Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  “Because of the actions of these men,” he continued, “I have made the decision to send my wife, who as you all know is bearing another child, and my son Gaius, away from here immediately.” Now the quality of the noise changed, from the buzzing of men whispering to what was an unmistakable low-pitched moan.

  Before he could continue, a voice from far back in the formation, somewhere in the Third Cohort of my Legion shouted, “Where are you sending them?”

  I never asked Germanicus, but even in the moment, I had the suspicion that this was not simply a random question shouted by a distraught ranker, and I recalled from my Avus’ account how this was a favored tactic of not only Divus Julius, but the late Princeps. That Germanicus did not hesitate in responding was another sign, although the men themselves did not seem suspicious.

  “I am sending them to stay with the Treveri,” he answered, and this unleashed a chorus of shouted protests.

  “You’d trust barbarians over us?”

  “We’d never harm your wife! We love her!”

  “How could you send Caligula away from us? He’s our luck!”

  This is just a sampling of the things that were shouted that I could make out, but it is representative of the sentiments being expressed by the majority of the rankers. At first, Germanicus made no attempt to quell this outburst, while I would say that my state of mind was more of bemusement than anything else, and when I glanced over at Vespillo, standing in his spot to my right, when our eyes met, he gave a small shrug that made me believe he was as mystified as I was. Many, if not most of these men had, just the night before, been ready to explode in rage, and a few of them had already attempted to beat Plancus to death, yet now they were all acting horrified that the Propraetor would believe his family was in danger because of them. Such is the nature of men when they are in large groups, I suppose; common sense is in short supply.

  Finally, Germanicus raised his arms for silence, and it quieted down fairly quickly, allowing him to continue in what, to my ears, was a plaintive manner, “Why do you act so surprised? I love my family! The only things I love more are my father and Rome! But my father’s own maiestatas will protect him, and those other Legions who have remained steadfast will protect the Empire, but only I can protect my family! And,” his tone altered again, becoming charged with a throbbing intensity, “make no mistake! I would willingly sacrifice my family if it was in the cause of your glory, and in the course of protecting Rome, but I will not sacrifice them because of…this!” He gestured around him with both arms, and again, he avoided using the words that would accurately describe what was taking place, yet anyone with eyes could see that his meaning was not lost on his audience. For the first time, I felt a twinge of cautious optimism as I stood there, intently gauging the reaction of the men, because there was no mistaking the almost universal expression of shame that they were now displaying. Oh, there were still some men within my range of sight who looked sullen, or even angry, and I had to fight the urge to turn around and examine my own men to see who among them was unaffected by Germanicus’ words. I was successful, mainly because I saw Gemellus had no such qualms and had turned about to stare at our Century, while I made a mental note to ask him what he had seen.

  When Germanicus resumed, only a couple of heartbeats later, his tone once more transformed, conveying a sense of true sadness in his words as he said, “I am no Divus Julius. Yes, I bear his name, but I do not deserve to do so. He stopped a mutiny,” I winced at his first use of the word, but by this point the men were spellbound and there was no sign of reaction, “when the men of his Legions refused to renew their oath of loyalty, and he did it with one single word.” When he paused then, I knew it was for dramatic effect, and while I was cognizant this was a ploy, I could also see that, even if men were aware of this, they did not care. “Quirites! That was all he said.” He snapped the fingers of one hand. “And the mutiny was over, just like that. Our beloved, departed Augustus,” he continued, “was able to stop another mutiny by the Legions at Actium with a single glance!” This time, instead of snapping, he shook his head in an exaggerated fashion, but I believe the sadness on his face was genuine. “But I have been unable to restore you to a state of unity and obedience to Rome, despite my best efforts. So, knowing this, I ask you; why did your comrades of the 5th and 21st stop me from ending myself when I wanted to? Why do they, and you revile me so much that you would force me to endure that shame, that I failed to bring you to order?”

  Germanicus’ face had been turned from my view for most of this, as he slowly rotated his head while he talked so that he could be seen by all of us, but by the time he was looking in my direction, those of us close enough clearly saw the tears that now made his cheeks glitter in the weak sunlight. However, he was far from alone in those tears, and I confess that I was one of those men so affected by his words that my eyes were stinging, but neither I nor any of those who had remained loyal mattered. Thankfully, even with the distance of the open space of the forum directly in front of the rostrum, I could see the ranks of men across from me were similarly discomposed.

  “Better that I would have died then than have to endure this shame!” Germanicus’ voice, while not raised any louder than it had been, seemed to cut through the air. “Better that I would have died and none of you punished so that you could have a Legate who would lead you on our sacred campaign to avenge Varus and his Legions!” Then, he confirmed a rumor that had been sweeping through camp. “Once the Belgae heard of all that has transpired here, they offered their warriors to help Rome vanquish the Germans, but gods forbid that they should have the honor and glory that is rightfully ours!” Lifting his arms to the heavens, Germanicus offered, “May the spirit of our divine Augustus, now residing in the heavens with the gods and his father Divus Julius, may the spirit of my own father by blood Drusus, be with these men who have marched for you, and turn their hearts back to the path of honor and glory. May they remove the stain of shame for their actions of these past weeks, and convert all of our discord and disagreements into the force we need to destroy our true enemies!” Holding this position for a few heartbeats longer, Germanicus lowered his arms and turned his attention away from the heavens back down to the earth, and to thousands of men who, if I am an example, scarcely dared to breathe as we stood, completely captivated by the words of our Propraetor. Scanning the formation, Germanicus nodded his head, saying, “I see before me changed faces and changed hearts. If you will allow the deputation to return unharmed to the Senate; if you will return your obedience to our Imperator, and your loyalty to myself and to my wife and family…” He stopped, and I saw his chest expand as he took a breath, which I understood immediately when he continued, “…and if you will set yourself apart from those among you who infected otherwise good men with this disease of disloyalty, that I will consider your repentance, and a guarantee of your loyalty!”

  And with that, the mutiny of the Army of the Rhenus was finally, truly over; although, for a span of several heartbeats, when there was neither a sound or any movement, I, and I am sure most of the men of both Legions, did not know this as fact.

  “AVE GERMANICUS!”

  That shout was like the first dislodged rock of an avalanche, triggering an eruption of noise, issued by thousands of throats, not in anger and repudiation, but in what I am certain was the shared relief that, not only was the mutiny over, there was forgiveness on the part of Germanicus. And, just that quickly, the fate of men like Pusio was sealed, which most of them understood, because what caused the sudden disintegration of the formation of two Legions, as some men came rushing forward towards the rostrum, not as hostiles but as suppliants, was the actual movement by these ringleaders bolting from their spot in the ranks, understanding that their only hope lay in flight. It was a vain hope, because just as quickly, their former comrades, now understanding that their restoration to good standing with the Propraetor and Imperator was contingent upon the punishment of the relatively few men who had instigated th
is madness, were hot on the heels of the fleeing condemned men. What had been an ordered scene, with the Centuries standing in neat rows in their accustomed spots, instantly became chaotic, with men seeming to run in every possible different direction. I was moving just as quickly, spinning around, intent on making sure one of my men in particular did not escape. Unfortunately, I did not have the satisfaction of bringing Pusio to ground myself; that honor went to none other than Gnaeus Clustuminus, who had instantly left his spot in the formation and intercepted Pusio, who had also turned and taken the first step of his planned escape, with Clustuminus slamming into Pusio and knocking him to the ground. I only caught the tail end of this, as Clustuminus fell on top of Pusio, pinning him, and in doing so, Clustuminus restored my faith in him, and he returned to the top of my mental list as being worthy of promotion to Optio once Structus entered the Centurionate. I am not blind, nor was I then, to the thought that this was a calculated move on the part of the Sergeant; while he had not been openly consorting with the mutineers, neither had he disavowed them in any way, nor had he completely dissociated himself from them. And, I had instructed Gemellus on my departure, originally to find Germanicus, to keep an eye on Clustuminus, which on my return, my Signifer had reported that he had behaved in the same fashion that I had observed before I left, in the first day of the mutiny. Regardless of this recognition, I made the decision in that moment not to engage in any more suspicious thoughts about the motives of not just Clustuminus, but all of the men of my Century who had not declared themselves openly one way or another. Frankly, I was just tired of all of it and wanted matters to return to at least a semblance of normality as quickly as possible. Seeing that Clustuminus had apprehended Pusio, I turned my attention to the handful of other men who I considered to be actively involved in the mutiny and not just passive followers of men stronger than they were. I was happy to see that, like Clustuminus, other men had acted quickly, although some needed help in subduing their quarry, none of whom were cooperating, which was understandable. Similar scenes were taking place in every Century and Cohort in both Legions, and between this and the men who had rushed towards Germanicus, unanimously begging his forgiveness, it was quite chaotic, and so noisy it was almost impossible to be heard. Although my Century had managed to capture the malefactors without having to pursue them through the camp, that was not the case with everyone else, so there were small parties of men, sprinting after a single, or in one case that I saw, a trio of men who were desperately trying to make it to one of the gates. Meanwhile, Germanicus was still on the rostrum, but now he was bent over at the waist, shaking every upthrust hand men were offering in a sign of their repentance and renewed loyalty. Now that I was assured that Pusio and the others were not going anywhere, I thought of making my own way towards Germanicus, slightly concerned that he was putting himself in jeopardy, but then I caught sight of several of his bodyguards who had shoved their way through the crowd to the rostrum, trying to restore some semblance of order. Instead, I looked for Macer first, but I did not see him, although that could have been because of his height, and since Vespillo was closest to me, I made my way to him instead.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” I did not shout, but it was close to one, and he shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin to try and think of something that would compare,” he answered, then for a moment, we just surveyed the scene. “But someone needs to take command and get things under control before something bad happens.”

  Even as he said this, over the riotous sounds, we both heard a short, sharp scream, and we turned to see, where the Second of the Second normally stood, a bloodied figure crawling frantically on all fours, towards the rostrum, followed by a half-dozen men, all of whom were aiming kicks at their prey.

  “I guess he thinks Germanicus will show mercy,” Vespillo’s tone was grimly amused, but just as I was about to open my mouth to assure him that this would not happen, the Propraetor proved me wrong.

  Because of his vantage point, he saw the injured ranker crawling towards him, and he snapped an order that prompted three of his bodyguards to shove through the crowd, all of whom had their backs turned to this scene, and hurry to surround the ranker. Naturally, our attention was drawn in this direction, so I did not see Germanicus give another order, but suddenly, a cornu sounded the call to assemble, the signal that he wanted to restore order. I did not react immediately, more interested in what was happening as the Germans got involved in a brief scuffle with the men surrounding the injured ranker, but the sound of the cornu, combined with this return to obedience they had just sworn to Germanicus, ensured that nothing more than a couple of shoves were exchanged. Returning to my spot, I checked to see that Pusio and the other men who their comrades had subdued were still under control, then took my spot. Gradually, order was restored, and Germanicus, remaining on the rostrum, waited patiently until we were in at least a semblance of formation, aside from the men who were now bound with their own baltea and forced to sit in the dirt of the forum, but in their accustomed spot, which made for yet another sight my eyes had never seen before.

  Finally, he spoke again, but it was only to say, “All Centurions, attend to me in the praetorium. Your Optios will take command.”

  Then, hopping down, he turned to stride into the praetorium ahead of us, and as he did, he was at the right angle for me to see the small smile on his lips. This was the moment I realized something; Germanicus had made no mention of the decision by Tiberius the delegation had brought with them from Rome, whatever it was. I confess, I was torn; part of me admired the guile of Germanicus for his brilliant maneuver on the rostrum, distracting the men from the real cause of the attack on Plancus and the unrest of the night before, but I was also greatly troubled by the adroit manner in which he had manipulated the situation to his advantage. Those were thoughts best kept to themselves, I decided during the short walk to the praetorium, and I still believe it was the right one.

  “This,” Germanicus declared to the assembled Centurions, “is going to be done legally and in the proper manner.”

  The “this” to which he was referring was the execution of the ringleaders, all but a handful of whom had been captured immediately. Most of those who managed to make it out of the forum had been rounded up, but there was still a half-dozen men who were hiding in the camp somewhere, the Centurions to which they belonged sending out search parties led by their Optios. Speaking of the Centurions, there should have been one hundred twenty of them in the praetorium; by my quick count, there were just a handful under a hundred. The other twenty-odd were absent because they were outside, sitting in the forum as prisoners, and to the eternal shame of the Fourth Cohort, one of them was Philus. He had been denounced by Closus, but while neither Macer nor Primus Pilus Sacrovir were disposed to take only the word of an Optio, his charge had been repeated by more than a dozen men of his Century, including the two men considered ringleaders. Nevertheless, I harbored reservations about whether this was enough to condemn the man, and I could see my Pilus Prior was of the same mind.

  “However,” Germanicus continued, and he began pacing the floor, his head down in thought, which made it somewhat difficult to hear, “we can’t afford the time and expense of holding a formal Tribunal for each and every man.” He turned to Caetronius, who was standing slightly behind him, back towards the wall that was the boundary to Germanicus’ private office. “Do we have a complete tally yet?”

  In turn, Caetronius walked over to the desk in front of the door to the office, where one of the Tribunes, along with two clerks, was consulting a pile of wax tablets, with one clerk incising what I presumed were figures into the tablet. As we watched, there was a brief whispered exchange, and while Caetronius’ back was to us, judging from the Tribune’s expression, I was certain I knew the answer.

  Turning back around, the Legate’s mouth was turned down into a frown. “No, sir. Not as of yet.”

  Germanicus did not seem surprised,
nor was he irritated, asking only, “What’s the count so far, then?”

  Glancing back over his shoulder, Caetronius got the answer and said flatly, “Six hundred and twenty-seven, sir.”

  There was an audible gasp from all of us, but Germanicus remained impassive, though he did inquire, “How close do you think we are to completing the count?”

  Instead of the Legate, who indicated to the Tribune he should answer, the young officer replied, “We only have two tablets left, sir. And,” he added, “each tablet is from the Pilus Prior of a Cohort.”

  Germanicus considered for a moment, then he said in a tone that suggested he was thinking aloud, “That means it should be around seven hundred men altogether,” reminding me he had an astonishing head for figures, provided he was correct; as it turned out, the total turned out to be seven hundred and one men. Speaking more loudly, he repeated, “There is no way we can conduct a Tribunal for each and every man. Nor,” he added, obviously seeing and correctly interpreting the thought that certainly crossed my mind, “can we even take the time if we hold a Tribunal for each Century, or Cohort.” Shaking his head, he settled this question by informing us, “We need to conclude this as quickly as possible, because we need to begin preparing for the campaign that I know you all have assumed is coming.”