Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  As young Blaesus was speaking, I kept my eyes on Drusus, conferring with the Centurion and Legate, trying to get a sense of the tenor of whatever it was they were discussing. I saw Drusus nod his head, then he wheeled his mount and came trotting back in our direction, although he only came within hailing distance.

  The mutineers had quieted sufficiently for him to be heard when he called out, “Dolabella, Centurion…” He did seem embarrassed that he had forgotten my name, but he clearly indicated me with a gesture. “…Lentulus, Blaesus and my personal bodyguard and lictors will come into the camp with me. The rest of you will remain here…”

  I was not particularly surprised that Sejanus cut him off in mid-sentence, nor the fact that Drusus’ face darkened, his jaw setting in a manner that reinforced the unfortunate resemblance to a turtle, as the Praetorian Legate said hotly, “That’s unwise…sir! Very unwise! I insist that I be allowed to bring at least one Cohort of the Praetorians with you.”

  “This isn’t your decision to make, Sejanus!” Drusus snapped. “My orders stand. You’ll remain here, outside the camp. The Legate has guaranteed my safety.”

  Sejanus was not impressed in the slightest, that sneer of his returning as he shot back, “He’s been their prisoner for almost two weeks now, but you can see for yourself there’s not a bruise on the man! There has to be a reason for that.”

  “I told you the reason!” Blaesus turned his horse, clearly furious, and while I was not nervous, strictly speaking, I was acutely aware that Dolabella and I were in between Sejanus and the Legate’s son.

  “That’s your version of what happened,” Sejanus countered, then in what I could only think was a deliberate insult, ignored Blaesus and returned his attention to Drusus. “Sir, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to…”

  “Allow me?” Drusus did not shout, exactly, but just by the expressions of the mutineers nearest him, they clearly heard him. “You don’t allow me to do anything, Sejanus! I’m the one with Proconsular authority here, not you! You answer to me, not the other way around.”

  I was curious as to how Sejanus would respond; from what I had seen, I thought he was likely to respond in the same tone, but instead, he held up a placating hand, and to my ears, his voice had a wheedling, sycophantic quality to it as he replied, “You’re right, of course, sir. It’s just that your father, the Imperator Tiberius…”

  “I know who my father is,” Drusus cut him off, “and I know that he sent you along to watch out for me. And,” the young Roman took a deep breath, “I do appreciate your concern. But I am in command here. You and the rest of the Praetorians will wait here. Now,” the manner in which he deliberately turned away from Sejanus could not have been a clearer rebuke, “we’ve wasted enough time. Come with me.”

  Without waiting to see if we obeyed, he wheeled his mount and went at the trot to where the Legate and the Centurion from the 9th were waiting.

  “If you let anything happen to him, Dolabella,” Sejanus hissed as we began moving, “I swear by the Furies I’ll flay you alive.” I glanced over at Dolabella, curious to see how he would respond, but he chose to ignore it, although I noticed his face went a shade pale, but before we got out of earshot, Sejanus called to me, “That goes for you too, Centurion! Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!”

  As far as I remember it, it was Latobius who, of his own volition, spun about on his hindquarters and brought me back to face Sejanus; since I was already there, I suppose I decided that this was as good a time as any to make another enemy for life.

  “The only way someone like you could take an inch of my skin is with help,” I said, and while my voice was as calm as I could make it, for the second time recently, I felt that beast inside me begin to uncoil itself, a small fire beginning in my belly. “You wouldn’t last a dozen heartbeats facing me, Sejanus. Apparently,” I added this as I turned my horse, “your spies in the Legions aren’t nearly as good as you think they are, or you’d know that already.”

  When I cantered up and rejoined Dolabella, he gave me a sidelong glance, then with a sigh, simply asked, “What did you do this time, Titus?”

  The way he said it made me laugh, and I replied cheerfully, “You know me. I like making friends wherever I go.”

  This made Dolabella chuckle, but it did not last long, and he reminded me, “Remember what I said about him, Titus. He’s a dangerous, dangerous man.”

  “Well,” I shot back, still grinning, “so am I.” Seeing that it had been the old man who joined us, I thought I knew his identity, but I asked Dolabella, “Is that Publius Cornelius Lentulus? The former Consul?”

  “You’re partly right,” Dolabella allowed. “He was a Consul, but that’s Gnaeus Lentulus; he was co-Consul with the other one.”

  I thought for a moment as I tried to recall what I could about this lesser known Lentulus, finally asking, “Wasn’t he the Legate who conducted a campaign against the Getae? That didn’t go so well?”

  “The one and the same,” Dolabella confirmed, then he looked over and warned, “And I would be careful about saying that where Lentulus can hear you, Titus. He’s…sensitive about that. Yes,” he allowed, “he’s old, but he’s still powerful. And,” he grinned as he finished, but I knew he was being serious, “you’ve already made Sejanus your enemy. Try to keep it at that.”

  And with that, we followed Drusus and the others, right into a trap; it turned out that Sejanus was right after all.

  Chapter Nine

  We did not realize immediately that we had been lured into what was essentially a trap, as we were allowed to ride all the way to the forum, while the mutineers formed a corridor of sorts similar to what had been waiting outside the camp. And, much like the scene on the other side of the turf wall, these men were shouting at Drusus, listing their grievances, demands, and pleas for his father to heed them. It was disconcerting, even though I was not the real target of this outpouring of anger, frustration, and if I am any judge of things, hope that someone would hear these men. While they managed to maintain a certain amount of distance from our party at first, as we progressed down the Via Praetoria, the men began crowding in on us, until Drusus’ bodyguards were forced to place their mounts on either side and behind the Proconsul and Lentulus, essentially leaving Dolabella, Blaesus, and me to shift for ourselves immediately behind them, with me on the right side, while the poor lictors, the only men of our party afoot, were left to fend for themselves. Not, I will confess, that their plight worried me all that much, if at all. Latobius was getting nervous, so I was more occupied with curbing him than really paying attention to the men, other than making sure no hands reached out to snatch at his bridle, or me for that matter, which meant I was caught completely by surprise when, through the clamor of voices, I heard my name called.

  “Oy, Pullus! Pullus, you big bastard! What are you doing here?”

  It took several heartbeats, and me slowing Latobius to a halt, which he did not like at all, as I scanned the crowd of upturned faces, but even then, it took me a moment to pick out the man calling my name. I believe I can be forgiven, because the last time we had seen each other, he was impossible to miss with a shock of bright orange hair, which was almost completely gone now, while the remaining fringe had faded in color to a more muted bronzish color intermixed with gray.

  “Tuditanus?” I pointed, having to almost shout over the men around him who, understandably, did not care about two old comrades seeing each other for the first time in more than a decade. “What happened to your hair?”

  Despite the circumstances, my former comrade and fellow tiro laughed, revealing several teeth missing from my last memory of his smile, patted his bald pate, and answered cheerfully, “I got old! And thank the gods, because nobody has mentioned my fucking hair for years.” He gave me a mock glare as he said, “Until you showed up.”

  Even as he was saying this, he was pushing his way through the men nearest me to reach my side, and I confess that, while I was happy to see him, I was also a bit ner
vous as the rest of Drusus’ party continued moving and none of the bodyguards, or Dolabella for that matter, seemed to notice I had dropped off. Still, I leaned down and clasped his arm, but when he pulled my arm, hard, my heart leapt as I thought, this is a trap! I should have had more faith in my friend, because he stood on his tiptoes, and pulling me down, kissed me on both cheeks, making me feel foolish for doubting him.

  Then, he whispered urgently, “Percennius has something planned, but I don’t know what! Clemens doesn’t know about it and neither does Domitius!” He released me then and resumed speaking in a normal tone, “If you have a chance, come find me and we’ll catch up!”

  I think I only managed a nod, but I put Latobius into a trot to return to my party; by the time I did, Drusus was leading us onto the forum, where I could see that, just as I had left him, Percennius was seated on the curule chair, except now there were even more men surrounding him. This was the moment when, even above the continuing noise of the men, the sounds of a cornu sounded from behind us, except that it was nothing more than a single note and not a series that denoted a command of some sort. Twisting about, because I was mounted, I could see over the heads of the men, and was greeted by a sight of men, fully armored, carrying their shields and javelins, swarming up the ramp to the rampart on the Porta Praetoria side.

  “Pluto’s cock! We’ve been betrayed!”

  It was Dolabella’s voice I heard a heartbeat before the noise level rose so dramatically that I could not pick out any one individual’s voice, but the manner in which the German bodyguards reacted, some of them peeling off to encircle our entire group, including the lictors, and facing outward, forming a sort of mounted orbis, while drawing their gladii, was what mattered. Those men nearest us began scrambling out of the way, since none of them were armed, shoving their comrades out of the way in their haste to get out of the reach of the Germans. I had very little time to observe any of this, because Latobius began reacting to the sudden change in atmosphere, and I had an instant’s warning as I felt his muscles suddenly contract underneath me in a manner that told me he was about to rear. It was just enough of a warning that I was not unseated, and it did serve to scatter the men nearest me; it was while I was getting Latobius under control that there came the blast of another horn, but from a different direction, and from the bucina, which has a much sharper sound. Latobius had just returned all four hooves to the ground when I turned to see Percennius, standing on the rostrum that he had been perched on, but he was holding his arms up, bellowing something at the top of his lungs. I could not make it out, but apparently Drusus could, because I saw him turn and say something to the German to his immediate right, who clearly did not agree with it, shaking his head vehemently. Only when Drusus pointed a finger directly in his face did the bodyguard relent, reluctantly sheathing his gladius, and I realized that the noise level had dropped enough I could hear him bellow the order to his comrades to do the same. Gradually, things died down enough, with the mutineers surrounding us actually backing farther away, in a clear signal to us they meant no immediate harm, so that Drusus felt confident enough to close the distance to the rostrum. By this moment, both Dolabella and Blaesus had reached Drusus, his bodyguards moving their own mounts so that they could flank him, but I was still separated and behind them by a few paces, the distance between us the only clear space within this small formation. My head continued to swivel back and forth, as did those of Drusus’ bodyguards, and while our weapons may have been sheathed, our hands were on our hilts, ready to draw them. Fortunately, the men immediately surrounding us seemed almost as confused as we were, and most importantly, not disposed to make any overt, violent action. Instead, their attention was, like ours, on Percennius, still garbed in a toga, who remained standing with his arms extended, palms outward in a peaceful gesture.

  “We mean you no harm, Proconsul!” I finally managed to hear what Percennius had obviously been repeating as the din gradually subsided, to a point anyway.

  Behind us, in the direction of the Porta Praetoria, the power of hundreds of lungs shouting meant that there was still a fair amount of noise, although it was impossible to make anything out from that direction. Before Drusus responded, I saw him turn his head, say something to Dolabella, who in turn twisted in his saddle, searching me out. Meeting his gaze, I interpreted his lifted eyebrow, followed by a jerk of his head in the direction of the figurehead of the mutiny standing on the rostrum as my purpose for being there, and I gave a nod, whereupon he turned back and informed Drusus.

  Who wasted no time, speaking at just short of a shout, demanding, “What is the meaning of this, Percennius?”

  The former actor affected an air of surprise that was clearly exaggerated, and as he had done with me, he bowed with a flourish, answering, “I am both honored and surprised that as powerful a Roman as the Proconsul Drusus Julius Caesar would know my name! But, I assure you, sir, you and your party are perfectly safe. As I said, we mean you no harm. This is just a…precaution.”

  “A precaution against what?” Drusus snapped, while I took advantage of the exchange and nudged Latobius forward, drawing up just behind the Proconsul, who indicated our party, saying, “We are here to listen to your demands, and…”

  “Listen? Listen?” Percennius interrupted him, and a part of me marveled at this man’s effrontery. More importantly, both the tone and volume of his voice changed as he straightened up, and made a sweeping gesture as he called out, “Do you hear that, my brothers? Our Imperator has sent someone here to ‘listen to our demands’!” Suddenly, he pointed a finger down in an accusatory manner, not at Drusus but at Blaesus’ son, saying harshly, “If this…noble Roman did what he swore on Jupiter’s black stone to do, then you would have already known what our demands are and you would be here simply to let us know whether your father is acceding to them or not! Clearly, the Tribune went back on his word!”

  As I was certain Percennius knew it would, this elicited a loud roar of anger from the men surrounding us, the noise sufficient that I could feel the vibration caused by their shouting up through Latobius’ body. The mention of Blaesus’ son also reminded me of the Legate, but my view of him where he, and presumably the Centurion Clemens had been, ahead of our group, was obscured by the bodies of both men and horses of those in front of me.

  “He did no such thing!” Drusus had to shout this, and I heard the note of what sounded like desperation as he added, “I misspoke! We know what your demands are! That’s why I’m here!”

  And, just like that, Percennius’ seeming outrage vanished, and once more, he held his arms aloft, making a quieting gesture with both hands, which worked quite quickly.

  “That,” Percennius smiled, “is good to hear.”

  My guess is that, in the moment, Drusus felt the need to at least try and reassert some form of control, because he demanded, “Now that that’s cleared up, you need to explain the meaning of this…precaution? Is that what you called it?” Only then did the young Proconsul twist in his saddle to indicate behind us, and our eyes briefly met, though he gave no sign that he even recognized me. “Why do you have armed Legionaries manning the walls of this camp?”

  “Only to ensure that our negotiations take place without any…interruption,” Percennius answered smoothly, although I felt certain he understood that we did not believe him. “You came with quite a potent force, after all, Proconsul,” the former actor continued, “and, given the current mood, it would be far too easy for something to happen that neither of us want.” He gave an exaggerated shrug, but what he said next, while it sounded as if it was an afterthought, seemed to carry a deeper meaning, at least judging from the manner in which Drusus reacted. “Given the identity of the man who’s commanding those Praetorians, I think it’s a sensible precaution.”

  I could not see his face, but Drusus visibly stiffened in his saddle, and I was sure that the actor’s comment would elicit something in the form of a verbal rebuttal or justification; instead, Drusus said only, “Be
that as it may, we do have much to discuss.” Pausing for a moment, he said pointedly, “In private, preferably.”

  Even as he said this, I had to stifle a groan, which was drowned out by angry protests from the men, while Percennius opened his eyes wide in such an overblown display of surprise I began to suspect that perhaps the reason he was under the standard now had nothing to do with his politics and everything to do with his lack of ability as an actor.

  “In private, Proconsul?” Percennius shook his head, also in an exaggerated manner, replying, “I’m afraid that won’t do, sir. Why,” up went the arms again, “we have no secrets from each other here! We are united, with one cause and one cause only, and that is to right the wrongs that have been done to us, both as men under the standard and as Roman citizens! There is no need for any of what’s discussed to be secret, is there, my brothers?”

  Naturally, the ground once more shook with the roared agreement of the mutineers gathered in the forum, most of them also thrusting one or both fists into the air in a further sign of their solidarity. For some reason, I was struck with a thought, wondering how it had been decided which men would be here, wearing nothing but their tunics and baltea, and which would be armored, manning the walls as they waited for an attempt by Sejanus to storm the camp. Not, I realized, that it mattered at the moment.

  It took more than a dozen heartbeats before the tumult died down enough that Drusus could be heard, but he signaled, if not his acceptance then his recognition that, for the time being, he was going to be playing this game the way that Percennius wanted by asking plaintively, “May I and my party at least be allowed to dismount?”