Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  Finally, he dropped his hand and said with a lightness that I could easily tell was forced, "Nothing, Optio! Just welcoming the boy here to the First!"

  Tiburtinus was clearly not buying anything Philo was selling, but with a nod of his head in my direction, he replied, "That boy there was decorated by Drusus himself. Or were you…off somewhere during that fight?"

  Philo's face flushed even darker, which I would not have thought possible, but it was obviously less from anger than defensiveness as he protested, "I was there, Optio! And you know it! I haven't missed a fight…" I do not know what he was going to say next because I saw a look pass between the pair that clearly sent a message to Philo, causing him to fumble for a moment before finishing "…in a long time!"

  "Then you know that Pullus isn't someone you're going to be able to bully like the others," Tiburtinus snapped, but before Philo could reply, he pointed over our shoulders and ordered, "Now, get him settled into his spot and mind your fucking manners." Turning to me, he said, "And, Pullus, if he tries any more cac like that, you have my permission to beat him bloody."

  Without waiting for a reply, he spun about and headed off to wherever he had been going before he saw us. And while I appreciated his support, I also knew that he had made my life harder because, as I would learn, my first hunch about Publius Philo was correct; he was much like Gaius Maxentius had been. I just hoped that Philo kept in mind what had happened to Maxentius, yet from the murderous look he gave me, I was not hopeful. That was my first introduction to my new Century.

  Although the reception I received in the section hut was friendlier than my introduction to Philo, it was not by a huge margin. Only about half the men were actually present, so I had yet to gauge how the missing men would welcome my presence. The friendliest greeting I got, at least at first, was from a man seated at the table in the middle of the hut, with a touch of gray at the temples of his closely shorn hair, his face seamed from not only exposure but from what looked like a blade, a long scar running down the left side of his face. As often happens with wounds of this nature, it does something to whatever controls a man's ability to express himself by smiling, or sneering, except that in a slightly unusual variation, the corner of this man's mouth turned slightly upward, giving him an expression of wry amusement, even when he was angry.

  He was the one who spoke, ostensibly to Philo, but I knew it was meant for me as well. "The new boy's spot is all cleared out and ready for him, Philo."

  Now, despite the fact he had addressed me as a boy, I did not take offense the way I had with Philo, simply because that is the term used for all incoming men to a new section, whether they are a fresh-faced Tirone or a grizzled veteran like the man who had uttered those words. Pointing directly behind me, I cannot say I was surprised to see I had the bottom bunk, nearest to the door and the farthest from the stove that we use for both cooking and heat. Nodding my thanks, I ignored Philo's poisonous glare as I dumped my pack on the bunk.

  "You and I will talk later," he growled, but rather than stay in the hut, he turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.

  "You need to watch him," the older veteran said, although he did not look up from the game of tables he was playing.

  His opponent, whose back was to me, only briefly glanced over his shoulder at me before quickly turning back to the game, as if afraid that the older veteran might try a double move. Which, I knew, was always a possibility.

  "So I gathered," I replied shortly, not much in the mood for being reminded that Philo hated me.

  "You're Pullus, aren't you?"

  Turning, I saw another man had wandered up from his bunk, and while I cannot say he was overly friendly, his demeanor was the most welcoming I had encountered to that point.

  "That's right," I acknowledged slowly, braced for more unpleasantness of some sort.

  That was why I was surprised when the man, about ten years older than me, suddenly thrust out his arm; only later would I learn that he was, in fact, seven years older.

  "I knew it was you!"

  This did not really surprise me that much, since I have always been an oddity, yet as I took his arm, clasping his forearm, I was in for a huge surprise when he introduced himself.

  "My name is Titus Domitius. Your grandfather and mine knew each other."

  Standing there, still clasping the forearm of the other Gregarius, my mind reeled from what was in essence just a few words. I tried to determine from the way he was greeting me how much he knew, but there did not seem to be any hostility in his greeting.

  "This is a surprise," I finally managed, prompting a laugh from him.

  "I can imagine. Especially for a Spaniard like me, neh? What the fuck am I doing over here in Pluto's bunghole?"

  I had to laugh, admitting, "Something like that."

  Although there was a lot more I wanted to know, before I could ask, Domitius pointed to the pair of men at the table nearest to us.

  "Before you learn of my wild adventures, let me introduce you around," he offered, and frankly, I was thankful for this small act of kindness.

  "This old bastard sitting there," Domitius indicated the veteran who had first greeted me, "is Aulus Bestia. He's the oldest in the Century…"

  Before Domitius could say anything more, Bestia cut in, "And I can still whip a pup like you," he growled. Then he looked over at me and, for the first time, I saw a glimmer of a smile that reached his eyes as he said, "Him, though? Him, I'm not so sure about."

  I reached over and offered my arm, relieved that Bestia did not hesitate. The other man, however, was not so welcoming, giving me a surly glance that told me at the very least he did not appreciate his game being interrupted.

  Over my shoulder, Domitius laughed. "And this cheerful bastard is Tiberius Dentulus."

  I weighed whether or not to offer my arm, deciding it would be more insulting if I did not than if he refused to accept it, so I stuck mine out, where it hovered there for a moment while Dentulus examined it for a moment as if looking for signs of leprosy. Finally, though, he grabbed it, but tried to squeeze extra hard, which many men still tend to do when they meet me for the first time. And as usually happened, I saw the flicker of surprise as his fingers did not impress themselves into my forearm at all, while I smiled down at him, sending the message that I knew what he was about.

  "Pleasure," he grunted, which seemed to surprise both Bestia and Domitius, the latter breaking out into a laugh.

  "That's the most enthusiastic greeting I've ever seen him give anyone," he exclaimed, then beckoned me to follow him farther into the hut. Before we reached the next knot of men, Domitius whispered to me, "And if you ever need quick cash, Dentulus is the man to see." Then, seeing my expression, he hurried on, "No, he's not one of those." He had no reason to expand on who he meant. "He's the worst gambler in the Century, and probably the whole Cohort. But that doesn't stop him. And he's not a gracious loser, but he does pay up." Suddenly, he stopped, seeming to think of something and looked back up at me over his shoulder and slapped his forehead. "I forgot who I was talking to! You don't need to borrow money from anyone! You're rich!"

  I froze in my tracks, my heart suddenly in my throat. Because of my Avus, my family is, as my father likes to put it, the wealthiest members in the history of the Head Count. However, this was not something any of us wanted publicized, and while I knew that men like Appius Asinius, the Sergeant of my original section, along with my father's best friend Gnaeus Corvinus, now the Quartus Pilus Prior, knew of our unique circumstances, it was not something I liked being widely known. Of course, Urso knew as well, which is from whom I assumed Domitius had heard it. Fortunately, I was mistaken, about that at least.

  Domitius, seeing my expression and taking it for puzzlement, I suppose, exclaimed, "Gerrae! Don't tell me that you've already spent all that gold that Drusus gave you!"

  Now that I understood exactly to what he was referring, I laughed and gave him a wave. "No, I haven't spent it, but I'm not nearly a
s rich as you think. I only got a small part of those spoils from Vergorix." Seeing that he was the one puzzled, I stopped so that we were between the small knots of my new comrades, and lowered my voice. "I had to…share it."

  Domitius studied my face intently for a moment, then gave a slight nod of understanding.

  "Ah," he said softly. "Our illustrious Primus Pilus, I take it?"

  I answered with a curt nod, not wanting to say anything more, especially at this moment, among these men for whom Urso was their direct superior.

  Domitius, seeing nothing more was forthcoming, gave his own answer with a chuckle that was laced with a bitter edge. "Just wait," he muttered as he turned to resume our short walk through the hut. "You haven't seen anything yet."

  Although I cannot say that any of my new comrades greeted me effusively, there was certainly less hostility than I had prepared myself to bear, with only a couple of exceptions. And for these men I was prepared by a quick, whispered warning by Domitius.

  "These are Philo's boys who do his dirty work," was how he put it, just before we arrived at the pair of men, ironically enough the last men of the section, huddled together at the corner of the table that was closest to the section stove.

  As I knew, this was no accident; this is the most prized spot and, as I would learn, the normal scene would be Philo sitting with them as they muttered about their various schemes and lists of men to intimidate for one reason or another. As I expected, the first man, who Domitius curtly introduced as Decimus Mela, barely deigned to glance up in my direction, seemingly absorbed in a game of dice. However, the other one, a stocky man several inches shorter than I was, making his spot in the line about the middle of our rank when we were in our normal open formation, actually stood, favoring me with a friendly smile as he offered his arm. Fortunately, probably because of Domitius' whispered warning, I was sufficiently aloof that I noticed the smile never reached his eyes, or eye – his left had in place of a brown pupil one that was milky white – while a scar ran diagonally from his eyebrow down to perhaps an inch below his lower eyelid.

  "I've heard a lot about you," he said as I automatically responded to his arm, clasping his forearm.

  "This is Gaius Caecina," Domitius mumbled, and there was an air of what almost seemed to be fear that came from my newly found comrade as he stood to the side as Caecina and I tested each other.

  And I can admit now that I was a bit unsettled; while he might not have been able to leave an imprint in my arm from his grip, neither could I do the same to him. It was only by a conscious decision that I did not rub my arm with my other hand, but I saw that he was of a similar mind, prompting a quiet laugh from him that I found impossible to avoid joining.

  "I'm sure we'll get to know each other quite well," he said with a cheerfulness that was as unsettling as his greeting, since I had expected open hostility by anyone aligned with Philo.

  I do not remember what I said, but I mumbled something, then followed Domitius back in the opposite direction. Glancing over his shoulder, he whispered, "Let's go outside where we can talk more freely."

  Naturally, I complied, for a number of reasons. I am somewhat ashamed to say now that while I was happy that Domitius seemed friendly, my perception of him at that moment was colored with a suspicion gleaned from my Avus' account. Because although it was true that Vibius Domitius had been my Avus' childhood friend and they had joined the Legions together, they had not remained friends; in fact, my Avus had come dangerously close to cutting Domitius down with his sword at Pharsalus, when the 10th Equestris had mutinied against Divus Julius. Even as I followed Domitius outside, I found it hard to credit that he was unaware of the turbulent history between our two families. Yet, while I would come to learn the details that explained his attitude, at that moment, his mind was on other matters.

  The moment we exited the hut, he turned about and blurted, "Of everyone in this Century you need to be careful about, Gaius Caecina should be at the top of your list. He's an extremely dangerous man, Pullus."

  One reason I remember this conversation so well is that, aside from the subject matter, it marked the first time I managed to refrain from uttering a bristling reply as I was prone to do when someone warned me about the danger posed by another man. Now that I have aged somewhat, I can see how defensive and boastful this came across to others, so intent was I on letting the world know that I was dangerous in my own right. It was almost as if it was a matter of honor and pride that, at any given moment, I was considered the most dangerous man in the conversation. Yet, this time, I managed to avoid such boasting and instead asked a sensible question.

  "Why? What makes him so dangerous?"

  Domitius did not hesitate, replying instantly, "Because he's smart. Extremely smart. In fact, by rights, he should be our Sergeant. Or even our Optio. But his eye is a problem. At least," he amended, "that's what we were told when Urso promoted Tiburtinus."

  "How did he take that?" I asked, thinking that his reaction would tell me something about the man.

  "That's the strange thing," Domitius admitted. "He wasn't upset about it. Or, at least, he didn't seem to be." He shook his head. "But I don't trust him. I'm sure he's up to something. I can feel it in my bones!"

  While I tended to believe Domitius was being sincere, I still reminded myself that it was early to make that judgment.

  Moving along, we continued walking aimlessly about the camp as I asked him, "You said that those two work for Philo. Doesn't that mean they work for Ur…Primus Pilus Canidius?"

  Domitius shot me an amused look. "So, you know he doesn't like being called that anymore." Frowning, he continued. "Yes," he confirmed, then immediately confused me by adding, "and no." Shaking his head in frustration, he exclaimed, "The truth is I don't know for sure, but I think that Philo has started…branching out on his own, without the Primus Pilus knowing about it."

  That seemed to me to be a very dangerous game for a lowly Sergeant whose patron was the Primus Pilus to be playing, and I said as much. Domitius made a snorting sound that I would learn was his laugh.

  "Nobody will ever accuse Publius Philo of being smart," he said scornfully. "But he is greedy, and he is dangerous, in his own way." He shot me another amused glance and shrugged. "Although the kind of threat he poses is one that I have no doubt you can handle quite easily."

  I do not know whether he had sensed how unsettled I had been by his warning about Caecina, and decided to soothe my own need for acknowledgment; whatever the cause, it was a welcome balm to have a new comrade recognize that fact.

  Over the course of the next few days, the routine pace of life in winter camp continued, meaning that our time was evenly split between training and being sent on various work details. What I have learned over the years is that, although Roman citizens and those who live in Roman provinces are aware that the men of the Legions build the roads that are so famous throughout the Republic, and rightly so, we also do much more, of which they have no idea of our involvement. In our case at Siscia that winter, we were continuing construction on a variety of projects, the biggest one being the improvement of the bathhouse. And since I was still a lowly Gregarius, not even an Immune, it meant that I bent my back just like all the others. Being frank, we bond together as units just as much when we are laboring as we are fighting, mainly through our mutual dislike of doing anything remotely involved with brute labor.

  "They treat fucking slaves better than us!" was a common refrain that I heard over the course of many winters. However, I was always mindful of one part of my Avus' story that had stuck with me, about how the average citizen was unaware of all the things we did and the way we were treated, so it was a bit much to expect someone to be sympathetic to a plight nobody knew about. More importantly, I was even more determined to keep my mouth shut as I became integrated into the First of the First, as we say. Philo, whose normal spot in our rank was also in the middle just to Caecina's left, was a constant presence, hovering about and glaring at me while mutteri
ng things that I could not hear but could well imagine. Mela, who was on the opposite side of Caecina from Philo in our rank, basically mimicked everything that Philo did, but Caecina was always cheerful and ready with a joke. In fact, I rather enjoyed his sense of humor, which made it more difficult to keep in mind Domitius' warning. Which, as I would learn, was exactly what Caecina wanted.

  The only place I ever felt comfortable in those first months was when we trained for our primary purpose: bringing death to the enemies of Rome. And it was at the stakes where I confess I did not hold back or try to maintain some sort of anonymity, aware that many eyes were on me as I went through our forms. Although Urso had once been the Quartus Pilus Posterior under my father, which meant that he had been exposed to what was now widely known as the Vinician grip, when he assumed the post of Primus Pilus, he had not required those men who still used the conventional grip switch to the one that was now second nature to me. And our Century weapons instructor, who happened to be none other than Aulus Bestia, was dismissive of the value of the grip.