Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  “How do you think he plans on doing that?”

  Urso no longer sounded doubtful, accepting Corvinus’ reasoning, and Porcinus couldn’t help the thought flashing through his mind that this was the type of thing that Urso might have done. You’re being unfair, Gaius, he admonished himself as he listened to Corvinus explain.

  “We got a bloody nose today, there’s no doubt about that,” Corvinus said. “And I think that Barbatus is going to do what he can to at least insinuate to Tiberius that Augustus will be very interested in knowing the causes of what happened.” He took a sip before he continued, “And I think that Barbatus will do his utmost to convince Tiberius that he can either do Tiberius a great amount of good, or a great deal of harm, simply by the way he reports the results of today’s action to Augustus.”

  One of the men gave a low whistle, although that wasn’t the only reaction.

  “That’s a very, very dangerous game to play,” was Urso’s comment.

  “Yes it is,” Corvinus agreed. “But remember, Barbatus is a Praetorian. He’s been posted in Rome for the gods know how long. He knows how to play politics. The fact that he’s survived and is trusted by Augustus to be his spy speaks for itself.”

  That, Porcinus had to acknowledge, was an undeniable truth.

  “So you think that he’s going to use me as the reason for what happened today?” Porcinus asked, trying to ignore the hard lump in his throat.

  Corvinus looked regretful, but he was frank in his reply. “I think that’s a strong possibility. In fact, I think that what he’s going to do is present this as a way for Tiberius to escape censure by Augustus.”

  “And if I were Tiberius, I’d jump at this chance to make sure my name isn’t spattered with the cac,” Porcinus concluded, unable to hide his misery.

  “That may be true,” Urso spoke up. “But he may also not like the idea of being in a position where he feels Barbatus has something to hold over his head like Damocles’ sword.”

  To Porcinus, that seemed an awfully slim possibility to hang his hopes on, but he did at least appreciate the gesture from Urso.

  “The best thing for everyone would be if he’d never shown up,” Sabinus said, reddening slightly as he became aware that every eye had turned on him.

  “Well, thank you for that observation.” Verrens’ tone was dry, yet there was no real censure in it. “Except it’s a bit late for that.”

  “Then that leaves one other thing,” Corvinus muttered, although only Urso heard him.

  Porcinus’ second in command didn’t make any comment; there was no need to draw attention to what the Hastatus Prior had said, because it would put Porcinus in a position that, if he were to go by regulations, would require him to report his best friend. Instead, Urso just stared thoughtfully at the other man as the conversation finally dwindled down to a long silence. The only thing that was clear was that there wasn’t much that could be done until Porcinus was informed of how much danger he was in.

  Porcinus would never be able to decide if it was a good or bad thing that he didn’t have to wait long, although given the outcome, he tended to think it was the former, not the latter.

  “I’ve decided that there will be no further action taken in regards to what happened yesterday,” Tiberius informed Porcinus, who had been summoned shortly after dawn to the praetorium.

  His first hint that something unusual was taking place was when he was ushered into the private office of the Legate, and the only others present besides Tiberius and him were two clerks, and the burly former gladiator that Porcinus knew was Tiberius’ bodyguard.

  Porcinus, standing at intente, had a sudden horrifying feeling that he was going to faint dead away in front of his commanding officer, yet he managed to maintain not only his feet, but his composure.

  “Yes, sir.” He finally found his voice, but was unsure how to respond. “Er, thank you, sir.”

  Tiberius didn’t reply, verbally anyway. Instead, he gave a perfunctory nod. Tiberius was sitting behind his desk, and he stared up at the Centurion, who was standing at intente, unsure if the audience was over. In fact, Tiberius was almost in as much of a quandary as Porcinus was, although his face still had the same scowl that was more or less his permanent expression, giving nothing of his inner turmoil away. Finally, Tiberius seemed to come to a decision of some sort, because he picked up a scroll, opened it, and began looking at it.

  “That will be all,” he said curtly. “You’re dismissed.”

  Still a mass of confusion, Porcinus fell back on the familiar security of military protocol, saluting and facing about. He had gone about halfway to the heavy leather flap that served as the entrance to Tiberius’ office when the young Legate spoke.

  “I know why Barbatus is here,” he said, just loudly enough for Porcinus to hear him. “And I know what he’s trying to do, not just with you, but with me.”

  Porcinus wasn’t sure how to react, although he stopped and turned around, resuming his position of intente, his helmet under his left arm.

  “Sir?” he asked cautiously. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  In the time it took for Porcinus to walk to his current point, Tiberius had chosen to stand, and he was leaning forward, both fists on his desk as he looked at Porcinus intently.

  “I think you do,” Tiberius replied evenly, but without any visible sign of rancor or impatience at this display of the Stupid Legionary act that all rankers used when in uncertain situations with a superior.

  Porcinus met Tiberius’ gaze, and he swallowed the lump down in his throat, deciding at that moment to match his Legate’s honesty with his own.

  “Yes, sir, I do,” Porcinus finally said.

  He couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a subtle change in the younger man’s demeanor, as if Porcinus had passed some sort of test.

  “So,” Tiberius said softly. “It would seem that you and I have fallen afoul of the Princeps for some reason. I know why in my case, but I’m curious about you. What could you have done, out here in the wilds of Pannonia to merit his attention?”

  Porcinus opened his mouth; it was a moment before the words came, as his mind raced through every possible answer he could give. He was more trusting in nature than his adoptive father was, yet he had witnessed so much of what had befallen Titus Pullus that he understood in reality the choice he was facing was really not one at all. It was the choice between drawing the immediate ire of Tiberius by refusing to enter into what could be viewed as some sort of conspiracy against the Princeps, a virtual certainty if Barbatus were to get wind of this meeting and chose to paint it in the most sinister light possible. And that, Porcinus knew, was exactly what Barbatus would do. In all likelihood, Tiberius would take Porcinus’ refusal to reveal what he knew to be the cause of his situation with Augustus as a personal insult, a repudiation of the confidence that Tiberius had just shown to him. On the other hand, if he was honest with Tiberius, he stood to become viewed as even more of a potential problem for the Princeps. Porcinus wasn’t sure how much of what Barbatus had said about his supposed mission of “keeping an eye” on Porcinus was direct orders from Augustus and how much was just a matter of Barbatus viewing the situation as a means to an end to compromise his real target, Tiberius. After the discussion of the night before, Porcinus felt more confident that, although Augustus was certainly aware of him and, in all likelihood, had mentioned Porcinus to Barbatus, it had only been in passing. Barbatus’ main mission and target was Tiberius, but Barbatus had chosen to use Porcinus and Augustus’ suspicion of him as the lever on Tiberius. However, as cautiously sure as he was that this was the truth of the situation he was facing, Porcinus also recognized that he would probably never know the exact circumstances. Then, seemingly unbidden, a memory suddenly flooded Porcinus, an ostensibly disconnected bit of random recollection of an event from the past, and he would always take that moment as the evidence that his father was still helping him.

  “It has to do with my father,” Porcinus began
.

  By the time Porcinus left the praetorium, while in some ways his mind was clearer than it had been for some time, it was also beset by a whole new set of worries and uncertainty. He had ended up spending a third of a watch with Tiberius, as both men revealed to the other what they knew of their individual circumstances in an attempt to put the pieces of what Porcinus was realizing was a huge puzzle into place. Yet, more sobering than the enormity of what was confronting the two men was the danger, and from what Porcinus could tell, solving this problem appeared likely to be as hazardous as not and allowing events to unfold without any attempt to steer them. He did feel slightly better in one regard; his assumption about his importance to Augustus seemed to be correct. After comparing their respective bits of information, it seemed clear to Porcinus that Barbatus’ hostility and interest in Porcinus was peripheral and mostly of his own making. While Tiberius was clearly under scrutiny by the Princeps, he also was close to Augustus, and he swore to Porcinus that if the Princeps had truly been as interested in Porcinus’ aspirations to emulate his father as Barbatus had claimed, Tiberius would have been told when he took command.

  “He’s using you, and your…situation to get to me,” was how Tiberius had put it, and Porcinus accepted this as truth.

  That didn’t make it any less unsettling, or any less dangerous, but it at least reinforced to Porcinus something his father had tried to impress upon him more times than Porcinus could count over the years.

  “Men like us,” Pullus would say, “are pieces in a game to the upper classes. Some of us are more valuable than others, but never forget, Gaius, that in the end, we’re not men to them. We’re not human beings with families, and hopes and dreams of our own. We’re merely pieces on a board to be used. And sacrificed to win the game,” he had finished ominously.

  Nothing in Porcinus’ experience had given him reason to doubt Pullus; if anything, this crisis demonstrated how true it was.

  The immediate threat to Porcinus was ended; Tiberius had given his assurance that not only would Tiberius not endorse Barbatus’ official accusation against Porcinus that he had disobeyed orders and abandoned the Second Cohort, but in turn, he was putting the Primus Pilus under close watch.

  “If he tries to get a message out to Augustus, or anyone, for that matter, I’ll know about it,” Tiberius assured Porcinus just before he finally left the Legate. “I have men I trust watching him every moment of the day. Nothing will happen that I don’t know about.”

  However, Porcinus was under no illusions that his problems were solved. Tiberius had confirmed one fear of the Pilus Prior’s, that there was also no way for the Legate to replace Barbatus as the Primus Pilus. In fact, Porcinus worried that in some ways his predicament was still at least as precarious, if not worse. Tiberius could protect Porcinus from this particular threat, but he understood that Barbatus would be, in all likelihood, more determined than ever to punish Porcinus, especially since he couldn’t lash out at Tiberius. No, matters were far from settled, Porcinus understood, walking out of the praetorium. Porcinus didn’t head back to his tent. As was traditional, the army wasn’t moving this day after the battle while the Second Cohort was reorganized and the missing leadership spots were filled, either permanently in the case of the Hastatus Posterior, who was killed, or temporarily, like Volusenus who, from his hospital bed, had assured anyone and everyone that he would be back in action. This was actually where Porcinus was headed now, and it was with only slightly less dread than he felt facing Tiberius that he entered the hospital tent to talk to Volusenus. He was easy to find; not only were wounded Centurions kept in a segregated area, Porcinus only had to follow in the opposite direction of the fleeing medicus, who had blood streaming from a wound in his scalp. A few paces away from Volusenus’ cot lay the shattered remains of a cup, with a puddle around the shards of clay that Porcinus assumed had contained some potion concocted by the camp physician.

  “If you try to make me drink that piss again, I’ll flay you, you cocksucking son of a whore,” Volusenus roared, raising up partway from his cot, half his face obscured by the bandage over his eye.

  Attracted by the movement, the Secundus Pilus Prior turned to examine Porcinus with his good eye, flopping back on the cot as he muttered, “What do you want?”

  Porcinus had braced himself for some sort of outburst; at the very least, he expected some recrimination and accusation from Volusenus. But now that he was facing the man, he desperately wished he were anywhere else.

  “I just wanted to come check on you,” he forced himself to sound casual.

  “Came to see your handiwork?” Volusenus shot back bitterly.

  Despite expecting something like this, Porcinus felt the rush of blood to his face.

  “Volusenus.” He knelt next to the other man’s cot, although he was careful to stay just out of reach. “I swear to you by Mars and Bellona, we would never have left if we hadn’t been told to by Barbatus! But he sent one of his…” Porcinus’ mouth twisted into a bitter grimace, “…lackeys to pull us away. He told us that the First was under threat!” He shook his head emphatically. “We would never have left otherwise! We were working out how to link up with you when the message arrived.”

  Porcinus stopped, forcing himself to meet Volusenus’ gaze, who stared hard with his one eye. The silence stretched out for what seemed like a watch, then there was a sudden relaxation in the posture of Volusenus, accompanied by a gust of air from his lungs that blasted Porcinus, and he recognized the smell, a mixture of wine and herbs favored by the medici for wounded men. It made Porcinus wonder what had been in the cup Volusenus had thrown since he had obviously ingested at least one dose.

  “I know that,” Volusenus muttered, shocking Porcinus. Oblivious to the other man’s reaction, Volusenus said, “I know exactly what happened, and I know why it happened.” Only then did he turn to face Porcinus, his lone eye blazing with a fierce intensity. “You’re not the only one who has friends in places who tell him things! And I know exactly what our Primus Pilus is made of and why he’s here! You,” he gave a wave in Porcinus’ direction, as if dismissing a slave, “are just a tool.”

  Porcinus was torn; on one hand, he was relieved that Volusenus didn’t blame him and knew the true cause of what had happened to him and his Cohort, yet on the other, he didn’t care for the way Volusenus seemed to be grimly amused. Regardless, the latter was a minor consideration to the larger relief he felt. Just when he felt the surprises were over, Volusenus proved him wrong.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, Volusenus blurted, “Besides, you’re not a bad sort. Mind you, you’re a trifle…” He paused for a moment, and Porcinus finished for him.

  “Soft,” he said with a smile. “I’m a bit soft for your taste.”

  Volusenus gave Porcinus what he was beginning to realize was the man’s version of a smile, which looked as much like a grimace as anything else.

  “Exactly,” Volusenus grunted. Then, “But I see how those misbegotten bastards in your Cohort respond to you, and how your Centurions seem to think your cac doesn’t stink.” Porcinus laughed, which seemed to please Volusenus, who hastened to add, “Now, your boys aren’t the equal of mine, mind you. But, they’re not bad.”

  While Porcinus might have been disposed to argue this last point, he knew this wasn’t the time, especially when he saw the cold, harsh mask of his counterpart slip and reveal the true man as the memory of those men he had lost, his beloved boys, overwhelmed him with grief. A solitary tear rolled down from his remaining eye, and that lone symbol of anguish threatened Porcinus’ own composure as he felt the tears coming to his two good eyes. He was still kneeling near the cot, but moved closer so that he could put a gentle hand on Volusenus’ arm. The other man had closed his good eye as he grieved, and the touch of Porcinus’ hand caused him to jerk in surprise, yet when he looked at the other Pilus Prior, he saw in Porcinus’ eyes a man who understood the sorrow and loss he was experiencing, so he didn’t pull away. They stayed that way fo
r some time, neither man saying anything.

  Finally, Volusenus told Porcinus in a hoarse whisper, “That cunnus needs to pay for what he did to my boys.”

  “He will,” Porcinus promised, despite having no idea how that was going to happen.

  After his visit to Volusenus, he returned to his tent, where he was met by the Centurions. He briefly recounted the exchange between him and the Legate, relaying Tiberius’ assurance that nothing would come of Barbatus’ attempt to damage Porcinus. He didn’t feel the need to relate the fact that he was being protected out of Tiberius’ own interests, thinking that it was obvious. It was Urso who touched on the thing that still worried him.

  “Barbatus isn’t going to be happy, at all,” Urso commented. “But he can’t do anything to Tiberius. At least,” he amended, “not overtly. But you?” He pointed at Porcinus, then finished, “And that means us. So while I’ll say that you managed to dodge the sword thrust this time, there’s going to be more coming.”

  “Well, at least you know Tiberius is aware of what’s going on,” Corvinus pointed out. “And I’m willing to bet that even now, he’s sent messages back to Rome to his own spies in the Praetorian Guard to find out dirt on Barbatus and those cunni he brought with him.”

  That prompted an interruption, from an unlikely source. Lysander had been serving the assembled men refreshments, and he cleared his throat in a signal that Porcinus had learned meant he had something to say. Normally, Porcinus would have been irritated at the slave’s impertinence, except that not only was this not a normal day, much had changed as far as his opinion of the Thracian. This adjustment had started when Porcinus discovered that Lysander’s frequent absences during those interminable days when he was in Siscia, waiting for his family, was due to the fact that Lysander was on the wall of the camp, looking for their arrival himself. Consequently, he now waved the others to silence, looking at Lysander, who appeared embarrassed with all eyes on him.