That does not mean there were no dark days,or that I was not subjected to hardships that in all likelihood Iwould have escaped, if I had been "fortunate" enough to live a moremundane existence. There were many, many times where I feared formy life, and I have witnessed the best, and the worst, that a mancan do to another. Because of my status, I was forced to learn moreabout the human body and how to repair it after it has beensubjected to some of the most horrific things one man can do toanother. I have witnessed more death that any man should, and it isnot lost on me that much of it was at the hands, directly orindirectly, of my master. Yet I would ask, what was thealternative? With all apologies to those who disagree, I wouldsubmit that of all the fates that awaited me, I could not havechosen better.
The death of my master was, notsurprisingly, a matter of great moment in Arelate. Men of the upperclasses, and those men who might have once marched with my mastersuddenly flocked to his villa, despite the fact that I made noofficial notice to the Praetorium. His funeral was attendedby easily more than two thousand mourners, and I know he would havebeen happy at the thought that the outpouring was such that I didnot have to pay for professionals. What I found the most difficultto deal with were not those nobles who, for some reason, had theidea that presenting themselves at my master's villa to pay theirsupposed respects would somehow be communicated all the way back toRome. No, it was the men who were genuinely grief-stricken when thenews of the passing reached their ears. From around the region, andall the way to Placentia, came men that I am sure the patricians ofRome would sneeringly call “The Head Count,” but these were the menwhose grief was real and hard to witness. For four days straight, Istood by the bier on which my master lay in his final repose,listening to man after man recount some episode they had sharedwith the great Titus Pullus. When Caesar died, thousands uponthousands of this class of people came to mourn his passing. Icannot say that my master's death brought numbers equal to that;what I can say is that of all those men of his class, I doubt anyof them received such an outpouring as Titus Pullus. What I, andothers it must be said, had tried to impress upon him was that hehad become a symbol of all that was possible for men of his class.It is no secret that men talk; old men who have marched with Caesartalk more than most. And when they gathered, in their multitude, inthe inns, the wine shops, the whorehouses, and gambling parlorswhere men of this type tend to congregate, it should not surpriseanyone that the story of Titus Pullus, the huge, strong, rawcountry boy and all that he achieved was one of the subjects thatcame up. Despite the fact I had been vaguely aware of this, it wasnot until his death that I witnessed, firsthand, the impact mymaster had on others. If Titus Pullus could do it, I heard morethan once, why could they not accomplish the same? I must admitthat it became something that irritated me a great deal, hearingsuch thoughts uttered, as if what he had done was of such littlemoment that simply uttering it would make it possible. Althoughonly my master alone can describe all that it took, which he hasdone in this account, I do claim my role, however small, as witnessto the challenges and dangers that he faced, unflinchingly and witha courage that I can only aspire to show, should it ever be needed.I found myself wishing that Titus was there to guide me, to let meknow which mourner to accept, and which one to turn away, which onehe thought was sincere in his prayers, and which one was just thereto be seen by others. More than once, I had to stifle a laugh, as athought would cross my mind while watching the histrionics andcontrived grief of the men that belonged to the same class,thinking about what Titus might have said or done. The only thingof which I was sure was what a farce he thought all of this was,but of all the many parts that made up Titus Pullus, he was aLegionary of Rome, and even if he did not believe in some of thepeople who called themselves Roman, he believed in Rome itself.This was the only thing that kept me going, as I performed allthose rituals, big and small, that are expected when a great Romandies. And I will go to my grave with the belief that, of all theRomans I have known, Titus Pullus' name belonged among those firstcalled for such an honor.
My one regret, and I am sure that it wasTitus' as well, especially given the circumstances, was thatGaius and his family
