry, partially blocking my view. Only because I was so tall was I able to keep my gaze on the girl, my eyes riveted on her face. While she had suddenly looked down at the ground in the modest way our maidens are supposed to behave, I was sure I had seen the flicker of a smile before she looked away.

      What do you want?

      The old crone asked the question, scowling at me with a distrust and disapproval that informed me I was hardly the first young man to act in such a bold manner.

      I opened my mouth to respond, which was when I discovered my wits had completely deserted me, and while I know the pause was only a few heartbeats, it felt like a week had passed before I finally thought of anything to say.

      Even now as I write this, I am wincing, because I blurted out, I’m Titus Pullus. Then, I thought to add, Actually, Titus Porcinianus Pullus, as if that explained everything.

      If the crone was pretending like she had never heard of me, her talents were wasted because she should have been on stage.

      Is that supposed to mean something? she asked. You’re standing in our way, young man. Now, step aside.

      Suddenly, I was on the verge of panic; this was not going at all like I had seen it in my mind, and it was in desperation that I said, I…I just wanted to know your mistress’ name!

      Why? the crone replied suspiciously. Surely you don’t think she’d have anything to do with the likes of you!

      But I’m Titus Porcinianus Pullus, I protested before I could stop myself.

      This had turned into a nightmare of the worst kind.

      Yes, you mentioned that before, the crone retorted, and adding to my mortification, I heard the girl giggle from behind the crone’s back.

      I’m a Sergeant in the First Section of the First Century of the First Cohort of the 8th Legion, I pointed out, as if this distinction would immediately clear matters up; surely she would know what a signal honor that was, especially for someone as young as I was.

      Congratulations. The crone refused to be impressed. Now please step aside. You don’t want me to call the town watch, do you? That, she pointed a bony finger at me, would get you in trouble with your Legion, wouldn’t it?

      Understanding that I had been soundly defeated, I do not really remember what I said; I do recall stepping aside to allow them to pass. I was in utter despair, sure that I had ruined any chance I ever had of knowing this beauty. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, I was saved by an unlikely, but wonderful rescuer.

      The girl, still trailing the crone, who had just passed by me, glaring her disapproval at me, was still looking down at the ground. Until, that is, the last moment when just before they rounded the corner to the street leading away from the forum, she suddenly looked back over her shoulder at me. Naturally, I could not tear my eyes away from her, so I was rewarded with a smile that showed even, white teeth.

      I was also close enough to see the flash of what I think might have been mischief in her eyes as she said, My name is Giulia Tullia Livinius, Titus Pullus, and I know who you are.

      I walked back to camp; at least, I believe I did, although I cannot say with any certainty that my feet ever touched the ground once along the way.

      How do I get a girl’s attention?

      It was bad enough I was asking this of anyone; the fact that it was my little brother Sextus made matters even more mortifying. However, as I had learned to the detriment of my coin purse, while Sextus was younger than me, in one area, he was vastly more experienced than I was; twice since he had arrived in Siscia, I had been forced to assuage the outrage of the father of two different maidens because Sextus had gotten them pregnant. The fact that my brother had two bastard children alive never seemed to bother him, nor did he ever show any real interest in finding out, yet what could not be denied was that as skilled as I might have been on the battlefield, when it came to the war that some claim love to be, our roles were reversed. Being honest, Sextus had not been my first choice; I had gone to my close comrade and best friend Titus Domitius first, but he had proven to be as hopeless about matters as I was. Consequently, I found myself seated across a table from my younger brother in a taverna near his apartment. Because he shared the living space, I had no desire for Diocles, or worse, Birgit and the children to hear me confess to my complete ineptitude in impressing the fairer sex, at least in a way that did not involve holding up a coin purse and jingling it.

      Now, Sextus was staring at me, open-mouthed, finally managing, What? How? Why?

      If you’re going to just ask that, I might as well go ask the next man I run into, I grumbled.

      He shook his head in a manner that suggested he was trying to clear it of troubling or useless thoughts.

      Finally, he answered, No, Titus. I’m sorry. It’s just that…you surprised me. That’s all.

      What? That I have no idea how to make a woman like me? I knew how defensive I sounded, but I could not stop myself. Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve been too busy learning how to stay alive in battle. There hasn’t been time for anything else.

      It’s not that, he countered, then looked away as an expression I had never seen on his face crept across it. It’s just that you’ve never asked my help before. For anything.

      This was when I realized that he was pleased, but also embarrassed, I guess, at this admission. Frankly, I did not feel much differently; at least as far as the embarrassed part.

      Well, I replied gruffly, I’m asking now. I could not stop a grin from breaking out. Besides, I know you’re the expert in things like this. I produced my coin purse. This is a lot lighter because of it.

      As I had hoped, this made him laugh, yet also reminded him that, when all was said and done, he did owe me a debt of sorts for making sure he was not gelded, or even worse, married and therefore ineligible to enlist.

      Fair enough. He chuckled, then he surprised me by saying, Besides, how could I refuse this first chance to help out my big brother? This, he sat back expansively, giving me that damnable grin of his that always seemed to get him out of trouble, is the best day of my life!

      Gods, I groaned, I hope not. Shaking my head, I sighed and decided to get on with it. So, tell me what to do.

      First, he leaned forward, peering at me intently, I need to know who it is you’re interested in.

      No, you don’t, I retorted. Truthfully, I was somewhat worried that once Sextus learned the identity of my interest, he would steal her for himself.

      Yes, you do, he insisted. Because who she is depends on who she is, if you take my meaning. And, he added meaningfully, who she’s not.

      Inwardly, I cursed, but I relented and told him. I do not have any idea why I was surprised that he knew exactly who was I talking about when I said her name, yet I was. He whistled softly, shaking his head.

      I’ll say this for you, he finally spoke, you certainly aim high. He grinned at me then, and added, And I compliment you on your taste.

      Suddenly, his face clouded, and he bit his lip in a manner I knew all too well, and I braced myself for whatever problem had occurred to him.

      Titus, he spoke slowly, are you planning on winning this girl so you can marry her?

      I started in surprise.

      Gods no, I exclaimed, then reminded him of what most of us under the standard use as the pretext for avoiding a state that we sought to avoid at all costs. Besides, you know a ranker can’t be married!

      Avus was, Sextus replied, and so are Tata and Mama.

      I stared at him in disbelief.

      Avus, yes, I agreed. But surely you know that Tata and Mama aren’t married in the eyes of Rome!

      He stared at me, equally incredulous, even if for completely different reasons.

      Of course they are, he argued. Everyone knows them as husband and wife!

      This was the moment I realized how sheltered my brother had been, although my next immediate thought was actually for my sisters; in many ways, the reality of the situation between my mother and father and whether their union was legally recognized had more of an impact on them. Fortunately, I learned fairly quickly that my father had taken steps after he was out of the Legion to ratify our parents’ marriage so it was legally binding. In reality, Sextus was technically correct at the time we had our conversation, although I did not know it; where he was mistaken was in how this was a relatively recent development. In the eyes of Rome, while my siblings and I were Roman citizens through our father, in other ways, we would be considered bastards by certain segments of Roman society. The idea that Giulia’s parents might view me in this light occurred to me during this conversation. Deciding not to pursue the matter of our parents’ marital status, I steered Sextus back to the topic at hand.

      Besides, what does it matter whether I plan on marrying her or not? I asked Sextus.

      It only matters as far as how you approach her, he replied, then paused for a moment. Because, Titus, this isn’t a girl you’re going to have a tumble with just because you’re…you.

      I know that, I snapped. That’s why I’m asking you!

      There’s really only one way you can do this, he told me. And that means you’re going to have to lie to her.

      About what? I asked warily.

      About the fact that you have no intention of marrying her, he replied instantly. You need to give her…no, he suddenly shook his head as he changed his mind, …you need to convince her father that you’re doing this for the right reasons.

      I considered this for a moment.

      Then, I shrugged and said, I can do that.

      Of all the moments in my life where I have had cause to regret my actions, this was one where, despite the fact that it had nothing to do with my professional life, I caused a massive amount of damage. My only excuse, as flimsy as it is, was that I was still young and callow, and if truth be known, in many ways was just as immature as my brother Sextus. After all, he was the only one who cautioned me that my actions could have such drastic consequences. All I saw in the moment, however, was another kind of conquest to make, and I approached it with the same level of single-minded focus and determination that I had used to my advantage under the standard.

      My brother Sextus Scribonius entered the rolls of the 8th Legion as a tirone the week after we held this conversation, joining the Fifth Century of the Seventh Cohort, under Gnaeus Tiburtinus, his Hastatus Prior, almost exactly one year later than Sextus had originally planned. Despite my best intentions, I found myself escorting Sextus to the Seventh’s area, where he would join four other tiros for this Century of about fifteen total for the Cohort. They would be replacing men who had either been shifted up into slots in other Centuries or Cohorts, or in at least two cases of which I was aware because Tiburtinus had confided in me, men had deserted. This, unfortunately, is a simple but undeniable issue that I do not believe my Avus had to face, at least as much, because back when the recruiting parties traveled the country, times were very different. As the original Titus Pullus understood, for a man of his lowly status, enlisting in the Legion was an opportunity to better himself, and his record speaks for itself. During his time under the standard, Legions were recruited in their entirety, and they marched for the term of their enlistments without having those men who fell, were invalided out, or deserted replaced. Consequently, when his 10th Equestris lined up for the battle of Pharsalus, under the command of Divus Julius, the Legion was less than half strength. Our wise Augustus saw the problem, and as part of his reorganization and reforms, commanded that losses suffered by a Legion are replaced fairly quickly, so that at any given moment, a Legion is as near to full strength as possible. This is not to say it has worked perfectly; there have been times where those men assigned to a recruiting party have returned, if not empty handed, then well below their expected quota. And, if I am being honest, the quality of the probatio these men have returned with is not the best, and that is being kind. More often than not, at least two or three of any given complement of potential replacements are half-wits or have some physical defect that precludes them from marching under the standard. At the time, I was not aware that, although this is an endemic problem for all of the Legions throughout our Republic, it is particularly bad here in Pannonia. Part of the reason is due to the fact that, although it was settled by Rome some time before, it is still considered the frontier, meaning that the pool of Roman citizens is lower than elsewhere. That, in my opinion, is the lesser of the challenges confronting the Legions stationed in Pannonia. I believe the nature of the tribes who inhabit this province are the real cause for the difficulties. While it had been three years since the last major revolt, mainly by the Colapiani, then the Varciani, rarely a month went by without some sort of hostile contact from one of the tribes. The most common occurrence was when a Century was out on a routine march through the area, showing the natives that Rome was still here and in control. As any veteran of Pannonia will tell you, the tribes who inhabit this province are unparalleled experts in using the rugged terrain and thick patches of forest to their advantage, employing hit and run tactics that have proven to be maddeningly frustrating to combat. One moment, a Century will be marching along, their boots stamping out the rhythm of the march, while men are chattering about all manner of things, sometimes arguments that have been taking place over a period of days, while other conversations recount past exploits, usually of a carnal nature. Then, without any warning, the normal sounds of the march are obliterated in an explosion of noise that is almost always accompanied by a flurry of missiles, usually javelins, but sometimes arrows or even rocks. Only occasionally would our previously unseen attackers then rush from their hiding spots to engage in the kind of combat in which we Romans excel; that is also the explanation why the natives seldom do this. Most of the time, these attacks do little damage; unless, of course, you are one of the unlucky men felled by a well-aimed missile. However, this is also a reason why the recruiting parties, which we had heard in other areas only went out once a year, in Pannonia was a twice-yearly exercise. The only thing I could guarantee in the case of one tirone was that he would not be one of those who skulked away in the night; otherwise, I still had reservations about Sextus’ commitment to this path he had chosen for himself. The reason was that just a few months before this day, a rumor had surfaced that Augustus was seriously considering lengthening the term from sixteen to twenty years; this turned out not to be false as much as premature. Frankly, there was a period of several days where neither Diocles nor I had much confidence that Sextus would actually enlist. Even to me, as dedicated as I am to my career, just hearing the length of term gave me pause; there just seems to be something different between the numbers sixteen and twenty, over and above four years. However, I cannot say I was not a bit surprised when, after a couple of tense days, my brother announced he was still enlisting.

      When I delivered Sextus to the office of my former Optio, Gnaeus Tiburtinus was actually in the outer room of his quarters that serves as the Century office.

      Hastatus Prior Tiburtinus, I offered him a salute, not only because it was required but due to the fact that I respected the man tremendously, I’m bringing you some fresh meat. I glanced over at Sextus, who looked nervous, understandably so, although I still gave him a grin that I cannot say was not without some grim humor at the ordeal awaiting him.

      Tiburtinus returned my salute, except he was not smiling, although this was not unusual. Slowly, he walked around Sextus, inspecting him up and down.

      Well, he finally allowed, he doesn’t have as much meat on his bones as you do. But, for the first time I saw the glimmer of a smile cross his face, "he looks smarter than you at least."

      Oh, I laughed, he is. He’s the clever one in the family. Glancing over at Sextus, I could not stop myself from adding, Just don’t let him loose out in town too often or you’re going to have to be making trips to pay off angry fathers.

      Tiburtinus snorted, which was his laugh, and he replied, Ah. We have a real Eros on our hands, neh? Well, he had made a complete revolution and was facing my brother, we’ll just have to make sure he’s too tired to lift a finger, let alone anything else.

      I laughed, probably more heartily than the jibe deserved, but just the look on my brother’s face added to my mirth. Done with his inspection, Tiburtinus suddenly gestured to me to follow him outside, ordering Sextus to remain inside. The wink I gave Sextus was not meant to make him feel better, and I was happy to see it was successful. I bet you’re wondering what I’m going to tell your new Centurion, I thought with some amusement.

      So, as was his habit, Tiburtinus jumped right into matters, what do I need to know about young Pullus?

      Suppressing my natural tendency to be flippant, I gave his question the serious consideration it deserved. Truthfully, I had been wrestling with this question long before it came from Tiburtinus’ lips, understanding he would ask this question of any new tiro, but especially with my brother.

      The silence drew out, and I sensed his impatience, before I finally said, He’s…good with his sword, I began. Not great, but good. His shield work? I shrugged and sighed. That’s another story.

      As we stood there, I recognized that I was experiencing a previously unknown emotion, one where I not only felt guilty, but torn as far as my loyalty. To whom, after all, did I owe more? My flesh and blood, or my Legion? It was a distinctly peculiar and

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