Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  The Optio did remember to salute, but that seemed to be all he could think to do, as his mouth opened, then shut, then opened again, while nothing came out, which prompted Drusus to snap, “Well? What is it, Optio? Have you been struck mute?”

  This seemed to shake the Optio into speaking, although what he said certainly did not explain anything.

  “Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir, I’m not mute. It’s just that…” He struggled for words, then finally said only, “I think you should see it for yourself, sir. I can’t explain it.”

  Drusus muttered something under his breath, but he began to move in a manner that suggested he was going to do that very thing, except the German in command of the bodyguard actually stepped in front of him, saying in heavily accented but understandable Latin, “Sir, I beg you not to go outside! Who knows what kind of trap those…men outside are setting?”

  This clearly angered the Optio, which in turn seemed to give him stronger powers of elucidation, because he snapped, “If they can do what’s happening to the moon right now, then that would mean the gods are on their side!”

  It was mention of the moon that did it for me, and before I thought about it, I spoke up.

  “Proconsul,” I addressed Drusus, who turned and regarded me warily, “I actually think I know what the Optio’s talking about, and why the men are acting like that,” I jerked my thumb in the direction of the forum. “May I have your permission to go out and check and see if my guess is correct?”

  I was not surprised at the flash of relief on the face of the German, but I was a bit surprised by an identical expression crossing Drusus’, as if his desire to go outside was more for the sake of appearance.

  “Yes, Centurion Pullus,” Drusus answered immediately, then added, “but don’t be long. And,” he glanced over at the German commander, “take Sergovax with you in case it’s a trap.”

  It will probably not surprise anyone who reads this, since they will be of my blood, that I bridled at the idea I needed protection, yet somehow, I managed to keep my mouth shut, although I exacted a petty revenge by simply saluting, then turning about without waiting for Drusus to return it.

  Sergovax followed me, while I did the same behind the Optio, who looked over his shoulder at me, waiting until we were close to the flap to ask in a whisper, “You know what’s happening with the moon, Centurion? Because I don’t.”

  I was about to assure him that I did, then thought better of it, saying instead, “Let me see what’s what first.”

  Then, we were outside, where the remaining Legionaries guarding the entrance had actually stepped a few paces away, out from under the canopy so that they could gaze up at the sky. Technically, the Optio could have written them all up for abandoning their assigned post, and for not remaining alert, but considering that not one man out in the forum was doing anything any differently, this was one of those moments where it made sense for him to ignore it. Of course, he was as fixated on the night sky as everyone else, and it took me a moment to locate the orb that is normally the predominant feature of the night sky, despite there being very few clouds in the sky. Once I did, I felt a sense of, if not satisfaction, then relief that my guess had been correct, and I waited only long enough to discern the movement of the shadow across the face of the moon, then turned about, immediately bumping into the German in the process, who was as transfixed by the sight as everyone else.

  Just as I was about to step back into the tent, over the buzzing of talk from the mutineers, I heard the first distinct shout, “The gods are sending us a sign that they’re displeased!”

  That was the last intelligible thing I heard, but despite the darkness, I was still happy that my back was turned to the mutineers so they could not see me smiling. Entering the tent, Drusus had moved so that he was only a couple paces away from the entrance, his expression betraying the tension, and the strain of the previous watches.

  “Well?” he demanded, not bothering with returning my salute. “You said you thought you knew what it is. Were you correct in your guess?”

  “I was, sir,” I answered immediately, yet while I thought about playing the Stupid Legionary and saying nothing more, I discarded it as not the time, going on to explain, “It’s an eclipse of the moon. Although,” I allowed, “it doesn’t look like it’s going to be exactly the same as the one we experienced,” I had to think for a moment, and it caught me by surprise to say, “eighteen years ago. Although,” I added, “it was in the fall as well.”

  For an instant, I thought about explaining what I knew of eclipses, which was a bit more at this point in time than I had known the night by the lake, but I immediately realized that this could not only be seen as an insinuation that Drusus was not educated enough to know about such celestial movements, it would in all likelihood bring on questions about how a lowly Centurion, a man from the ranks, knew of matters that only the highly educated would understand.

  I am happy I did refrain, because it was Blaesus’ son who said, “I’ve always been told that these kinds of things are signs of displeasure the gods give us.”

  Drusus turned and gave the Legate’s son a look of such searing scorn that the son’s face turned red, without the Proconsul saying a word; indeed, he did not even dignify Blaesus’ comment with a direct rebuttal, other than to say, “Well, it sounds like those mutineers certainly seem to agree.”

  He was about to say something else when, adding to the sound of voices, suddenly there began a discordant, shattering noise, composed of cornu, bucina, drums, and I heard even the shrill sound of flutes that some men play for pleasure. I must be clear; this was not some tune they were playing, but just a series of random notes, blown without any sense of a rhythmic pattern, while whoever was banging on the drums seemed content to just whack the skins at random intervals. Simply put, it was a cacophony of noise with no discernible order; oddly enough, it was young Blaesus who knew what was happening.

  “They’re trying to drive the darkness away,” he explained. “They think that some evil portents can be forced to flee if they make enough noise.”

  He seemed somewhat embarrassed as he said this, but his mention of this practice jogged my memory, and I suppose I took some pity on him, because I exclaimed, “That’s right! I’d forgotten about that!” Turning to Drusus, I said, “The night it happened against the Taurisci, I heard some of the men calling for the Corniceni and Bucinator to start blowing notes.”

  “Did they?” Drusus asked, and I shook my head.

  “No, sir,” I told him, which was true enough, but not because they refused; it was not until the next day, when it was too late to do anything about it, that I overheard some of the men claiming that if we had done so, the moon would never have disappeared completely. “And it didn’t help.”

  “It won’t help them here either.” he said shortly, then considered for a moment, and when he asked his next question, I do not believe it was aimed at someone specific, but was perhaps meant more rhetorically than anything, “But I wonder if they’ll think that the gods are sending them a sign to desist in this nonsense?”

  Now, at that moment, if he had asked for my opinion, I would have said that it was unlikely in the extreme, yet it turned out that was exactly what was happening. The more religious men among the mutineers, seeing the face of the moon at least partially obscured, began declaiming that this was indeed the judgment of the gods on their deeds. This was not met with agreement; until, that is, the clouds that had been absent when I had gone outside, now moved in and completely obscured the moon, thereby preventing the men from seeing what I, and apparently Drusus, understood would be a temporary condition, with the silver orb disappearing for only a period of time. When there was no way for any of the mutineers, religious or otherwise, to see that the shadow that covered the face of the moon moved on and allowed it to shine as it normally did, this signaled the end of the mutiny for all intents and purposes. Frankly, it was quite shocking; at first, I, and I was far from alone, did not credit that the
se men, who had been so adamant for weeks about holding out for what they viewed as the justice due to them, suddenly gave up, simply because the moon disappeared. But, never let it be said that the superstition of men of the Head Count is not powerful, because over the period of the final watch before the sun rose, it became clear that this was exactly what happened, to the point where men came to the praetorium, begging Drusus to forgive them, while at the same time, asking that he take their petition back to Tiberius.

  Dawn was breaking by the time there was a semblance of formality, when a group of twenty men, which appeared to be equally composed of rankers, Optios, and Centurions, approached the praetorium in a manner that made it clear that this was both official and peaceful in nature, the latter signaled by none of the men being armed or armored, save the Centurions their viti. The Optio who had alerted Drusus about the eclipse still had the duty, where those of us who were late arrivals and did not have cots along the walls or in the quaestorium next door, were sprawled on the floor, trying to catch what little sleep we could. Naturally, Drusus was not with us; he had taken Blaesus Major’s quarters, unceremoniously expelling the Legate, which in turn meant that some Tribune was forced to shift for himself, but since it was his son, I suppose he was fine with it.

  I was in a light doze, having finally discarded my armor and helmet, using my sagum to bolster my head, when I heard someone speaking, coming fully awake when Drusus called loudly, “The mutineers are outside, requesting permission to speak with me.”

  This understandably created quite a disturbance as men sprang to their feet, none of us wanting to miss this moment, and I include myself in that number, despite only being involved for barely more than a full day. I did not don my armor, but I did strap on my baltea, more out of habit than any real belief that there might be trouble. As I moved to the back of the crowd of men as they gathered behind Drusus, there was a slight delay because the Proconsul deemed it important that he be properly attired, with the lictors due him because of his status as Proconsul, who had been relegated to sleeping in the quaestorium, attending to him. Finally, he deemed that all was as satisfactory as it was likely to be, and I watched from behind him as the younger man squared his shoulders, took a breath, then, following his lictors, stepped out of the tent, the flap held open by the Optio. Once Drusus was outside the tent, there was a somewhat comical scene behind him as all the upper class Romans, always concerned with their status among their fellow nobles, engaged in a mostly silent but spirited jostling match to be the next ones out. If this is a trick, I thought, you’re going to regret wanting to be sniffing Drusus’ ass. Thankfully, for all of us, it was not, and finally, I brought up the rear, meaning that I had to use my height to scan the party of men facing the praetorium. The fact that I immediately spotted Domitius was due less to his standing in front, along with Catonius, Clemens, and a couple other men I did not recognize, but that he was the only one with an eyepatch, and of course, I was looking for him. My concern had been that it would only be the three men who I now understood were the true leaders of the mutiny, but that was assuaged somewhat by the larger number of men who were standing there.

  It was actually Catonius who spoke, surprising me a bit since I had thought that Clemens would be the man to accompany Drusus, but there was nothing to fault in both his demeanor nor the salute he offered Drusus as he said, “Proconsul, we accept your offer to take our list of grievances back to the Imperator,” he paused for a moment, and I understood why when he continued, “and we humbly beseech you to advocate to your father, on our behalf, that he grant these…requests to address them.”

  I never had the opportunity to ask any of them, but I assumed then, and still believe, that the manner in which Catonius characterized their demands as requests had to rub many of the mutineers the wrong way, given how they had been essentially allowed to run rampant for so long. Regardless, I also thought it was an extremely intelligent thing to do, and I was equally positive that my friend Domitius had something to do with it.

  Then, Drusus opened his mouth, and just that quickly, I was certain that he would completely rupture this seemingly miraculous change.

  “Where is Percennius?” he demanded abruptly without acknowledging anything that Catonius said, his face rigid and his tone cold, which I found quite surprising. “Why isn’t he standing there with you?”

  This obviously caught Catonius, Clemens, and the others by surprise, while Domitius shot me a look that I took to be a silent inquiry, but I could only shrug, since this was a far cry from the manner in which the Proconsul had been behaving inside the tent.

  This was when Clemens either chose, or on some unseen signal, spoke up, informing Drusus, “Gregarius Percennius won’t be attending this meeting, Proconsul.”

  “Why not?” Drusus demanded. “He needs to be present to see this!”

  I cannot say whether Drusus caught Clemens exchanging a quick glance with Catonius first, then Domitius, who I was somewhat relieved to see was standing slightly behind the other two men, but I certainly did, and given the conversation that I had been part of just a watch before, I was certain that Percennius’ face would never be seen again.

  “Actually, Proconsul,” Catonius spoke again, “he’s…deserted.” This sounded hopelessly lame to me, but if it was, Catonius had clearly decided this was the horse he would ride. “Once it became apparent that we,” he turned at the waist and indicated the others with a sweep of his arm, “were willing to have you return to Rome, he seems to have decided that his presence was no longer welcome.”

  Drusus did not appear angry as much as flummoxed at Catonius’ claim, making me wonder what the Proconsul had had in mind for the actor; I got my answer when he responded, “Well, if you can’t produce Percennius, I want the men who were the most militant in this affair.”

  Thankfully, standing behind the knot of men, none of them saw me wince, followed by an angry glare at my friend when Domitius spoke for the first time, asking in a mild enough tone, “For what purpose, Proconsul?”

  “To be punished, of course!” Drusus snapped, and I was at the right angle to see the flush of red creep up his neck. “I am a Proconsul of Rome, empowered by Imperator Tiberius Claudius Nero, and I was assaulted! Those men who participated in this crime, and,” he pointed a finger at Catonius, which did not please the Centurion in the slightest, “those who either ordered or encouraged those men to behave in this manner must be punished!”

  And, as quickly as I believed that the mutiny had ended, any chance of a peaceful conclusion seemed to evaporate in the length of time it took Drusus to utter these words. However, if I had been irritated with Domitius a matter of heartbeats before, there are no words to describe how I felt when he stepped forward, past both Catonius and Clemens, to address Drusus.

  “Proconsul, I think there are some things we need to discuss in private.” His voice was calm, but I knew him well, despite our years apart, and I saw by the slight fluttering of his fingers as he drummed them on his thigh that he was feeling the tension.

  “There’s nothing more to talk about,” Drusus answered, and this time, I could not stifle a groan, which earned me a scathing look from Dolabella, who was standing a couple paces behind Tiberius’ son.

  With that, Drusus gave every appearance of turning about to reenter the praetorium, but to my surprise, it was Blaesus Major who, grasping the younger man by the elbow, whispered something in his ear. Judging from the manner in which he reacted, Drusus did not like what was being said, yet he did not jerk away, and he did listen. Once Blaesus was through, Drusus’ face was a study in consternation, while his words belied the irritation he was clearly feeling.

  “Very well,” he said stiffly, “we’ll talk in private.”

  Then, without another word, he turned and strode to the praetorium entrance, forcing me to step aside and the Optio to scramble to pull the flap back. As interesting as that was, my attention was focused solely on Clemens, Catonius, and Domitius, who held a whispered
conversation that only took a matter of a couple heartbeats, then much to my alarm, all three of them followed Drusus.

  As Domitius passed by me, I hissed, “What are you doing? There’s no way to keep your role secret if you go in there!”

  “I know,” he allowed, yet he did not slow down, “but this is too important.”

  “What about all that talk in your quarters?” I demanded, but in answer, he only gave me a small, sad smile and a shrug.

  Then, they were inside the tent, and the talking began.

  Not surprisingly, the discussion between the leaders of the mutiny and Drusus did not take place in the large outer area, but in the Legate’s private office, and equally unsurprising was that all but a small number of men were excluded from this crucial meeting. This meant that, like everyone besides Blaesus Major, Dolabella, and Sergovax, the latter who was there simply for security purposes, which caused a bit of hard feelings on the part of the trio of Centurions, the rest of us were left outside, speculating about what was taking place. Normally, it would have been a simple matter for one or more men to linger near the partition that served as the wall to the Legate’s office, but just before they disappeared inside, I heard Drusus order the other bodyguards to stand there to discourage this behavior. I smelled the hand of Dolabella in this, since I believe that Drusus was too distracted at the moment to think of this precaution; whoever it was, it meant I did not even bother trying to loiter and eavesdrop, although several Tribunes and, much to my surprise, even Galens tried, with no success. For a brief moment, I thought of going outside the tent, then decided against it, and more to pass the time, as well as distract my old Centurion, I wandered into the quaestorium, and requisitioned for myself some bread, cheese, and a jug of wine that was more water, returning and inviting Galens and Asinius to break their fasts with me; to my disappointment, Asinius demurred, but explained that he was going to take advantage of this lull to go check on his Century. Once Galens and I settled down, he wasted no time.