by Peake, R. W.
April arrived, and along with it the wagons containing the money with which to pay the men, rumbling through the gates under heavy guard. Its arrival was supposed to be secret, but it did not surprise me in the slightest to see the men lined up at the gate, chattering excitedly to each other about who was going to spend their money the fastest. The atmosphere was almost exactly that of a festival day, and to commemorate the occasion, the Centurions pooled their money to pay for a feast for the Legion. This was for the men only, no guests allowed, not even for the Centurions, including me, a meeting of warriors one last time. We spent as much money on wine as we did on the food, and we rented extra slaves, including cooking slaves who were supposed to be the best in the region, although Nicopolis still being such a young city that was not saying all that much. Fortunately, it does not take much to satisfy a soldier; quantity is valued over quality, meaning a few hundred pigs were slaughtered in anticipation of the coming event. We also paid for an extra milling of the flour to make it even finer, making the bread soft and golden. As one last surprise, we hired every whore in Nicopolis, even sending for women as far away as Athens, which we planned on announcing at some point in the feast, before the men were too inebriated to do anything about it. It was going to be a night to remember, even if most of the men would be unable to at the end of it. Tables were laid out in the forum, and I gave the provosts a hefty bribe, both to make sure that men from the other Legions did not try and sneak in, but also to look the other way when the inevitable high spirits brought out the equally inevitable violence. The evening of the feast came, and while Miriam did her best to hide it, I could tell that she was not happy. Finally, just before I left, she could contain herself no longer.
“You are going to find a woman that you like better than me,” she burst out, causing me to freeze in mid-stride as I headed for the door.
I could not help gaping at her, taken aback that this was her fear. I was expecting some sort of admonishment about drinking too much, despite resolving in front of her that this night I would not moderate myself like I usually did. I was unprepared for this, but I instantly knew that I was on very dangerous ground, on which I would have to tread carefully.
“Why would you say that?” I asked carefully.
“Because I am fat and disgusting, and why would you want to lay with me when you can have one of those thin, beautiful women?”
The tears started to flow, and I moved to comfort and hold her, which had become awkward because of her size.
Patting her on the back, I said in as soothing a voice as I could, “There's no other woman I'd rather have than you, no matter what size they are.” Thinking to lighten the mood with a joke, I gave her a swat on the behind then teased, “Besides, I like my women a little plump.”
That was the wrong thing to say, and it took some time before I was able to get things sufficiently calmed down before I could leave, with Iras glaring daggers at me. I stopped by Scribonius’ quarters, then met Balbus and Macrianus on the way. The forum was decorated, but in a very martial manner, with the standards of every Cohort and Century arranged around the edge of the forum. Behind the table set on the rostra, where the Pili Priores and I would be sitting, was the Legion eagle, flanked on either side by a pair of shields embossed with the Legion emblem. Crossed behind each shield were two javelins, while underneath the standard was a stand on which we placed our armor and helmet, with a highly polished helmet and matching mail shirt placed on it. Similar touches abounded, the legs of the tables wrapped in ivy in a symbol of our many victories. Those men who were decorated wore their decorations, including those of us who won Coronae Civica, Coronae Muralis or Coronae Vallaris, though in my case and of one or two others, we had to select which crown to wear. I chose the Corona Civica, because it meant the most to me since it was Scribonius that I had saved to win it. We wore just our tunics and belts, while no weapons of any kind were allowed, but we did not go as far as to search the men before they were seated. The men of the 10th Legion began to arrive, all of them in high spirits as they took their seats. Placards were placed on each table with the Section, Century and Cohort of the men assigned there, knowing that as the evening progressed there would be much shuffling about.
Taking their places, we waited for all the men to arrive, and I was pleased to see that there were no empty spots, this being the one duty that nobody wanted out of. Seeing that the entire Legion was assembled, I nodded to Valerius, who put the cornu to his lips, blowing the call to intente. As one, the men of the 10th Legion jumped up to snap to the position, the forum thunderously silent once the notes fell away. I waited several moments, savoring the sight of these men, my men standing in perfectly aligned rows, none of them moving or fidgeting in any way.
Satisfied, I filled my lungs to bellow, “SEATS!”
Again, as one unit, the men immediately sat down on their benches, but since they had not been given leave to talk, they remained silent. I believe that because they all knew that this was one of the last occasions the entire Legion would be together, and would be among the last orders that they would receive, this made it easier for the men to obey, as I had never seen them so quiet. I gave the signal to the serving slaves to fill every man’s cup with unwatered wine, although as the evening wore on I would have them cut it. Once all cups were filled, I stood on the dais, climbing onto my bench so that I could clearly be seen, my own cup in hand. Raising it, I spoke loudly but without yelling, not wanting to spoil the dignity of the moment, relying on the Centurions seated further back to relay my words.
“Comrades of the 10th Legion, Caesar’s Equestrians . . . ” This brought an appreciative chuckle, if only from those relatively few men who were part of the original dilectus and had witnessed the event firsthand.
“Most of us have come to the end of a long road together. For some men like me, most of your Pili Priores and a select few in your ranks, that road has been longer, as this is our second enlistment. All of us sitting here have been blessed by the gods to have survived hard fighting, hard marching, and even harder playing.”
Like I expected, the men roared their appreciation at my acknowledgment that they were essentially incorrigible wine drinkers and woman chasers.
“But let us not forget those of our friends and comrades who do not fill their seats. You will notice the section of empty tables,” I pointed to the area that I had ordered to be roped off, taking almost a third part of the forum.
“Those tables are for the comrades and kin that are no longer with us, men who fell at Philippi, in the bitter winter of Parthia and Armenia, and in all the battles we have fought for Rome. Let us not forget them, and let us always honor their memories.”
All of the men had fallen silent, many of them turning to look at the empty tables, each of them lost in the memory of a friend no longer there. I did not want to dwell on all that we had lost, but neither did I want to minimize the price we had paid.
“For you men of the second dilectus, and for those of the replacement draft, I have been your Primus Pilus for all of your time in this Legion. That means that most of you have known no other Primus Pilus, and it is my hope that you are as proud and honored to have been led by me as I am to have led you through all that we have been through together. To those comrades who started with me, now 32 years ago, you are brothers to me, and your deeds have been so glorious, so awe-inspiring that you set an almost impossible example for the men of the second dilectus to follow.”
I paused, happy to see that most of the men were leaning forward on their benches, listening intently.
“But it is with equal parts pride and regret that I must tell you that, from the viewpoint of your Primus Pilus, the men of the second dilectus have acquitted themselves with every bit as much courage, honor and professionalism as I could have hoped for, and their deeds have added to the glory of the 10th Legion. The 10th, more than any other Legion, has achieved a record that has made it famous throughout the world, and when our enemies learn they are
facing the 10th, they know they are facing their doom! All that we have achieved will live forever, and the name of the 10th Legion, of Caesar’s Favorites, will be on the lips of men for as long as they walk the Earth.”
I raised my cup higher.
“To the 10th!”
To a man, the Legion rose, hoisting their own cups in the direction of the dais and the eagle.
“The 10th!” they all roared as one, causing a burning in my eyes and a tightening in my chest, the swell of emotion threatening to overwhelm me.
That night I got the drunkest I had been since I was a young man in Gaul, with the wine flowing in a series of toasts made by one Centurion after another. Some of the men in the ranks, men like Vellusius for example, were even allowed to speak some words, though by the time his turn came around I am afraid I do not remember much of what he said. The evening was spent in regaling each other with stories, and I could not help noticing that Scribonius, Balbus, and a few others seemed to have decided to team up to tell stories that would be extremely embarrassing to me. However, I did not mind in the least; the way I saw it, my time as Primus Pilus was at an end so there was no need to preserve my dignitas in front of men who were leaving themselves. Scribonius, naturally, had the most tales to tell, and he had men roaring when he described one of the few times I sneaked out of camp with he and a few other men when we were tiros, the resulting night spent huddled in a ditch as we tried to evade the provost, who had chosen that evening to conduct a sweep of the very establishment we were frequenting. Frankly, I had forgotten about that until Scribonius brought it up, but once he did, I vividly recalled the feeling of terror at the thought that my career would be irreparably damaged because I wanted to be considered one of the boys. Many of my misdeeds and misadventures were brought up; thankfully, some of them both Scribonius and Balbus were involved in and none of us had any desire to make those known. I gave as good as I got; for as many tales Scribonius had to tell about me, I had as many to tell about my former Optio and best friend. Balbus fared little better, since I exposed his bizarre fascination with the idea of taking someone’s ball sac and turning it into a coin purse. The food was good, but most importantly it was plentiful, and I saw men loosening their belts a notch, always a good sign. The wine continued to flow, and I must confess that I forgot to tell the serving slaves to start cutting the wine, and it was not that long before things became raucous. As I, and the other Centurions expected, long-simmering feuds erupted, first with shouted words, followed quickly by a flying fist. Fortunately, no man tried to sneak in a weapon, or if they did, it was not used, making the worst damage some missing teeth and a broken nose or two. All in all, it was one of the most peaceful and enjoyable gatherings of this type we ever had. The evening began to wind down, mainly because men were becoming incoherent, but before I could officially adjourn the banquet, Scribonius and Balbus came from their respective spots to stand side by side on the dais, facing the men. They held their hands up for silence, which I thought was unrealistic of them at that point. Eventually the men took notice and began to settle down, except that it was not nearly as silent as at the beginning.
“Before we finish,” Scribonius cried out, waiting for those Centurions still sober enough to relay his words, “there is one thing that must be done, here and now.”
That quieted the men down more, while I eyed my two friends curiously, not having any idea what was in store.
“As all of you know, the Primus Pilus is not leaving the army, he is assuming a new post that is part of Caesar’s reforms of the army.”
Despite my bleary vision, I saw men nod their heads up and down.
Evidently so did Scribonius, for he continued. “He is being honored by Caesar by being one of the first of these new officeholders called the Camp Prefect. He will be the second in command of the army where he is stationed, only behind the Legate himself.”
Some men cheered this, while others started gazing about, clearly getting bored.
Scribonius clearly sensed or saw this, quickly getting to the point. “As a token of our esteem and our best wishes, the Centurions of the 10th Legion have selected these gifts to help him in his new post.”
I was completely bewildered, since I had never heard a whisper of any kind of gift. Balbus turned, waving his arm over his head, clearly signaling, and I strained to see a man on the far side of the forum, who turned to trot off in the general direction of the Praetorium. Meanwhile, Scribonius bent down to uncover a bundle that he had apparently tucked away underneath the dais, which I could not see until he pulled it up onto the platform. Pulling the cloth covering it out of the way, he lofted a cuirass, similar to the type worn by Marcus Antonius and Caesar, except it was not as ornate as theirs. Still, the workmanship was exquisite, and when he turned to allow me to examine it, I saw that it had two bulls facing each other, symbol of the 10th Legion. Centered underneath it was a prancing horse, while around all of it were garlands of ivy in filigreed silver. Although it was highly decorated, it was plain to see that it was also designed for function, made of a thin sheet of highly tempered metal, with the edges hammered and curled. It had clearly been made with my specifications in mind, because the chest was much wider than normal, and was longer as well to accommodate my torso.
“As you can see, this cuirass is decorated with the symbol of the 10th, and the horse is to commemorate the day that Titus Pullus was one of Caesar’s equestrians when they rode to face Ariovistus.”
Scribonius handed me the cuirass, the men cheering while I examined it, but they were not through. Balbus now stepped forward, waving again. I looked to the back of the forum to see the man he had signaled earlier, only this time he was leading a horse. The horse was gray, with dapples and when it drew closer, I could see that it was a magnificent beast. Its mane was black, outlining the line of its neck, thick muscles rippling underneath its skin with every step. It tossed its head, eyes rolling nervously when the man I could now see was Vellusius, brought the animal to the foot of the dais.
The men murmured appreciatively while Balbus began talking. “With his new post of Camp Prefect, the Primus Pilus is entitled to a horse, paid for by the people of Rome. Well, we are the people of Rome, aren’t we?” The men roared their answer, then Balbus continued. “And since the people of Rome don’t know how big the Primus Pilus is, we didn’t want him riding some swaybacked nag that could barely carry his fat ass.”
Only Balbus could have gotten away with this, while I was still too flabbergasted to take any offense even if I had been of a mind to, and he turned to shoot me a wide grin. I replied by way of an obscene gesture, which some of the men saw, causing them to laugh harder.
“So we present the Primus Pilus with this magnificent animal, from one of the best breeders in Cisalpine Gaul. And we will make sacrifice to the god Apollo Atepomarus that he never go lame and always carries you safely in and out of battle.”
Balbus waved to me to come examine the horse. I rose on wobbly legs, trying to focus and not do something horrible like trip over my own feet. Stepping down from the dais, I approached the horse, marveling at its size and the promise of power in its hindquarters, where the dapples were the most prominent. The horse nickered nervously, tossing its head and blowing at my approach, taking in my smell, the both of us sizing each other up. I reached out my hand, allowing the animal to sniff me and get my scent before putting it on his neck. He flinched but did not step away and I felt the warmth transfer from his body to mine.
“He hasn't been named yet,” Balbus told me.
I did not know what to say, almost overwhelmed by emotion. Even having ridden many horses by this point, starting with that steed on which I rode to face Ariovistus with the rest of the Equestrians, I had never owned a horse, let alone one of this quality. I thought about vaulting onto the beast’s back but quickly realized I was too drunk and the horse was not familiar with me, making the chances of him flipping me off his back or me just missing him altogether very high, so I refrain
ed. Instead, I took the lead rope from Vellusius, and holding the end I climbed back onto the dais. The men were standing and cheering now, making the horse even more nervous, and he began prancing about, almost pulling the rope from my hands. Rather than have a stampeding animal tearing through the packed forum, I handed the rope back to Vellusius, telling him to lead the horse away. While he did, I gave my thanks to Balbus, Scribonius, and all of the Centurions, but I cannot remember exactly what I said, still too choked by the sentiment they were showing me. The men were still standing, clapping their hands, cheering or calling my name, and I could not stop the flood of tears, forcing me to turn away from them so they could not see my weakness. Balbus and Scribonius came to me, both embracing me, then each man kissing me on both cheeks.