"Pilus Prior Porcinus." As with Macrinus, Ioffered him my arm.
Gaius, unlike Macrinus, did not look allthat surprised; I could see a smile tugging at the edges of hismouth as he shot a glance over my shoulder at the Legate who wasundoubtedly glowering at my back.
"Prefect Pullus," he responded crisply,clasping my forearm.
"I wanted to congratulate you on yourpromotion to the Fourth Cohort. And as Pilus Prior, no less."
Now Gaius could not keep the smile from hisface, looking back at me with an expression almost identical tothat of Macrinus.
"Thank you, Prefect," Gaius said loudly,then in a softer voice, continued, "and I owe all that I am toyou."
"Nonsense," I replied immediately, if atrifle sharply. "You earned it on your own merit, not through anyfavoritism from me."
Somewhat surprising me, Gaius shook hishead.
"Actually, that's not what I was referringto, Prefect. I'm talking about what it takes to be a Centurion, andhow to lead men. That, I learned from you. And that," his voiceraised a bit and I knew this was not meant just for my ears, "iswhy I'm here in this spot. Because of what you taught me, not whoyou are."
I could not have said it better myself, andI decided that rather than ruin what was a perfect moment, I simplynodded my head. The lump in my throat would have made it difficultnonetheless. Walking back over to Ocelus, although I vaulted backinto the saddle again, I recognized that I did not have many moresuch movements left in me if I did not want to risk theembarrassment of using a Legionary's back as a mounting block.Consequently, I remained mounted for the rest of this portion ofthe ceremony. When we reached the rostra that had been built, boththe Legate and I dismounted, and mounted the steps. I knew that Iwas expected to give a speech; however, I also knew that the Legatewas going to go first, and I had been subjected to enough of hisspeaking style and speeches since he had assumed command to knowthat I was not going to be able to say what I wanted, withoutrunning the risk of men collapsing, either from the heat orboredom. My suspicions were quickly confirmed, as the man talkedfor what I would estimate was a third of a watch. Although it wasostensibly about me; I will say that he did touch on the highpoints of my career, listing the campaigns I had participated inand decorations I had earned, most of the time was taken up withthe Legate expounding on his own record, and exhorting the menabout what it meant to march for Rome. By the time he was through,a blind man could have read the signs in the faces of the menclosest to the rostra, and I was forced to bite back a curse whenthe Legate finally stepped aside to offer me the speaker's spotwith a flourish. Because of the circumstances, the remarks I madeon my retirement day were so unremarkable that I will not evenbother to recall them now. Out of an otherwise perfect day, this isthe one sour memory that clouds it. Despite the mediocrity of myrhetoric, the men gave me a rousing cheer, chanting my name threetimes as is the custom to draw the favor of the gods, since threeis a sacred number. While I appreciated the reception, I was notfooled; they were cheering that the ordeal was over, and they couldfinally break formation and return to their normal activities.Nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture and, in fact, I managed tosee the humor in it, understanding that, in their own way, theywere striking back at the Legate for putting them through theordeal of his speech. Finally, the moment came for me to issue myfinal command as an officer of Rome, the traditional way allretiring leaders end their respective careers.
Filling my lungs, I revealed that I stillcould produce a sound that could travel the length of an entirearmy formation as I bellowed, "Army of Pannonia! Youare...dismissed!"
With that, I made an about-turn, descendedthe steps, and with the last gasp of strength left in my legs,hopped aboard Ocelus to ride away from the forum, to my quartersand the end of my career.
The next week was filled with banquetshosted by either the Primi Pili of each Legion, or groups ofCenturions, held in my honor. Although I had a good workingrelationship with every Primi Pili, it was with Flaminius and thenow-promoted Macrinus with whom I shared the closest bond, and itwas at their respective events that I enjoyed myself the most. Itwas all very nice, and flattering, but by the end of the week, Iwas ready for a nice, quiet night at what had become my secondhome, Gaius' quarters. Despite giving strict instructions to thecontrary, I suppose it was inevitable that there was a somberatmosphere at the dinner table of Gaius and Iras. Young Titus wasalmost inconsolable; he had been working up to an all-out fit forthe previous several days, prompted no doubt by my absence from thetable as I attended the dinners held for me. Iras' nerves inparticular were severely frayed; in the intervening time since myTribunal and retirement, the young couple had continued to be busyin their private room. Once more, Iras had a child on her hip, butthis one was a boy, named Sextus. Adding to her burden, however,was the growing mound in her belly; she was at that moment, fourmonths pregnant. The girl who had been young Sextus' predecessor onher hip, named after my wife Miriam, was toddling around as youngTitus bossed her about.
"He's been taking it out on poor Miriam thewhole week," Iras sighed, and I cannot lie, I felt extremely guiltybecause I was the cause of it. "Did Gaius tell you what he did withthe toy Camp Prefect you had made for him?"
"No, and I'm afraid to ask." I looked to mynephew for the explanation, and he gave a rueful laugh.
"He, uh, buried it," Gaius told me, his eyesfixed on the table.
"Buried it?" I was more bewildered thanhurt, at least at that point.
"Yes,
