Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  “I did what?” Barbatus gasped, his mouth opening in astonishment. “I did no such thing!”

  Despite being prepared for it, Porcinus felt his own jaw drop as he stared at his Primus Pilus. The expression on the other man’s face was one of pure shock, reminding Porcinus where the other man had spent most of his time, in a place where duplicity and double-dealing had to be as common as the whores of the Subura.

  Regardless, Porcinus couldn’t stop himself from blurting, “That’s a lie! You sent your man Philo to tell me that you were under attack, that the situation was desperate, and you ordered me to march immediately to the aid of the First! You said that Tiberius was either dead or had been cut off!”

  Only later would Porcinus admit that the flush that came to Barbatus’ face was a nice touch, but in the moment, he had to fight to retain control as his Primus Pilus snapped, “I don’t know what you’re talking about! I never said anything of the sort!” Turning to Tiberius, Barbatus said coolly, “There’s a simple way to clear this up, sir.” When he turned to Porcinus, Tiberius also looked to the Pilus Prior, so he missed the gleam of malicious triumph in the coiffed Primus Pilus’ eye as he finished, “Why don’t you go get Philo? He can clear this up, I’m sure.”

  Despite the fact that Porcinus was sure he knew what Philo would say, he nevertheless summoned the man from the ranks, where he had been marching with the First Century. As the Gregarius approached, Porcinus watched him carefully, yet there was no sign from the man that he could point to as something suspicious. Philo presented himself to the three men, with Tiberius still astride his horse, and as much as it pained Porcinus, there was nothing in the man’s manner to arouse doubt in the man’s story, other than the normal apprehension that any ranker had when standing in front of the most senior commanders in the army.

  Before anyone else could speak, Tiberius took advantage of his status, looking down at the Legionary, a severe look on his face as he demanded, “What was the message you were given by Primus Pilus Barbatus?”

  As much as Porcinus hated to admit it, the look on Philo’s face, as he looked first to Barbatus, then over to Porcinus, before turning his gaze back to the mounted Legate, was a perfect example of the kind of confusion and apprehension that one would expect from a perfectly innocent man.

  “Sir?” Philo asked, his tone cautious. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “I can’t make it any plainer,” Tiberius snapped, his face flushing. “Repeat back to me the message that was relayed to you by Primus Pilus Barbatus that you were to give to Pilus Prior Porcinus.”

  Philo stiffened even more than he had been, as he recited in a clipped voice, “I was told by Primus Pilus Barbatus to relay to Pilus Prior Porcinus that since there had been no contact with the enemy on the part of the First Cohort that he was to make every effort to link up with the Second.”

  “That’s a lie!” Porcinus gasped, unable to stop himself from the outburst, despite half-expecting it.

  “Why would he lie?” Barbatus interjected before Philo could make his own response. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Yes, Pilus Prior.” Tiberius made no attempt to hide his skepticism. “Why would this man lie about a message that important?”

  “I…I don’t know why,” Porcinus stammered. He was unwilling to expose the entire history of his dealings with the Praetorian Primus Pilus, so instead, he just repeated stubbornly, “But it’s a lie. He told me a completely different story.”

  “And what was that?”

  Porcinus was unsettled by the fact the question came not from Tiberius, who could have been reasonably expected to ask that question, but from Barbatus, but it also put him on his guard.

  “That you were under attack, and that you were in danger of being overwhelmed. And,” Porcinus added, “that you,” he turned then to Tiberius, “had either been isolated and couldn’t get back to the Cohort, or that you were already dead. We were ordered to come to your aid immediately.”

  Barbatus’ laughter was harsh, and it was mocking.

  “What?” He shook his head. “That’s preposterous! I said no such thing; why would I? We haven’t seen more than a few tracks of the enemy!” He turned now, sneering at Porcinus, his contemptuous tone as lacerating as his words, especially because they were so patently false. “I think you lost your nerve, you abandoned the Second Cohort because they were in trouble, and you came scurrying back here with some concocted story that the message I sent you was what you say it is!” He turned to Tiberius, while indicating Philo. “Why would this man lie? He’s a Gregarius. He has no reason to do anything other than repeat exactly what I told him to!”

  “Where did he come from? I mean, what Legion was he in before this?” Porcinus asked the questions quietly, but he was pleased to see Barbatus’ face flush and, more importantly, Tiberius look sharply between the Primus Pilus and Philo, who was staring off into space, acting as if he wasn’t listening to a word.

  “What does that matter?” Barbatus demanded, yet Porcinus felt a flicker of hope because of the look of discomfort that flashed across the Primus Pilus’ features.

  “It doesn’t.” It was Tiberius who spoke up and, for an instant, Porcinus thought that hope was dashed, but then Tiberius finished, “So why don’t you answer the question?”

  He gave Barbatus a cold smile. Barbatus’ composure faltered, and his eyes shot over to Philo, who seemed to be made of the same marble as the statues in the forum of every Roman city.

  Then, he surprised Porcinus by saying, “I’m somewhat ashamed to say that I don’t know, sir. If you remember, this man was part of the replacements that arrived the same time as I did. And I haven’t had the time to go through every man’s record.” He turned to Philo and snapped, “What Legion are you from, Gregarius?”

  “9th Legion, Primus Pilus,” Philo responded crisply, with no hesitation. “First Century, Second Cohort.”

  Porcinus was suddenly thrown so off-balance that he actually took a staggering step backward, which Tiberius noticed.

  “Why are you reacting like this is a surprise, Pilus Prior?”

  Tiberius’ gaze pierced him and, with a great effort, Porcinus replied, “Because that’s not what I was told.”

  “And what was it you were told?”

  “That Philo is from the Praetorian Guard.”

  Tiberius jerked in his saddle, and he shot a look at Philo, who Porcinus had to admit was continuing to stand stolidly at intente, his expression still the blank stare.

  Before Tiberius could say anything, Barbatus responded with a sneer, “Do you believe everything you hear, Pilus Prior? It’s true that a handful of men came with me, but I can assure you that not only did I have nothing to do with their assignment, Philo isn’t one of them.”

  Suddenly, Tiberius let out a hiss of frustration, making a chopping motion with his hand.

  “Enough. We don’t have time to go into this now.” He turned back to Porcinus. “Do you think the Second can hold until we get there?”

  “Only if we move at the double quick,” Porcinus answered.

  “We’ll sort this business out later,” Tiberius said, then ordered, “Porcinus, you need to reverse your course and lead us back to the Second. When we get close, you’re going to let the First take the lead, and they’ll be the ones to sort those bastards out.”

  He had begun to turn away, but Porcinus didn’t move, prompting Tiberius to wheel his horse about to glare at the Pilus Prior.

  “Well?”

  “It’s just that if we wait until we’re in the ravine where we were at, that one isn’t wide enough for two Cohorts to change places.”

  Despite his irritation, Tiberius recognized that Porcinus was right, and he relented.

  “Very well. When we reach the junction of the two, that’s when you’ll let the First take the lead. Now, start moving!”

  Tiberius didn’t see the looks exchanged between Barbatus and Porcinus, but if he had, he might have been curious about the malicio
us smile the Primus Pilus was giving one of his Centurions.

  The First and Fourth Cohorts did arrive to save the Second, driving the Varciani away, but inflicting few more casualties than had already been caused by the Second and Fourth in the original fight. However, the Second Cohort had been savaged, with more than half its numbers dead or wounded. As might be expected, the First Century was particularly hard hit, and while Volusenus lived, he had lost an eye to a spear thrust. Somehow, he had not only survived, but had continued fighting, and was able to meet Tiberius still on his feet, despite a blood-soaked makeshift bandage tied around his head that obscured his damaged eye. Porcinus wasn’t that surprised when he was told about Volusenus; despite his unpleasant demeanor and surly attitude, he had a well-deserved reputation for being one of the toughest men of the Legion, and this only added luster to it. Tiberius sent Silva’s troopers out in force, but the Varciani host simply melted away, although they left a large portion of their warriors dead or wounded on the field. Those wounded were only in that state for the amount of time that it took for Tiberius’ Legionaries to dispatch them with a thrust or a slash of their own blades. Couriers arrived from the two other groups of Cohorts; only one of them, the Seventh, Eighth, and Ninth Cohorts, under the nominal command of one of the Tribunes, but led by Aulus Amulius, the Septimus Pilus Prior, had made any contact with the Varciani, repulsing what was described as a probing attack by a band of perhaps five hundred warriors. The other Cohorts, just like the First under Tiberius, had only seen signs of activity, in the form of tracks, leading in the general direction of the ravine where the Second and the Fourth were ambushed. It took another full watch for the wounded to be treated and stabilized to the point they could be transported, and the Roman dead gathered up. Wagons were sent for, yet with the ravine too narrow for them to turn around, the survivors had been required to carry their fallen comrades back west down the ravine, to the intersection of the north/south ravine, where the wagons waited. It was a somber procession back to the camp, one that Porcinus would never forget as he shambled alongside his Cohort, his mind still reeling from the scene earlier. Yet when Corvinus came trotting up from his spot, he was rebuffed by his friend and Pilus Prior, unusual in itself. However, Porcinus needed time to think about all that had transpired. He had been informed by a mounted messenger sent by Tiberius that he was confined to his quarters upon their return to camp, while the commander investigated the allegations made by Barbatus, and Porcinus’ response. Not surprisingly, his mind was fully occupied by how he was going to defend himself, yet by the time they arrived back at the main camp, he had been unable to come up with any kind of answer.

  Later that evening, when Corvinus once more tried to talk to Porcinus, this time he relented, but their time together was quickly interrupted.

  “Pilus Posterior Canidius is here,” Lysander announced as Porcinus and Corvinus sat in Porcinus’ private quarters, both of them moodily occupied in sipping unwatered wine.

  Although Porcinus wasn’t in the mood to deal with Urso, he also understood that he couldn’t turn him away, so he indicated to Lysander to allow him entry. Porcinus wasn’t sure what to expect from his second in command, but Urso’s mien was such that it was impossible for Porcinus to reconcile his suspicion of the man with what he was seeing. More out of an automatic reflex, Porcinus offered him some wine, as Lysander brought another stool, so there were three men sitting, staring morosely into their cups.

  Finally, Urso broke the silence, looking at Porcinus in the eye. “I want you to know that what Barbatus is trying to do is unjust, and it needs to be stopped.”

  Porcinus wasn’t sure how to respond, so he looked at Urso over his cup; Corvinus wasn’t so circumspect.

  “That’s certainly true,” he agreed with Urso, but his tone was cool as he continued. “Although if he has his way, you’ll get what we all know you wanted. You’ll be Pilus Prior.”

  Urso’ features darkened even more than normal, yet he didn’t reply immediately, and Porcinus saw his free hand clench into a fist. He tensed, preparing himself to leap from his own chair to stop Urso from striking Corvinus, who didn’t look the least bit worried. Then Urso did something completely unexpected, suddenly exhaling by giving a harsh chuckle.

  “I suppose I deserved that,” he said and, for a moment, Porcinus wasn’t sure he had heard correctly; Corvinus looked as shocked as he felt as Urso went on, either ignoring or oblivious to their reactions. “But while I have ambitions of my own, I don’t want to get promoted like this.”

  Although there was a part of Porcinus that desperately wanted to believe Urso, he was still wary. However, what Urso said next, while not dispelling his suspicions altogether, made such sense that he felt himself relenting a bit in his distrust.

  “Besides,” Urso pointed out, “if he does this to you and gets away with it, it’s going to destroy this Legion, mark my words. Every one of us is going to be looking over our shoulders, wondering who will be next to run afoul of him.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Porcinus could see that Corvinus was no less impressed with Urso’s words than he was.

  “That’s true,” Porcinus granted, then heaved a sigh. “But I don’t know what I can do about it.”

  Before he got any further, Lysander interrupted again to tell Porcinus that other visitors had arrived.

  “Let them in,” Porcinus grumbled. “We might as well have a festival. It’ll probably be my last one as Pilus Prior.”

  “Not if we have anything to do with it,” Urso said, just beating Corvinus, who was about to say the same thing.

  Before Porcinus could respond, the other Centurions of the Fourth Cohort entered, along with Ovidius, who did his best to appear inconspicuous since he was the man who had summoned the rest of them, except for Urso.

  “We’re here to tell you that we’re behind you.” Munacius took the lead, acting as the representative of the group, while the others added their agreement.

  Porcinus reacted to this with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude, mumbling his thanks. Urso, acting in his role as the Pilus Posterior, took command.

  “We need to come up with a plan,” he said. “First, we need to prove that this Philo cunnus came from the Praetorians. That alone may be enough, if we can show him we have proof.”

  “I agree that’s a good start, but I don’t think that will be enough,” Corvinus put in.

  Urso looked irritated, but it was Sabinus who asked the obvious question. “Why not? What else do we need to do?”

  Corvinus put his cup down, then looked around the tent at the others. “Because this isn’t just about our Pilus Prior. Barbatus isn’t here just for Porcinus.”

  “What does that mean?” Munacius demanded.

  Corvinus didn’t answer; instead, he looked to Porcinus, giving him a long, level look, eliciting a sigh from his superior. Porcinus understood Corvinus’ silent message perfectly, and although he was reluctant to divulge the details, he realized that he needed these men to be his allies. Consequently, he gave the others a recounting of his meeting with Barbatus, leaving nothing out. When he was through, there was a silence for several moments.

  “I’m still not sure why that means that exposing the fact that the Gregarius isn’t from the 9th Legion like he claimed won’t solve the problem.” Sabinus was the one who said it, but Porcinus could see that he wasn’t alone in his confusion.

  “He’s here to keep an eye on Tiberius.” Urso was the one who supplied the answer. “He was sent by Augustus to make sure that he’s loyal and doesn’t have…ambitions.”

  “Ambitions like what?” This came from Verrens. “Augustus is still a relatively young man. It’s true he was sickly, but that was in the past. Besides, Tiberius isn’t Augustus’ blood.”

  “Which is why he bears watching,” Corvinus pointed out patiently. “Because as we all know, a man with an army can create a lot of mischief.” He turned to Porcinus and pointed to his superior. “Porcinus’ father is an example o
f that with the Primus affair. I know none of us have forgotten that.”

  None of them had; every man in the room had been in the 8th Legion when Marcus Primus took them on campaign. It was a tumultuous time, and if they were being honest, the most disturbing aspect of the entire campaign was how unprofitable it had been. In fact, when Marcus Primus was relieved of command and taken to Rome for trial, Titus Pullus had been put in command of the army as it returned back to Siscia. With a hugely unhappy army deprived of what had become an accustomed bonus in the form of money derived from loot and the sale of slaves taken during the campaign, Pullus was forced to come up with an accommodation. Few people knew that Pullus considered it the most shameful and underhanded thing he had done in his forty-two year career; Gaius Porcinus was one of those who did, and he well remembered the self-imposed anguish his father had suffered. Although in the army archives the attack of the town of Naissus had been a completely justifiable act, taking place after the ambush of the lead element of the army as it passed nearby, by a group of warriors from the tribe that the town belonged to, what Porcinus knew was that it wouldn’t have mattered. Pullus had already made the decision to attack Naissus and let his men strip it clean; the fact that the army was attacked in retaliation for the first assault on the town five years before under the command of Marcus Crassus’ grandson was just a happy accident. Therefore, just the mention of what had been a turbulent campaign that ultimately saw the execution of Marcus Primus, and the tribunal of Titus Pullus, was still a powerful memory to these men.

  “That’s what Augustus is worried about,” Corvinus continued. “But I think there’s even more to it than just that.”

  Porcinus was puzzled and saw that he wasn’t the only one, prompting him to ask, “What else do you think is going on?”

  “I think Barbatus has his own ambitions,” Corvinus said evenly. “I think that he’s viewing this as an opportunity to not only destroy your career, but to put Tiberius in an awkward spot, where he’s in a position where he owes Barbatus a debt.”