by Peake, R. W.
Finally, Agrippa said in a calm tone, “Pullus, I can understand why you're upset. But must I remind you that after tomorrow it will no longer be your concern? Your time as Primus Pilus is over, and the 10th is Caesar’s to do with as he wills.”
There was certainly no arguing that, yet it did not make me feel better; in fact, it made me feel worse, reminding me of my powerlessness. It took some effort, but I turned my attention back to more pressing matters, at least as far as I was personally concerned.
“So where am I going? Has Caesar decided that yet? Will I be going to Syria with the 10th?”
That idea did not distress me, thinking of Miriam and how happy she would be to be returning to her home. However, my hope was immediately dashed when Agrippa shook his head.
“No, Caesar has decided that you're going to be the Camp Prefect of the army in Pannonia.”
“Pannonia?” I considered this for a moment, and I cannot say that I was pleased.
My first thought was that I would be taking my wife and infant to a wilderness, a rough land that was still not completely pacified.
“What Legions are going to be there?”
“The 8th, the 11th, a new enlistment of the 13th, the 14th and 15th.”
“At least there’s one Spanish Legion,” I said a bit grudgingly.
“The area isn't as peaceful as we'd like,” Agrippa allowed. “The Legions won’t be all together in one place, you understand.”
“I wouldn’t expect them to be. Where are the other armies going to be stationed?”
Agrippa counted out on his fingers. “Syria, which I already mentioned. Pannonia, Macedonia, Hispania, northern Gaul along the Rhenus, and Egypt, which is a special case.”
“How so?”
He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Because of Egypt’s importance to Rome, Caesar has decreed that nobody of Senatorial rank may govern there, nor hold the post of Legate. In fact, at least in the beginning the Camp Prefect will be the ranking Roman military commander.”
That seemed to me to be the most important post, and I was a bit offended that I was not considered for it.
“Who's going to be in Egypt?”
“Balbinus,” he replied.
Ah, I thought, that confirms just how much of Octavian’s man the Primus Pilus of the 12th actually had been, and continued to be. Octavian would clearly not entrust Egypt to just anyone, unless he was absolutely convinced of the man’s loyalty. Neither of us spoke after that, since it was clear that our business was concluded. I stood to leave, thanking him for the meal, then we clasped arms once more, and I left with my mind full of all that I had learned that night.
“Ten years?”
I stood watching Miriam’s eyes fill with tears at the thought, and I had yet to tell her where we would be living. I decided to delay that, taking the coward’s way out but not wanting to distress her even more.
“It was the only way I could get Scribonius and Balbus into the Evocati,” I explained, then told her of Octavian’s decision to do away with the Evocati altogether.
“And Balbus and Scribonius mean more to you than your wife?” she asked accusingly.
“No,” I protested. “Don’t you want them there with me to protect me?”
I thought it was the smart thing to say, but this only deepened her anxiety.
“I thought you were done with the dangerous work.” Now the tears began to fall freely, so I moved to her to try and offer her some comfort, but she was having none of it, pulling away instead.
“I won’t be in the front line of battle, but being in the army is not without risk,” I said as gently as I could, fighting my own irritation. How could she not understand that as long as I carried a sword there would be danger of some sort?
“You’re happy about that,” she accused. “You want to risk your life. You’re like a man who loves his wine too much and cannot live without it or you will become sick.”
I opened my mouth to protest, then recognized that it would do no good. Arguing with a pregnant woman is a hazard, not only to one’s peace of mind but to their health.
Thinking to change the subject, I asked, “How are you feeling today?”
“How do you think I feel? I can barely move about, the baby is kicking me night and day, and I cannot get comfortable no matter what I try. And now my husband is telling me that he lied to me about how much longer he has to stay with this cursed army.”
It could be worse, I thought to myself. I could tell you that you’ll be in the wilds of Pannonia for at least the first part of those ten years, but for once, I wisely held my tongue. Instead, I called for Iras, who came into the room with an almost identical expression of a man afraid of walking into an ambush, peering cautiously at the two of us standing across from each other.
“Your mistress is unhappy and uncomfortable,” I said sternly. “Why aren't you attending to her needs instead of off mooning about Gaius?”
“Don’t be mean to her. She isn’t the one who is causing me grief and anguish, you are! Why don’t you just leave and go back to your precious army? You love it more than you love me!”
She and Iras stood there glaring at me. I knew that I was beaten and that it was time for me to make my retreat.
“Fine,” I said over my shoulder as I left. “If that’s what you want, I'll go. But don’t get angry at me for being gone.”
“Don’t tell me how to feel,” she yelled as I walked out the door.
If this was what Gisela had been like, I thought, I did not regret missing out on any of it.
“Ten years?”
For the second time I was asked the question, this time by Scribonius and Balbus, sitting across from me in my quarters in camp. They looked at each other, then Scribonius spoke, presumably for the both of them.
“I don’t know that I like the idea of being responsible for you being tied to the army for five more years. How does Miriam feel about it?”
I gave him a rueful grimace. “How do you think she feels?”
“I can’t say that I blame her all that much,” he replied.
I sat looking at the both of them, the thought suddenly blossoming in my mind that they would turn the offer to join the Evocati down.
“You aren’t thinking of turning it down, are you?”
Balbus spoke for the first time. “Scribonius is right. I'm not any happier at the idea of you doing ten years than he is, but mainly because I think that means we'll be doing ten years too.” He gave a slight shrug before continuing. “And as much as I love you as a brother, Titus, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in the army. Five years is one thing, but ten is another. I’ll be more than sixty by then.”
I always tended to forget that as old as I was, men like Balbus and Scribonius were older. Scribonius was just three years older than I was, but Balbus had been in Pompey’s 1st Legion when he was selected to fill the ranks of the 10th during the first dilectus, and he had been 22 then. Granted, he was still in excellent condition, and like me had never been seriously ill during his time under the standard, but I could not argue his overall point.
“Caesar wants to do away with the Evocati altogether,” I pointed out. “The truth is that I doubt that he’s going to want an Evocatus around ten years from now, or even five years from now. And we all know that what Caesar wants he gets.”
“But why agree to the ten years if you think that's the case?” Scribonius asked.
“Because I'm about as sure as I can be that it was always going to be ten years no matter what,” I answered, for that was the conclusion I had come to, given Agrippa’s quickness in bringing it up. It became clear to me that whether or not it had always been in his plans, Octavian had determined that the post of Camp Prefect should be at least ten years in duration, and I was convinced that allowing Scribonius and Balbus into the Evocati was just a ruse on his part. They considered this, while I waited for their decision.
“Fair enough,” Scribonius finally said, looking at
Balbus, who nodded his agreement.
“We’ll do it. Personally, I don’t much care if it is ten years. I know that I'd be bored if I went back to Rome and became a man of leisure. But I understand Balbus’ concern. He’s already an old man,” he grinned at our friend, who gave a mock scowl, punching Scribonius in the arm, not lightly either.
Turning to me, Balbus said, “I’m in. But if you’re wrong and I find myself doddering around in uniform ten years from now, I'll kill you.”
“If Miriam doesn’t do it first,” Scribonius added helpfully.
The retirement ceremony took place the next day, with the rest of the army on parade to watch as each section was called forward, while a brief account of their service record was recited, including the decorations earned, the campaigns and battles they participated in, and finishing with the wounds received in battle. Then they moved as a group to the paymaster’s table, where each man was given his retirement bonus, minus of course any amounts still owed to the army. This should have been an occasion of great joy, but more often than not left men cursing bitterly as amounts for lost and broken gear added up, proving once and for all that the army never forgot. It was at moments like this that one could see exactly where all those myriad forms and pieces of paperwork went, while it was especially vexing because some of the gear was destroyed through no fault of the men. What seemed to anger the men the most was the deductions for gear that was lost when our baggage train was destroyed during the first Parthian campaign, which was through no fault of any man in the Legion. That did not matter to the army, however, since the money was still deducted over the protests of almost every Legionary. Fortunately, there was still a lot of money left over, so it was more grumbling than anything more incendiary or dangerous. Regardless, it cast a pall over the process, which was trying enough because it took the entire day. Once paid, the men returned to their spot in the ranks to wait for their comrades to go through the ordeal. Since the men were retiring, we allowed them to stand in loose formation or walk about within their Centuries and Cohorts, which helped pass the time.
Agrippa was seated on a curule chair, underneath a canopy, face impassive as he oversaw the proceedings, and he had told me that he wanted to say some words once all the men were paid. The other Legions were not so fortunate, required to stand easy but unmoving while they watched the 10th perform their last duties. The men of the 10th who would be staying behind looked on as well, yet they seemed to share in some of the joy at seeing their friends receive their reward at long last. I knew that foremost in every onlooker’s mind was the thought that one day, if the gods willed it, this would be them as well, which helped keep them settled down as they watched. The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time the last men were paid off and had returned to their spot in formation. Agrippa rose from his chair, walking to the rostra of the forum, as I turned and called the Legion to intente.
“Veterans of the 10th Legion,” Agrippa began, pausing to allow his words to be relayed by the Centurions. “I come on behalf of Caesar Divus Filius, Princeps of the Republic, and father to you all.”
This was the first time I heard Octavian referred to as Princeps, but was certainly not the last.
“He has sent me, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, to thank you personally for the service you have rendered Rome, and to oversee the payment of your well-deserved bonus and plots of land. All that you are receiving is in recognition of your sacrifice, but I am also required to remind you that your duty to Rome does not stop. For those of you settling in Pannonia, I call on you to be vigilant, to show the natives of the region the proper respect, but never forget that you are Legionaries of Rome, and she may yet call on you in the event of an emergency.”
The men remained silent, their faces registering their barely concealed boredom and impatience. However, his next words got their attention, except I do not think it was in the way they were expecting.
“I remind you of Caesar’s clemency, which he granted to the 10th for their choosing to march for the deceased Marcus Antonius, for which each of you should be eternally grateful. Caesar, as father of the Legions, is a loving and forgiving father, but his forgiveness is not infinite, so I offer this warning to you that such actions as have been taken by other veterans will not be tolerated with veterans of the 10th by Caesar.”
The angry buzzing started immediately, my own jaw tightening in anger at his words. I had hoped he would drop this insistence on casting the 10th as mutineers because of their service with Antonius, but clearly he had not. He appeared unmoved by the obvious outrage of the men at being characterized in this manner, staring back at us without blinking.
Continuing as if he did not hear the muttering in the ranks, he said, “Remember these words, and heed them. There has been enough unrest and bloodshed, and the citizens of Rome have grown tired of seeing its veterans being the cause of the trouble. I call on each of you to refrain from falling into those habits, and to keep faith with your father, and with Rome. I wish each of you the best of health and fortune for however long each of you has in this world of the living, and offer up this final prayer.”
Lifting his hands skyward, he tilted his face up, uttering the prayer that was always said before going into battle.
“Jupiter Optimus Maximus, protect this Legion, soldiers all.”
Agrippa was wise enough to know that there would be no applause for his stark warning disguised as a parting farewell. Mercifully, it had been much shorter than I, or anyone for that matter had expected. Without saying a word, he abruptly turned to walk off the rostra, heading to the Praetorium, his scarlet paludamentum swirling behind him. I thought briefly of going after him to confront him about his words, but quickly dismissed the idea, knowing it would only make matters worse. Instead, I turned back towards the Legion, and seeing the looks of hurt and anger on their faces, made a quick decision. Striding from my spot, I mounted the rostra. The other Legions were in the process of being dismissed but most of the men, seeing me and curious about what I would say, did not leave the area, choosing to stay and listen.
“Comrades of the 10th Legion,” I cried out. “And you will always be my comrades, for as long as we live. You heard Marcus Agrippa, and if you are like me, you do not like the taste his words left in our mouths.”
Men nodded, shouting their agreement, while I calculated on how far I could go.
“But Agrippa is wrong,” I continued. “You did nothing to deserve the scorn or censure of any man, even a man as wise and powerful as Caesar, or Marcus Agrippa. At the time we left Philippi under Marcus Antonius, he was the legally appointed Triumvir, named as such by the Senate and People of Rome. We were given no choice in the matter, but neither did we complain, and we did our duty, and we did it well. Your friends, your relatives who died in the cold of Parthia, or in the fighting in Armenia, or who took sick, neither did they do anything to be ashamed of, and they did NOT die as rebels against Rome!”
There was no way that Agrippa did not hear the roar of the men shouting their defiance, and I looked over to see that even men of the other Legions were cheering. I held my hands up, waiting for the men to quiet down.
“That does not make everything he said unwarranted. Whether we want to admit it or not, many of our brothers have been the source of much of the trouble during these last years. So I am asking you, as your Primus Pilus, a man who knows you and your hearts, to do as Agrippa asks and become productive and peaceful citizens. It would cause me a great deal of pain and anger to learn that any of my men have become bandits, or are causing problems with their actions in other ways. This is not an order; it is a request.”
I stood there, surveying the men, then I filled my lungs for the last command I would give as Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion.
“10th Legion, you are dismissed.”
The men were allowed to remain in the camp overnight. However, the next day, they had to leave immediately, naturally making that last night a riotous affair, men saying their final goodbyes, not onl
y to the men of the replacement draft but to those friends and relatives in other Legions as well. I spent the night in the camp, giving Miriam the excuse that men would be coming to say farewell and I did not want her being disturbed, except the reality was that I did not want to get my head bitten off. Miriam was a month away from when the child was due, and I did not relish the thought of spending that time without any distractions. I had been given two months to make my way to Pannonia, except there was no way that Miriam would be able to travel so soon after the birth of our child. I had arranged for Vellusius and Agis to accompany Miriam, and Iras of course to Pannonia. We would be living in the town of Siscia, which had been what passed for the capital of the region, being taken by Octavian five years before. The camp was located on the outskirts of the town, but according to men who had seen it, the camp had actually been connected to its walls for added protection. This would present a challenge in keeping the men from spending too much time in town, and as Camp Prefect, I supposed that solving this problem would fall on my shoulders. Now that I had learned the identities of the Legions that would be in Pannonia, there was one more task to complete, which would be getting young Gaius transferred out of the 10th as soon as possible.
But I have said enough for now; both Diocles and I need a rest. It has been several days since my old friend Ocelus and I have enjoyed each other's company as well, because when I am absorbed in a task, I tend to forget everything else. Only the gods know how many days we will have together, yet I need to refresh myself, for there is still so much to tell, of more fighting, killing and dying, and of the rise of the man who assumed Caesar's mantle, taking Rome into a new era. And I am still one of the only men left who can tell the world of the role my comrades and I played in changing our Republic into the new form we see today, Titus Pullus, Legionary of Rome.