Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  “You’re coming in here with me to see the Legate,” he said abruptly, catching me completely by surprise.

  “Why?” I blurted, but while he did not owe me an explanation, he did not seem all that put out, answering me by saying, “Because you’re going to go with one of the Tribunes that the Legate chooses to go to Germanicus with the list of demands.”

  “Demands? What demands?”

  Sacrovir produced a tightly wrapped scroll from his baltea, telling me, “That bastard Regillensus gave them to me to give to Germanicus. He’s saying that they won’t accept anything Caecina offers, even if he gives them everything they want.” Shaking his head, he finished, “They won’t trust anyone but Germanicus.”

  “I still don’t see why I’m involved,” and at this, Sacrovir’s patience wore thin, and he snapped, “Because I told you that you’re fucking involved, Centurion! Or,” he had to look up to do it, but he pinned me with a gaze that was nonetheless chilling, even if I towered over him, “do you want to join those fucking mutineers?”

  “No, Primus Pilus,” I answered meekly, and perhaps my tone was conciliatory enough that he deigned to explain, “There are two reasons I chose you, actually. The first is,” he leaned back a bit as he held out his hand in a gesture that swept up and down, “because you’re one of the strongest men in the Legion, and I know that you’re the best with the gladius.” Whether it was his intention or not, this I heard with receptive ears; find a man who says he does not like being praised by a superior in such a manner, and you will find a liar. “The second reason is that you’ve served with Germanicus in a unique capacity, and I know he trusts your judgment.” Lowering his voice, I understood why when he continued, “And I don’t trust the Legate to inform Germanicus just how serious this is. He’s been in a state of shock since it happened, but when he does speak, he keeps saying that this must be just a…” his mouth twisted with the word, “…misunderstanding.” Something in my expression must have triggered the response, which was a harsh chuckle, and he said, “Exactly. Which,” his tone turned brisk, “is why you’re coming in with me.”

  Then, without saying anything more or even seeing if I was behind him, Sacrovir pushed through the flap. This was a breach of the normal procedure, but given all that had happened since the night before, it did not seem to be that important. Nonetheless, I was just behind Sacrovir and my view was partially blocked, but I saw enough, as one of Caecina’s bodyguards partially drew his gladius as he turned to face the flap, only relaxing when he saw that it was the Primus Pilus. This did not disturb me all that much; the terrified and even more undignified yelp of the Legate, who even though he was wearing his full armor, scurried to the far side of his office to place his desk between himself and what I supposed he thought was an attack, now, that did trouble me.

  “Oh,” Caecina muttered to Sacrovir, “it’s you.” He at least looked a bit embarrassed about his behavior, which, in the manner of many nobles, he then turned into anger, aimed at a safe target. Pointing a finger at me, he demanded, “Who’s this Centurion? And why is he here?” Then, he leaned over slightly to look past Sacrovir and for the first time, he seemed to actually examine me, and I saw a glimmer of recognition. “Ah, yes. That’s…” I pretended not to hear the slave whose station was at a smaller desk slightly behind and to the side of his whisper my name. “…Princeps Prior Pullus, of the Fourth Cohort of the 1st.” Suddenly, a look of alarm flashed across his face, and he turned to Sacrovir, “You’re not bringing him here to protect me, are you?” Cocking a head, he listened to the muffled sounds of the proceedings outside, then turned back to Sacrovir. “Do you think they’re going to attack the praetorium?”

  “No, sir,” Sacrovir answered without hesitation, then used this as an opening, producing the scroll. “We have the guarantee of…” my Primus Pilus paused for just the briefest instant, “…the leaders of this mutiny that they will make no moves against us here in the praetorium. Provided,” he had been crossing the room to the Legate, who still stood behind his desk while he was speaking, and he thrust the scroll out, “we send this list of demands to Propraetor Germanicus, and that he come here immediately to listen to the grievances of the Legions.”

  He had not given me any indication he was going to do so, but I somehow knew the use of Germanicus’ rank was no accident; meanwhile, Caecina was staring down at the scroll with an expression that practically screamed he had no intention of touching it.

  However, he suddenly frowned, as if something had just occurred to him, and we learned what it was when he said, “Wait, Primus Pilus. What did you say?”

  Sacrovir answered, “We have to send for Propraetor…”

  “No,” Caecina cut him off abruptly, “before that. You said this was a mutiny?”

  “Why,” Sacrovir replied, the surprise clear in his voice, “yes, sir. This is a mutiny.”

  “It is no such thing!” Caecina snapped. “This is not a mutiny or revolt of any kind!” He slammed a hand down on his desk, and I instantly noticed how neatly manicured his hands were. “I will not have you going to Germanicus telling him this nonsense that this is a revolt! It’s simply a…”

  “…Misunderstanding,” Sacrovir cut him off, which angered Caecina, though he did not say anything. “Yes, sir, you’ve said that before.” Since I was still standing behind and a bit to the side, I could not see my Primus Pilus’ face, but I recognized the tone when he went on, “Since this is just a misunderstanding, then perhaps you should be the one, in your rank as Legate, to go talk to the…men.” I guessed that Sacrovir had almost crippled himself by using a term that would only exacerbate the Legate’s agitated state but had recovered in time. “If that’s all it is, then I’m sure you’ll be able to straighten it out just by talking to them.”

  Caecina regarded the Primus Pilus with a poisonous glare, but I knew as well as Sacrovir that the Legate, under the best of circumstances, was a serpent with no venom, and these were far from the best of circumstances.

  And, as I was certain he would, he quickly broke his gaze, muttering, “Very well. Tell him whatever you want. I don’t care,” he concluded petulantly. Then, he turned his attention to the more important matter in his mind. “So,” he said hopefully, “you’re saying that if we send a messenger to Germanicus with these,” he still had not taken the scroll, just gave a disgusted wave in its direction, “demands, everyone here in the praetorium is safe?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sacrovir answered, then for the first time, turned to indicate me, “which is why I brought the Princeps Prior with me. I think he’s the best man for the job of riding to Germanicus, as far as a man from the ranks is concerned. But you need to select one of the Tribunes to go with him.”

  Caecina considered this for a moment, then turned and told the bodyguard standing nearest to him, “Go get Asprenas and bring him here.”

  It took a supreme effort of will for me not to groan aloud when I heard the name. Marcus Nonius Asprenas was the son of Lucius, who had been the Legate at Mogontiacum when Varus marched his three Legions into Arminius’ trap. While Asprenas acted prudently, and some said courageously, by leading his two Legions to the rescue of Varus’ survivors, during the intervening years, there had been persistent rumors that he had plundered the property of the slain. This did not seem to harm him in the eyes of the Princeps, and honestly, none of us cared much about what he might have done during those days. His son, however, was a different story, demonstrating the same kind of haughtiness and arrogance of the Tribune Paullus back in Siscia during Urso’s time as Primus Pilus of the 8th, although the only positive note that could be said was that he had not been given command of anything to this point. Asprenas arrived, and it was easy to see that the youngster was torn between trying to display a complete disregard for the mob outside that was separated from us by nothing but a thin layer of canvas and betraying the same kind of concern that those of us who understood the danger were exhibiting.

  “You called for me, sir?”


  I do not know how he managed to do it, but Asprenas’ tone conveyed his sense of annoyance that he had been pulled from whatever truly important task he was doing, counting the number of chickpeas left, perhaps. His air of indifference about the turmoil outside lasted as long as it took Caecina to inform him of the task he was being assigned.

  “Wait…er, excuse me, sir?” Asprenas’ reaction led me to believe that he had not really been listening to the Legate; perhaps he was trying to decide what vintage of wine would make the evening meal better. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “What’s to understand?” Caecina snapped irritably. “I’m entrusting you with carrying this…” he waved a hand at the scroll, which was still in Sacrovir’s hand, “…message to the Propraetor. It’s a matter of great importance and great responsibility. Or,” he gave the Tribune a hard stare, “are you acknowledging that you don’t possess the necessary qualities to deliver a message under admittedly difficult circumstances?”

  I ducked my head and studied my caligae, but Asprenas, as I assumed he would, responded stiffly, “Of course not, sir. It would be my honor to deliver any message to the Propraetor.”

  “Good.” Caecina gave Asprenas a smile, then turning his attention back to Sacrovir, he indicated that the Primus Pilus hand Asprenas the scroll, which he did. Then, when he said nothing more, Sacrovir cleared his throat, which was apparently enough of a hint, because the Legate went on, “Oh, yes. And,” once more, he waved a hand, this time in my direction, “you will be accompanied by Quartus Princeps Prior Pullus of the 1st.”

  Only then did the Tribune turn and give me a cursory examination, but he did not seem all that pleased by what he saw, and he turned back to the Legate; I learned why when he said stiffly, “I assume that I will be in command between the two of us.”

  “Of course,” Caecina agreed, and only then did Sacrovir speak up.

  “Sir,” he spoke to Caecina, “with all respect to the Tribune, I would suggest that, should there be trouble of some sort, Tribune Asprenas defer to Princeps Prior Pullus. He’s extremely experienced, and…”

  “And he’s a Centurion,” Asprenas cut him off. “I’m a Tribune. And,” Asprenas turned to address Sacrovir, “I can assure you that I’m every bit as skilled as your Centurion. I’ve devoted myself to my exercises on the Campus Martius with a diligence that was complimented by no less than the Princeps himself. Can,” he twisted slightly to regard me, his upper lip curled, “this man claim as much?”

  I was just opening my mouth to respond when Sacrovir, giving me a warning glance, cut in, “Actually, Tribune, the Princeps Prior was personally decorated by Germanicus’ father in his very first campaign as a Gregarius, and he served Germanicus as the Primus Pilus for the Legio Germanicus six years ago. I can assure you that the Princeps Prior is more than qualified.” Then, he said, “I can also assure you that you’re in good hands with Pullus.”

  Now, I cannot lie and say I did not like hearing this, yet at the same time, I inwardly groaned, knowing how likely it was that Asprenas would take offense at this, which was confirmed when, his face flushing a deep red, he said hotly, “And I can assure you, Primus Pilus Sacrovir, that I don’t need this man’s protection.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Caecina interjected, and for one of the few times, I appreciated his politician’s touch, “but nevertheless, it can never hurt to have two men who can handle themselves, neh?”

  Rather than mollify Asprenas, he seemed unsettled by Caecina’s words, and he turned back to the Legate to say, “We’re going to have an escort, of course.” I was watching Caecina then, but clearly Asprenas was not skilled at reading another man’s face, because he would have gotten his answer; instead, he went on, “We shouldn’t need more than twenty of your bodyguards, sir.”

  The silence that followed quickly grew awkward, before Caecina finally responded, “Yes, well. In light of the situation here, I can’t spare that many men, Asprenas.”

  “Then,” Asprenas’ voice was suddenly tight with tension, “how many can you spare, sir?”

  Again, Caecina did not immediately respond, while I exchanged a glance with the Primus Pilus, reading a mixture of amusement and scorn in his expression that I shared as these two noblemen wrangled with each other.

  “Frankly,” Caecina answered him, “none.”

  Only then did Asprenas think to glance over at me, seemingly wanting my support, to which I was more than happy to shrug off and say only, “As long as we’re allowed out of the camp, I’m not worried about any Germans.”

  This seemed to remind Sacrovir of something, because he turned back to Caecina, informing him, “About that. The mutineers have agreed to allow a party to leave the camp unmolested.”

  “I really wish you would not refer to them as such,” Caecina grumbled, but he turned to Asprenas and said with a confidence that sounded false to my ears, “See? You have nothing to fear, Asprenas.”

  “I’m not afraid!” Asprenas shot back, and I had to bite my tongue lest I react in a manner that exacerbated the situation, contenting myself with the thought, Then why are you so worried about a bodyguard?

  After some more back and forth, it was decided that we would depart in a third of a watch from the camp, and I was dismissed back into the outer office.

  “I’ll find you when it’s time to leave,” I said over my shoulder, again without thinking, which earned me a hard shove from the Primus Pilus, who was following me out.

  The only part of this process where Caecina allowed some of his bodyguards to participate was when they escorted Asprenas and me to the stables, where we quickly made preparations. Naturally, the Tribune had his own mount, while I was given the pick of the pool of spares, and we both chose an extra horse as well. The first clash between Asprenas and me came when he wandered over to where the mules were kept, selecting one and leading it out of the pen.

  “May I ask, Tribune,” I was polite enough, but I had already decided I would be damned if I called this youngster “sir” – he was younger than Volusenus, “why you’re selecting a mule?”

  He seemed more surprised than offended, answering, “For my baggage, of course!”

  “Baggage?” I echoed, not quite believing my ears and eyes. Shaking my head, I said, “Surely you don’t think we’re going to be stopping long enough anywhere for you to unpack whatever it is you’re planning on bringing.” Instantly, I could see that I had caught him out, but his pride would not let him admit that this was exactly what he thought, that every evening, we would camp, where I would erect a tent since we were taking no slaves, then he would sip wine in comfort, which led me to ask, “And you weren’t planning on bringing any of your slaves, were you?” A silence. “Were you?”

  His lips thinned down, and he expelled an exasperated breath, then a bit too roughly, yanked the head of the mule around, then slapped the animal on the rump hard enough to send it galloping back into its enclosure.

  “Fine,” he finally said sulkily, walking back to the horse, which had been saddled.

  I had not had long to talk to Macer, even less time to talk to Alex, but the one thing I promised them, and all within hearing, that we would ride as quickly as humanly possible to where Germanicus was, although we did not know exactly where he was at the moment. Not, I would add, that he would be hard to find; everyone within a fifty-mile radius would know where the governor of the province was staying. Leading our horses and spares, we made our way back to the praetorium, and I ignored the hard stares of the men who were loitering around the horse pens, although there were not many; most of them were still congregating around the forum where the floggings of those Centurions and Optios was still taking place, or so I assumed. Handing the reins to some of the bodyguards who had not removed themselves from their spot protecting the praetorium entrance, most of them watching the spectacle that I suspected that, deep down, they were enjoying seeing men being whipped who, under normal circumstances, looked down on them as being little better tha
n hired slabs of muscle. Asprenas headed immediately for Caecina’s office, while I chose to stay with everyone else, saying my farewells to Macer and Alex.

  “Take care of him,” I told Alex, pointing to the Pilus Prior, and while he still did not look very happy at being trapped inside this tent, he smiled at me and assured me he would.

  “Princeps Prior.” I turned to see Volusenus, who solemnly offered his arm as he said, “I’ll make a sacrifice to blessed Fortuna that you and the Tribune get to Germanicus quickly.” I was strangely moved by this; I suppose that it must have reflected in my face, because he gave me a grin and added, “Because the sooner you do, the sooner I can get out of here. It,” he actually made a sniffing noise, “is really beginning to stink in here.”

  I had to laugh, both because it was funny and he was correct; every passing third of a watch, the stench was getting worse, particularly since by this point, men were now pissing in a corner of the tent. So far, nobody had had to relieve their bowels, but I was thankful that I would be leaving before that happened. Sacrovir had moved to the opening, and although I did not see him disappear, he apparently had slipped out, because once Asprenas exited the Legate’s office, with a small bag slung over his shoulder which I assumed contained the precious scroll of demands, the Primus Pilus reappeared at the entrance. Neratius was now on his feet, though he was visibly shaky, and Alex whispered to me that Parmenion had informed him that he had lost an eye. Waving to us at the entrance, we approached Sacrovir, who was holding something, a wax tablet this time.