Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  Once more, I was unsure what to say; this entire episode that I had spent with Dolabella had been with a seemingly different man than the one I almost throttled very early in an association that now stretched almost two decades.

  “Why did you do that?” I blurted the question before I could stop myself, and he looked every bit as embarrassed as I felt.

  Finally, he gave a shrug and said simply, “Because you deserve to be recognized for what you did, Titus. That’s all.” Only then did he look up directly at me, then gave a self-conscious chuckle. “But I can see why you’d be suspicious of me, given our history.” Then, before I could respond, his tone turned brisk and businesslike, and he indicated the satchel again. “But that’s not all you’re carrying. Drusus is sending a dispatch to his brother, along with a personal letter.”

  The dispatch was not that surprising, but a personal letter was, prompting me to comment, “I didn’t know they were that close.”

  “They’re not,” Dolabella answered, and I sensed there was some worry in his voice, then allowed, “or at least I didn’t think they were.” He gave me a shrug that signaled he was not going to comment more, finishing with, “Just make sure Germanicus gets both.”

  The mention of his name reminded me to ask, “Speaking of, was there any word from Germania about what the situation is?”

  To this, he could not do anything other than shake his head. “No, nothing.”

  Then, there was no reason to delay; I still had roughly a half-day of daylight, and I did not want to waste it, yet for some reason, it felt as if my feet were rooted to the spot, and I know now that I was simply stalling for time when I asked Dolabella about his plans.

  “I’m going back to Rome with Drusus,” he confirmed my guess. “Then?” Another shrug, yet this one seemed more…fatalistic than uncertain. “Only the gods know where I’m going.”

  “Well,” the words came awkwardly, “whenever you get to Ubiorum again, be sure and find me.”

  “I always do,” he answered cheerfully, but then he realized my true meaning. Something flashed across his face, an expression I had not seen often, if at all, then he added, “And, yes, I certainly will.”

  He offered me his arm, which I took, but I confess I was not ready for him to pull me into an embrace, yet I did not resist.

  Thankfully he did not try to kiss me, but his voice was husky as I turned to mount Latobius.

  “Travel safely, Titus Pullus.”

  “You as well,” I answered, then added, “and watch your back.”

  “Always,” he assured me.

  I turned my mount and immediately went to a trot; this was the last time I saw Tiberius Dolabella, and I suspect that, deep down, I knew this.

  Now that it was the middle of October, there was a bite in the air, but at least the passing countryside was more colorful, as the trees shed their leaves in many varieties of color. Using the power of Drusus’ seal, which was now presumed to be the symbol of at least the third most powerful man in Rome, I was able to switch out mounts for both myself and the young couple at relay stations, enabling Latobius to have some respite, since I was determined to cover the distance as quickly as possible, something of which I pressed the importance on Titus and Algaia. It was on the second day, north of Emona, that we spotted a single rider approaching from the opposite direction, riding at a steady canter. As he drew nearer, I recognized the cloak that designated he was a member of the courier system established by the Princeps. Knowing that they are under strict instructions not to stop for any purpose, such as being hailed by a stranger on a deserted road, I did not have much time to think of a way in which I could get him to at least inform me from where he was coming. Ordering Titus and Algaia to remain where they were, I trotted a few yards ahead, then perhaps a handful of heartbeats before it would have been too late, I was inspired to extract my travel pass, turning it so that Drusus’ seal was facing towards the approaching rider. Once I did, I arranged Latobius, the pack animal, and my spare horse in a manner that blocked the road, holding the scroll up so he could see it. Now he could have easily gone off the road to go around me, and frankly, I was expecting him to do so, but I suppose this was a sufficiently odd sight that he slowed, first to a trot, then a walk, once he was about a hundred paces away.

  “Salve, brother!” I called out, thinking that using an appellation that Legionaries often use with each other might help my cause. “I’m Titus Pullus, Quartus Princeps Prior of the 1st Legion, returning from a special assignment on behalf of Proconsul Drusus Claudius Nero!”

  While I had been speaking, he had slowed even more, and there was no mistaking his suspicion, but I did not blame him for his hand on the hilt of his gladius.

  “So?” he finally spoke. “What’s that to me? And why are you trying to stop me?”

  “I’m not trying to stop you,” I assured him. “It’s just that I’m heading back to my camp at Ubiorum, and when I left, things were…” I searched for the correct way to describe the situation without using the word “mutiny,” settling on, “…a bit unsettled there.”

  This prompted a snort from the rider, who looked a bit old to be one of the members of the couriers, but he did reply, “That’s certainly one way to put it, Centurion. But,” he repeated, “what does that have to do with me?”

  “Nothing, other than that I’m looking for information about what happened while I was gone. And,” I added, “what I can expect when I get there.”

  “You know I can’t let you know anything about what I’m carrying and who it’s for,” he countered, yet he did not seem particularly hostile, which I took as a good sign.

  “I know,” I agreed, “but all I want to know is what’s happening there. I don’t want any details about it, just whether or not things are settled.”

  “Settled?” He gave a sharp laugh. “I don’t know about that, Centurion. But,” he hesitated, staring in my direction, his eyes going from my face to the scroll, which I was still holding up, “if you toss me that scroll so I can see the seal up close, I’ll consider telling you what I can.”

  This was far from ideal; nor, I realized, did I have any choice. Yes, he was well mounted, and between the condition of his horse and my knowledge that a relay station was less than a dozen miles up the road, it was within the realm of possibility that he would immediately try to escape. I suppose, however, I had enough faith in Latobius, who I was sitting on at the moment, along with my own horsemanship so that, somewhat reluctantly, I tossed the scroll to him. He caught it quite deftly, then turned it so he could examine the scroll.

  “I’ve seen enough of his seal to know this is genuine,” he said finally, then tossed it back, though while I managed to snatch it, I was not nearly as adept as he had been. “So, what’s your question, Centurion?”

  Now I would have thought it was obvious, but despite the sharp retort that came to my lips, I managed to ask, “Is the mutiny over?”

  “No,” he answered immediately, and I do not know whether it was because my distress was so obvious, but he pointed to the leather tube attached to his back. “In fact, what I know is this is a dispatch from the Proconsul’s brother, informing him that he’s in the process of negotiating with the Legions.”

  Once the initial stab of alarm ebbed somewhat, I was about to ask more questions, then thought better of it.

  Instead, I simply thanked the man, but when he did not move immediately to resume his progress, I realized that he was waiting for a reward more substantial than some words. Without thinking about it, I produced a small handful of coins, then urged Latobius forward, and when I drew abreast of the courier, I dropped them into his hand, which was outstretched.

  “It seems like you’ve done this before.” My voice was cold, but while he blanched, he neither denied it nor withdrew his hand.

  With a jerk of my head, I signaled that he could resume his journey, while I indicated that Titus and Algaia could join me. I imagine there was a huge difference in our respective heart
s; mine was still troubled, and in some ways, was even worse than when I had departed from Pannonia, while he was probably happy to earn a few coins.

  We reached Mogontiacum a week after leaving Siscia, and for the entire day before I reached what is now the largest city in this part of Germania, I tried to prepare myself for what I would find. Knowing that the mutiny was not yet over was certainly disturbing, but while the one in Pannonia supposedly was, many of those men were still disgruntled and, if no longer outwardly angry, were sullenly waiting to hear from Tiberius. And, I felt confident, if he refused to accede to any of their demands, matters would return to their former state of open insurrection, which ironically enough, would at least not make the continuing intransigence of the Rhenus Legions be quite so obvious. While I had more faith in Germanicus and his ability to soothe the collective mood of the Army of the Rhenus, I was not sanguine that the result I was sure would happen in Pannonia if Tiberius refused would not be duplicated in Mogontiacum, and Ubiorum. This was why, once the walls of the city came in sight and I could make out enough detail, we pulled up and I simply observed for several moments, watching the outer gate. That it was open I took to be a good sign, but I was most concerned with the flow of traffic, particularly since I had not passed as many other travelers that would be normal for this time of year. After thinking about it, I realized that it made sense that an event like the mutiny would disrupt the flow of commerce and travel for a period of time beyond the end of the insurrection, prompting me to resume my progress. Reaching the gate, I briefly waited while the town watch examined the cargo of the wagon in front of me, giving me a bit more time to observe my surroundings. There were no extra men to be seen, nor was there anything more than the standard lone man standing in the tower, watching the southern road. Once it was our turn, all it took was the flourishing of the pass from Drusus, along with the explanation that my two young companions belonged to me, something I had warned them I would be saying in order to avoid answering awkward questions, and we were allowed into the town. To my eye, everything appeared normal, or at least close to it. Perhaps the people who were going about their business gave us a wider berth than normal, and I caught more than one glare as I passed by, but otherwise, it could have been any other day in the town, another good sign as far as I was concerned. The real proof would be when I crossed the bridge and went to the whole purpose for the very existence of this now-thriving town, and as always, I could not help marveling about how much things had changed in the twenty-two years since I first visited this place, when it was nothing more than a frontier town, with the smell of raw wood, plaster, and cac. Ordering Titus and Algaia to dismount and wait on the civilian side of the bridge, I crossed over to the camp. Just as it had worked at the gate, my pass got me in with a minimum of fuss, although I headed not to the Praetorium first, but the Quaestorium, to arrange passage on the next barge traveling downriver to Ubiorum, where Drusus’ pass worked in the same manner. Passing the Praetorium, I saw the small pennants hanging outside that informed me that both the 14th and the 2nd were in their permanent camp in Vetera, another good sign as far as I was concerned, although I also knew that these two Legions had not revolted in the first place. For some reason, it was not until this moment that I recalled a similar one, when I had been carrying a pass impressed with the seal of the man who was now our Imperator. The result with this pass was the same as the one belonging to Tiberius; there was a barge leaving at dawn the next morning, and I was given space for myself, the two youngsters I claimed were my slaves, and our horses, although I left the spare mounts behind. I could have requisitioned space for myself in the camp; instead, I opted to return to the town and take a room at one of the inns, not particularly wanting the worry of Titus and Algaia in an unfamiliar military town, but while I would have normally paid extra for accommodations that catered to members of the equestrian order, this time, I wanted to hear what the civilians of my class were talking about. My reasoning was straightforward, that the Head Counters of Mogontiacum would have a closer connection to the members of their class under the standard, and thereby I felt confident I could get a better, more accurate sense of the mood of the army, rather than hearing the Tribune who took my orders tell me what he had been instructed to say by the Legate. It is true that I could have prowled around the camp, but given the climate, and the fact that I was from the 1st, and I had already been accused of being an instigator of insurrection, I decided against it.

  Returning to find the pair where I had left them, I led them to the inn I had selected, then once I took care of Latobius and the pack horse, while Titus and the girl did the same for their mounts, we retired to the common room of the inn, tucking ourselves into a corner, then ordered some food and drink. Normally, I consume my meals quickly, but while I was certainly hungry, satisfying my appetite was not the most important matter to me at this moment. I was noticed, naturally, and at first it was clear that the other people, an assortment of wagon drivers, merchants of modest means, and, of course, a sprinkling of women who were plying their own trade, were all cautious about what they were saying, their eyes continually darting in our direction. As time passed, and more importantly, wine flowed, and no doubt aided by the presence of two youngsters who were clearly attached to me in some way, gradually I was forgotten, so that by the time we had finished our meal, and I had consumed two cups of wine that I cut with water, my fellow travelers were chattering away, and naturally, the topic was the mutiny. More accurately, they were talking about the actions that Germanicus had taken upon his arrival in Ubiorum, which sounded very much like exactly what Drusus had done, declaring that he could not make a decision of this magnitude on his own, and had sent for guidance from Tiberius. Perhaps most importantly, there had been no word of any real violence, at least of a scale that news of it reached these citizens of Mogontiacum. This piece of information was comforting, but I was also cautious about taking it too seriously, understanding there was only one way to find out, and with that in mind, we retired to our room, which I had paid extra to have just the three of us. My calculation is that no more than a hundred heartbeats had elapsed after I lay down on the filthy, lumpy bed that I began itching from the bites of all the vermin that lived for the moment when a traveler arrived, and both Titus and Algaia confirmed that their pallet, which they were sharing, was no better. Not much longer after that, I was regretting my decision, realizing that we could have taken my meal in this inn but slept in relative comfort somewhere else. Somehow, I must have fallen asleep, despite the discomfort and my mind racing, trying to think of every possible situation I might find myself in when I finally returned to Ubiorum, to home.

  The barge docked at the wharf in Ubiorum late on the second day of our departure from Mogontiacum, after the overnight trip down the Rhenus, and I spent the final few miles leaning on the rail, watching the land on the Roman side slide past, mentally preparing myself for whatever was coming. Young Titus must have sensed this, because neither he nor the girl made any attempt to intrude, despite the fact that I was certain they were bursting with questions about what was going to be their new home. So deep in my reverie was I that, when the bow of the barge struck the wharf, it startled me so much that, for a brief instant, I was afraid I would topple over the side. Recovering quickly, while the crew secured the barge, I saddled Latobius and put my baggage on the pack horse while the others did the same, and since we were the only passengers, we were first off the barge. Leading our animals down the plank, I traveled the short street that leads from the wharfs up to the Porta Dextra, while I told Titus and Algaia to go to The Dancing Faun, telling them I would either come for them myself or send a messenger. My heart was beating much harder than warranted from the slight slope up from the riverbank, but when I arrived at the gate, the situation appeared almost identical to the eye to what I had encountered in Mogontiacum. Although there was nothing overtly out of the ordinary, I did notice that the camp was inordinately quiet, the Via Principalis being almost deserted, a
nd the few men out and about were auxiliaries, meaning that I did not stop them to get an idea of the situation. Like at Mogontiacum, there were guards on the door, and I immediately recognized them as belonging to Germanicus’ bodyguard, which did aid me in gaining entrance, since one of them recognized me from my time with the Propraetor in Pannonia. Then, I was inside the building, whereupon I stopped for a moment, both to let my eyes adjust to the dimmer light and to observe a bit. Unlike outside, there was all manner of activity inside as clerks crisscrossed, each carrying something like a wax tablet or scroll, while a trio of Tribunes were bent over a desk, poring over something that, from my experience, could as easily have been an erotic poem as a dispatch. Fortunately, the duty Tribune was where he was supposed to be, except I realized I did not recognize him, which could have been meaningless…or it could have been significant, and this possibility put me on my guard. My entrance had been noticed, and I recognized some of the clerks, those who were normally left behind when the Legions marched, all of whom acknowledged me with a nod, which I returned, having long become accustomed to the officiousness of Praetorium clerks. I had chosen to wear my uniform, but without my phalarae, arm rings, or the torq that I had been given by Germanicus in recognition of my service to him in the Batonian revolt, and I strode to the desk, came to intente, and saluted. The Tribune at first seemed determined to play the silly game of ignoring me, but I extended the scroll lower than normal so that Drusus’ seal was in front of his nose as he stared down at a wax tablet, which from my height I could see were the orders for the day that are posted every morning. Regardless, he seemed determined to ignore the scroll, but in an unconscious reaction, I saw his eyes dart up as it entered his field of vision. The results were both gratifying and amusing, his eyes taking in Drusus’ seal, going wide in surprise, followed by a very undignified yelp as he hopped up from his chair.