“Titus, I forgave you moments after ithappened,” he replied, confirming what Diocles had said. “I knewyou were just lashing out because you were angry about something.Oh, it did hurt me. I won’t lie about that, but I got over it. It’snot that.”
I was puzzled.
“Then what is it?”
He turned to give me a direct look, his eyesboring into mine, and it tore at my heart to see the sadnessthere.
“Because I’m done, Titus. I’m too old forthis,” he said quietly. “As I was chasing that boy, shouting at himto stop, it hit me with all the force of a javelin.”
“But you were overmatched,” I protested.“That’s what I realized. Scipio’s horse was far superior to whatyou or just about anyone else was riding.”
“Titus.” He sounded so tired. “It wouldn’tmatter if I had been on Toes. Even if I had caught him, I couldn’thave stopped him. I haven’t been the same since I was wounded andalmost died.”
I started to protest, but he cut me off witha chopping motion of his hand.
“Don’t,” he said, and for the first time Iheard anger in his voice. “Don’t make excuses for me, Titus. You’vebeen doing that ever since I recovered, but we both know that I’venever been the same.”
“Neither was I, after Munda.”
“Yes, but there is one big difference,” hereplied in his usual calm manner that told me his mind was made up.“You wanted to come back to the Legions. You wanted to keepfighting. I don’t, and I didn’t.”
“Then why did you?” I asked him.
He gave me a smile that was so sad that Ifelt tears come to my eyes.
“Because you needed me,” he said simply. “Orrather, you needed someone to keep you from getting into moretrouble than you already found on your own.”
I simply did not know what to say.
“Titus, one of the greatest joys in my lifehas been watching your career, and all that you’ve achieved,” hewent on. “I was born with privilege, relatively speaking, and Inever wanted for anything. You were born with nothing, but you’vecreated a whole new future for yourself and for Gaius and hischildren. If I had been blessed with your ambition, there’s no wayto know what I could have accomplished.”
Scribonius turned back to stare into thenight.
“I never wanted my brother to die, but I’mglad that we met, because you’ve been like a brother to me, perhapseven closer.”
The truth was that I had often thought ofScribonius like a brother, and I told him as much.
“And now, as one brother to another, I havea favor to ask you,” he said to me, and I knew that it wassomething momentous. Turning to face me, he said quietly, “I wantyou to let me leave the army immediately.”
If Scribonius had made that request just afew years earlier, or even when we had still been back at Siscia,it would not have been nearly as difficult. The role of theEvocati, like everything to do with the army had changed under therule of Octavian. Before, the Evocati had been a much less formalorganization, and men with that title had been allowed to come andgo more or less as they pleased. Most common was when an Evocatuschose to leave the army in the winter, returning for the campaignseason, but it was certainly not unknown for one or more to departfrom the army in the midst of campaign for one reason or another. Isuppose that this just did not sit well with Octavian, his orderedmind not able to countenance such a loose arrangement, making thisone of the first things he reformed. In his usual manner, hestarted small, simply issuing an edict that once an Evocatusstarted on a campaign, he was required to remain with the army forthe entire period of the campaign. Only those Legates armed withProconsular imperium could release the man from duty. That wasreasonable, and in truth, there was only a little grumbling fromthe Evocati, mostly from those men who liked to complain about allmanner of things. It was not until a couple years later, buriedamong the avalanche of edicts issued, ostensibly by the Senate butreally emanating from Octavian, in between the order regulating thelength of tunics and number of chickpeas that each Legionary shouldconsume in a given day that the next blow to the Evocati came. Whena man entered the class of Evocati, it was for a period of time,usually for five years, renewable at the end of that period foranother five. Again, this was more by custom than by anythinginscribed on a bronze tablet, meaning that if a man chose to retirefrom the Evocati early, that was essentially his choice. In fact, Icould not recall seeing or hearing of a case where a commander hadrefused to allow an Evocatus who, like Scribonius, had decided hesimply had had enough and wanted to spend the rest of his days inpeace. Until, that is, Octavian, through the Senate, of course,mandated that if a man entered into a contract for five years asEvocatus, he had to serve that entire time. The only way he couldterminate that contract early was first by obtaining writtenpermission from his Legate, and by this time, all Legates had beenendowed with Proconsular imperium, and who then sent hisendorsement along with the Evocatus’ request on to the Senate. Inreality, this meant that Octavian, whose supply of energy seemed tobe inexhaustible, would personally examine each case, deciding theman’s fate and whether or not he could retire early. As much as Idid not really appreciate the Princeps’ meddling in absolutelyevery facet of army life, I had to marvel at his grasp of theminutiae of details involved. However, this was absolutely no helpin the current situation. To begin with, I knew without a shadow ofa doubt that Marcus Primus would refuse Scribonius’ request, ifonly to spite me. Second, looking into my friend’s eyes, I knew inmy bones with equal certainty that he could not wait for all of thepaperwork and formalities to be properly handled. He simply wouldnot survive this campaign if he was not allowed
