by R. W. Peake
“We need to get back to camp and see what the situation is,” he told us, but Cornutus was not willing to give up on the night’s debauching, complaining, “For what? I say we stay here and offer the Princeps toasts in his memory! I know he’d appreciate that.”
Before I could stop myself, I gave a derisive laugh, knowing that of all the men there, there was only one who had even been in the presence of the Princeps, and that was me. Macer shot me an inquisitive look, but I gave a small shake of my head, sending the message that I had no intention of explaining why I had reacted in the manner I did.
“Well, Cornutus,” Macer countered, “he very well may, but there will be time for that later. We need to go…now.”
We had all learned that Macer had a certain tone in his voice that told us when he was no longer debating or discussing a topic, that he was giving an order, so we all rose to our feet, save Cornutus, who was either already too far in his cups or, for some unfathomable reason, had decided this would be a good time to test our Pilus Prior.
“I don’t see what the hurry is.” He was actually pouting, reminding me that he could become quite petulant if the mood struck him. “It’s not like he’s going to come back to life.”
“Get on your feet,” Macer snapped, and at first, I thought Cornutus would disobey, staying seated for a long span of time, glaring up at our Pilus Prior.
But finally, with a great show, he dragged himself to his feet, grumbling under his breath as we hurried out the door, leaving the turmoil of men trying to understand what was ultimately the inexplicable as far as they were concerned. Leaving them behind, we walked in a group, quickly seeing that, unsurprisingly, the news had already spread throughout the town, as small clusters of men wearing soldier’s tunics, most of them carrying viti, were hurrying back in the same direction we were heading. Meanwhile, the citizens of the town had come flooding out into the streets, where women were sobbing, and even men were shedding tears, all of them betraying their true concern; what now?
“What do you think’s going to happen?” Macer asked me in a low tone, while the rest of the Centurions followed behind us.
“Whatever has happened already has,” I pointed out. “I don’t know exactly how long ago it was, but Augustus didn’t just die. It’s been at least a week, so if someone is going to try and take over the title First Man in Rome, it’s already happened.”
“True,” he granted, but then he shot me a sidelong glance, “unless that someone happens to actually be in Gaul right now.”
I did not hesitate in reacting, shaking my head and replying without any hesitation, “No. Germanicus wouldn’t do that. He’ll abide by the Princeps’ wishes.”
Macer shrugged, saying only, “I suppose you would know,” but the manner in which he said it told me he was not convinced.
And, truthfully, he had good reason to feel this way, and I knew he was far from alone. Tiberius was certainly respected by the men of the Legions, but he was not loved, and Germanicus had both from those of us under the standard. If I am being completely honest, I cannot say that I would have been upset all that much if he had made his bid for power, despite the fact that it would have put me in quite the dilemma. Although it had been some time since my last…errand, as far as I knew, I still was considered one of Tiberius’ men; at least, Dolabella had never appeared in my quarters and informed me that I was no longer bound to the man. Still, ever since I had been Germanicus’ Primus Pilus of the short-lived Legio Germanicus, I had recognized in the younger man the kind of essence that I had envisioned Divus Julius possessed, back when he was a little-known Praetor in Hispania, and a sixteen-year-old Titus Pullus, underage but oversized, had enlisted in the dilectus for what became known as the 10th Equestris. And, as events later proved, Tiberius was the man who was most suspicious that Germanicus harbored dreams of usurping him in his role as Augustus’ heir, and who is only now being referred to as our second Imperator. None of this, however, was known to us as we returned to camp, but as put out as Cornutus was by the early end to our evening, fairly soon after our arrival, the provosts were sent out by the Legate left in command by Germanicus, Aulus Caecina Severus, the same man who had been involved in the Batonian Revolt, to recall all the men out in town, ordering them to return to camp immediately.
“He’s going to make the announcement that Augustus is dead,” Macer surmised, but then added in a whisper, “and who knows what else he might say? What if he declares himself for Germanicus?”
I was beginning to become irritated with my friend now, so certain was I that, if it even occurred to Germanicus to declare himself for the title of Imperator, it would not be because he had been pressured into it by our Caecina, which is what we called him. Instead of saying anything, I just sighed, resigned to the fact that Macer would not believe it until he heard it from Germanicus’ own mouth, whenever he returned from Gaul. Having our Pilus Prior thinking along those lines was bad enough, but when we split up to return to our respective quarters and wait for the rest of our men to arrive from town, Volusenus followed me, making it obvious he wanted a word with me.
“Pullus,” he blurted out within an eyeblink after me shutting the door to my private quarters, “what if the Pilus Prior is right? What if Germanicus declares himself as the rightful heir to the Princeps?”
As frayed as my patience had become, I could see that the younger man was genuinely worried; besides, now that we seemed to have reached a level of, if not friendship, then cordiality, however tenuous it may have been, I did not want to rupture that.
Forcing myself to respond with a patience I did not really feel, I said, “While I don’t see that happening, what exactly is your real question? Are you asking if I think the 1st would declare for him? Then march with him to Rome?”
As I hoped, putting it this baldly seemed to bring him up short, and he blinked several times before he answered with a frown, “Well, yes, I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”
Deciding on the fly to indulge Volusenus, I turned my mind to thinking about something I had refused to consider before this moment, yet despite my opinion not being changed about Germanicus’ likely actions, I did feel a stirring of unease. This sense was brought on by the combination of the event that precipitated this conversation, the death of Augustus, and the current mood in the 1st, and 20th as well. Although I had not personally been to Mogontiacum or up to Vetera, there was enough intercourse between these major Roman forts to know that, while it was impossible to determine the degree, the air of disgruntlement was certainly permeating the Legions stationed in those places at least as much as it was present in Ubiorum. Suddenly, what had seemed to me to be about as remote a possibility as pigs sprouting wings was not so outrageous. Indeed, the more I thought about it, the more I recognized that, if Germanicus did in fact harbor ambitions, he would find a receptive audience in the men of the Army of the Rhenus.
Outwardly, only a matter of a heartbeat or two had passed, and I answered Volusenus honestly, “If Germanicus did something that mad, then yes, I think it’s possible that our Legion would give him our allegiance. The 20th as well, I’m fairly certain. As for the other Legions?”
I ended with a shrug and shake of my head, but Volusenus was not done.
“And?” he asked quietly, his eyes suddenly intently studying my face to a point it was uncomfortable. “What would you do?”
Quite abruptly, something inside me seemed to freeze, forming a cold ball somewhere between my chest and stomach, the thought lancing through my mind; why is he asking me this? Is it curiosity? Is he looking for some sort of guidance? Or, is he working for someone? And if so, whom?
Finally, I said, “I don’t know, honestly. I think it depends on what Germanicus had to say when he got back here and what reasons he gave for his decision.”
“But what if you don’t agree with his reasons for doing it, but the men around you do?” he pressed, and I relaxed slightly, understanding that this was probably the real cause for his ques
tioning, that he was looking for some sort of guidance. “Would you still refuse to follow him? Or would you go along with everyone else in order to…” His voice trailed off, but I finished for him, with a laugh that sounded harsh in my ears. “…stay alive, you mean? So that you don’t have to worry about your own men killing you?” The look of relief on his face was intense and unmistakable, and he nodded vigorously. “Yes. That. I mean,” he faltered a bit. “It’s just that, with the way the men have been behaving and all. I just think that it’s something to think about.”
This, I realized, I could not argue, not that I was any more convinced that this was even a remote possibility, but I was actually impressed by Volusenus’ questions, because it indicated to me there was a sense of honor and duty to Rome in him that he foresaw might put him in a position where he had to worry about being slain by men under his command by refusing to either go along or be swept up with the rushing tide.
Thinking to assuage his worry, I offered, “Honestly, I don’t think it will come to that. Besides,” I added, “one other thing I learned from my grandfather and father: you can’t spend your time and energy worrying about something that you can’t control. And Germanicus is going to make his decision without any input from us.”
He still did not seem convinced, but he also clearly saw that I had been as patient as I was willing to be, so he thanked me, then immediately excused himself, leaving me to watch as he left my quarters, his shoulders barely clearing the door, and only then because he twisted his torso. Once more, I was struck by the oddest sensation, thinking, that must be what I look like walking away. Indeed, as I thought about it further, I realized that I did precisely the same thing, turning my body slightly so that I could fit through a standard doorway without touching the doorjamb. Having someone my size around was turning out to be quite the unusual experience, though I quickly dismissed that line of thought, sitting down and waiting for the sound of our men returning and knowing they would be unhappy about it, no matter what the news may have been.
As it turned out, neither Volusenus nor Macer, nor any other man of a like mind, had anything to worry about, at least about Germanicus trying to seize power, and I believe the truth of this started with the speech given by Caecina. Just as I had predicted, the assembly that was called and was held by torchlight by the time both Legions had been assembled was for the purpose of the Legate announcing what every man now knew, and absolutely nothing more. Frankly, I thought it a bit of a waste of time, since everybody had already heard of the demise of our Princeps, but I also knew that the Roman upper class feels obligated to perform certain functions, no matter how useless they might be. Nevertheless, I will say that it was clear that the Legate was deeply affected by this news; there was a quaver to his voice that was normally not there, but more telling was that, given my position in the front rank formed by the front-line Cohorts, I could see the glistening of his tears, caught by the dancing light of the torches. Not lost on me was that there was in all likelihood a fair amount of self-interest, and frankly, worry about the demise of Augustus, if only because Tiberius had made it clear that he placed much of the blame of what occurred during the Batonian Revolt on his shoulders, but thanks to the intervention of the Princeps, he was still in favor.
“We have suffered an enormous loss,” I remember this part of his words, mainly because of what happened immediately afterward, “one that will take months, perhaps even years before any of us can fully comprehend its meaning. But,” his voice became firmer, “Rome itself will endure! It will endure because our wise and beloved Princeps ensured that there would be an orderly succession of power. And now, it is the turn of Tiberius, who was known as Tiberius Claudius Nero but is now Tiberius Caesar Divi Augusti Filius Augustus, to guide us, to lead us, to inspire us to continue performing our great deeds…for Rome!”
Now, I cannot say there was not cheering for these words of his, but even in the torchlight, I could see that Caecina heard the same thing I did: a distinct lack of enthusiasm. If he, or I for that matter, had known this was as good as it was going to get that evening, I wonder if he would have said anything differently, or perhaps not made his announcement at all. The trouble began almost immediately after he finished, and before he could even give the order for dismissal.
“When is the new Imperator going to address our grievances?”
“What’s Tiberius going to do about our bonuses?”
“Are you going to speak for us with Tiberius so we can get what’s coming to us?”
This is just a sample of the hundreds of shouted questions that I was able to hear before everything became a hopeless jumble of noise that drowned out the combined efforts of Centurions and Optios to get men in hand. Before a span of twenty heartbeats, the completely verbal nature swiftly turned into physical demonstrations as men left their spot in the ranks, raising their fists and shaking them at the Legate and his staff. While the Legate himself did not look frightened, his staff did, although he was clearly disturbed by the vehemence on display, only made worse when some Centurions were unable to stop their men from surging forward, leaving their spots in the formation to approach where Caecina was standing on the rostrum. Fortunately, as far as I was concerned at least, I turned about quickly enough and liberally used my vitus, with Structus right beside me swinging his turfcutter handle, so that our Century, while they may not have stayed in place, at least did not get past us and close to the Legate. Being occupied with my own concerns, I could not pay much attention to what was going on around me, but afterward, we all agreed that it was every bit as loud as any battle we ever fought, and chaos reigned for several moments. All but two of the staff of Tribunes fled back to the Praetorium, so that only Caecina stood there as if rooted to his spot, refusing to not only move, but even to acknowledge that men were trying to press in on him, although I have no idea what any of them had planned if they did manage to come face to face with him. I do want to stress that, at this point, none of the men wanted to harm the man; this was the consensus among the Centurions and Optios, just that they wanted to present their long-simmering grievances to him personally.
Finally, a semblance of order was restored, just long enough for the Legate to formally announce the end to the formation, and only then did he return to the Praetorium, walking in a studiedly unhurried manner, sending the message that he was unafraid of the men under his command. Without being told to do so by him, a couple dozen Centurions, equally divided between the 20th and 1st from what I could see, and including myself, turned and faced the men, forming a curved line around his path back to the headquarters. While we said nothing, I was secretly hoping that someone from the ranks would try to get past us, because I was seething with anger. As far as I was concerned, the men had behaved like rabble, little better than animals, and it was an affront to my sense of what it meant to be a Legionary of Rome that they had comported themselves like this. Nevertheless, while this may sound odd, when it came down to the substance of the complaints on the part of the rankers, I was largely in agreement with them. Despite my intention to serve under the standard for as long as I was able, I did and still do think it was extremely unjust for the Princeps to change the term of enlistment, and do so for all men currently under the standard, and not just for new enlistees. In matters of pay, because of Augustus’ odd genius for the minutiae of regulations, coupled with his insistence on a strict obedience to the letter of every one of them, monetary fines that had been overlooked in the past were no longer treated in this manner. This was more of an issue for the longer-serving men, most especially those on their second enlistment. These men, while relatively few in number, who could count their service back to the first decade of what is now called the Empire, were seeing fines being levied for things that, when they began, were not against regulations. Little by little, over the years, the Princeps had seen fit to add more rules where the punishment was monetary in nature; just a handful every year, but over time, it was not uncommon for even the most senio
r rankers to have almost half of their pay deducted because of a missing lace or a broken javelin shaft that their Centurion had deemed to be damaged because of negligence and not normal wear and tear. The quality of the food had gone down in recent years, and men were now often augmenting their normal rations out of their own purses. This, naturally, was a boon to the merchants in town, and was one large reason why Ubiorum’s growth had been so explosive. In fact, many enterprising merchants in the town offered a valuable service, offering various bits of gear for sale, usually at a price just a few obols less than what the army would deduct from a man’s pay for replacing it officially. And just as naturally, there were always the sharp operators who offered items that may have appeared to be identical to that issued by Rome but were made of shoddier material, something that any semi-competent Immune could spot and identify as essentially being counterfeit. And, several years before, Augustus had introduced a regulation strictly forbidding the substitution of pieces of equipment bought from outside merchants that were not approved by Rome, so what often ended up happening was that a ranker, in a bid to save some money, might end up out not only the money he paid for the shoddy piece of gear, but for the official piece…and the fine for violating the regulation. All these things, in and of themselves, were bad enough, but when you also factored in the number of Centurions and Optios who, like my former Primus Pilus Urso, saw their men as a means of income over and above what Rome paid to lead these men, it was easy to see, at least for me, why the men were so unhappy. Regardless of these things, and my personal sympathy for many of their complaints, the manner in which the men behaved that evening was shameful, and once they were in hand and we marched them to our respective areas, I made directly for Macer’s quarters. Not surprisingly, I was greeted by the others, and we entered as a group, making our way through the outer office, where Vespillo rapped on the door, then entered without waiting for Macer to respond. Normally, this would have been a breach of custom that would have prompted a sharp rebuke, but our Pilus Prior was clearly expecting us, as was Lucco, who had already poured five cups; I noticed that Macer had obviously drained one because he was already holding his, which he held out for Lucco to refill.