My ongoing quandary about taking leave was also weighing on my mind, to the point that I did something that I very rarely did, even before going into battle, and consulted the camp priests, paying for a healthy white kid goat to be sacrificed in order to help me find a way that I could fulfill my promise to Vibius without having to worry about Celer undermining me behind my back. Vibius kept pressuring me to sign the pass; I had already submitted the proper paperwork to both the Primus Pilus and the duty Tribune, and his leave was approved at both levels. All that remained was for me to sign the pass, but Vibius was also expecting that I would be going with him. This was yet another subject I had not brought up with Gisela, so every passing day made me more anxious about the looming talk with my woman, who in my mind grew more and more insane, almost by the day. She was well into her fourth month of pregnancy, and I could not imagine what things would be like in another few months. Physically, she seemed to be thriving; I paid handsomely for the best midwife and practitioners I could find, not wanting the same fate that befell Calienus’ child to happen to mine. I will confess that it was not only concern for the baby; despite the fact I am not very superstitious, it just seemed to be a bad omen if she lost the baby, given Calienus’ fate. I suppose it is a good thing that we were such a veteran Legion at this point that much of the day-to-day routine ran itself, the habits of ten years being so ingrained to the point that the lowest ranking Gregarius knew what needed to be done. Training continued as always, the forced marches being cut to twice a month, although every so often the Primus Pilus would throw in another one on a day’s notice just to keep everyone on their toes. The discipline was the same, except that the pall of Atilius’ execution still hung over at least our Cohort, so the only problem Century I had was that of Longus, but I was beginning to figure out exactly what the real story was with his Century. He was using it as his very own source of income, and the way he exerted pressure on his men to pay him was in the use of punishments. Longus was always careful to send men up for punishment for offenses that only cost money or extra duties and not a flogging or worse, and I suspected that what he was doing was threatening his men with writing them up for a greater offense. Then, in exchange for a few coins, he would instead turn in a report that detailed a crime that was minor enough that we did not have to form up in punishment square to watch someone be flayed. He was smart, I will give him that; he was not flagrant about it. If one were to casually glance at the reports turned in by each Centurion, he was only one or two men above the average per month, but it was consistently so. After being in charge of the Cohort for a year, I was able to actually spot a pattern, yet at that moment it was just a matter of a nagging feeling that something was not right. All in all however, things were running smoothly, which was a good thing since I was very distracted with my personal troubles. With every passing day the worry I felt increased, as of course every day guaranteed that Vibius grew more impatient, while Gisela was likely to throw more than a cup at me.
The gods answered my prayers in an unlikely way, by arranging the death of Celer’s father, who was summoned home to arrange his affairs. This meant that I could leave the Cohort in the hands of Priscus, and despite it taking a bribe to the Legate that made me wince, I was given leave to go home with Vibius, for a period of 60 days. Now all that was left was to tell Gisela, and once again I stood outside my house with a pounding heart, except this time I did not stand outside for any extended time, knowing that it was no use postponing any longer. I entered, and despite trying to act like it was a normal day, I made it no more than two or three paces past the front door when I was confronted by Gisela.
“What’s wrong?”
I froze; for a moment, I thought about bluffing and insisting that nothing was wrong, yet as I stood there trying to decide what to do, I actually saw her for the first time in a long time, and if it were possible, I fell in love with her even more. She was wearing a simple gown cut to accommodate her growing figure, a rich green in color that accentuated the green in her eyes. Her red hair was unbound, in the Gallic fashion, which I liked more than our Roman style, and her cheeks were flushed, something I noticed seemed to happen more often now that she was pregnant. Her head was up, her chin tilted outward in a defiant manner, but behind the mask I saw the worry in her eyes and I felt about as low as I could remember at the idea of causing her such concern.
“Nothing,” I began, but she cut me off with an oath in her native tongue that she was fond of using.
“Why do you think I’m a fool Titus Pullus? I know you better than you think. And I know what is bothering you.”
For a moment I thought she had presented me with a good way to introduce what I wanted to talk about. I could not have been more wrong. Before I could answer, she spat, “You have found another woman, and you’re about to put me out and move her in here.”
I was struck speechless, which unfortunately she took as a sign that she guessed correctly. We had just moved into the dining area, where the table was set for our supper. From it she picked up a plate and in a blur of motion hurled it at me, and it was only the reflex gained over years of battle that allowed me to twist my body out of the way just as the plate went whizzing by my head to smash against the wall.
“You bastard! You son of a whore! I knew you would do this!”
I was still rooted to the spot, completely shocked into immobility and speechlessness as she raged, her hands grabbing at another plate to throw. That finally spurred me into action and I crossed the room in two quick strides, catching her arm as it came forward. She struggled like a wildcat caught in a bag, yet I was careful not to grab her arms too strongly, being worried about the baby. She had no such concerns, so I did not see the foot come up to strike me violently in the groin, sending a lightning bolt of pain through my body, the breath leaving me in a great whoosh. For the first time since I could remember, I was knocked to the ground; the fact that it was at the hands of a pregnant woman did not even register, so great was my agony. I lay gasping for breath, and I was looking at her feet as she stood over me.
“At least you won’t be able to use that for a while,” she said with satisfaction as I cupped the part of my body she was referring to, groaning in pain.
“I……I’m not throwing you out for another woman, Gisela. I haven’t been with another woman since we’ve been together,” I gasped. I heard her snort in disbelief.
“It’s true,” I insisted, “I was going to ask you to accompany me back home to meet my family. I’ve been given leave, and I wanted you to come.”
Now, this is not exactly the truth, though at that point I did not see any reason why she needed to know that. I barely finished my sentence when she dropped to the ground to grab my head, smothering it with kisses and asking forgiveness. There are some times, I reflected as I lay there, where the truth is not necessarily the best idea.