Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  They did not get far for the simple reason there was nowhere for them to go, because the fire was now raging across the entire western edge of the town. While this was of peripheral importance, what mattered more to us was that their sudden absence left the segment of Varciani who had penetrated our Century formation exposed on their left flank, and the Primus Pilus Posterior, now in command of the 8th Legion, saw this opportunity and wasted no time. The cornu of the Second started blaring the notes that sent our comrades of the Second into motion, with the Century essentially splitting into two, the sixth through tenth ranks turning and moving quickly from behind their comrades as the first five of those ranks still engaged with the Varciani who, just a moment before, had been on the other side of the Colapiani wedge. Even as they were moving, so was I, except I did not go far, moving over to where Capulo, Varo, Avitus and Sido were alternately standing and kneeling in their tiny orbis, although they were no longer looking outward but down at the corpses of Publius Canidius and his enemy Draxo, parts of both men's bodies entangled with the other. The sight of these two men entwined in death left a powerful impression on me that lasts to this day. Meanwhile, the men of the Second Century who came rushing from the opposite direction were clearly torn; they were about to throw themselves at those Varciani who had managed to penetrate our ranks, but at the same time, the sight of our Primus Pilus, lying with an axe protruding from his chest, was a shattering sight. Once I was with the others, I stared down at Urso, and it is impossible for me to describe the tangle of emotions that assailed me. Had I hated him for using me? I wondered. Or had I hated him because he had been selling armor that ended up being worn by men who tried to kill us, and in the case of Lutatius, actually had done so? Even as I pondered this, I was barely aware that my appearance had caused the others to turn their attention on me, and although nobody said a word, at least at that moment, I was assailed by another thought that was in direct opposition to the first. Was it not true, I thought, that I also regarded him with the same kind of affection and respect I had held for Corvinus? And ultimately, what did my feelings matter when compared to the grief and raging sorrow I saw on the faces of the men gathered around him? Suddenly, Capulo turned his attention away from me and looked back down, but this time at Draxo. He bent over and I saw him reach out with a blood-spattered hand, but then a sudden roar behind me jerked our attention away from Capulo and the corpse of our leader, all of us just in time to see the second half of the Second slam into the Varciani. Although some of the Varciani had seen this new threat, only a thin line of the barbarians had managed to turn to face in the direction of this sudden attack, but it was not nearly enough to stop the tide of Roman fury that cut them down without any mercy. Even as we watched, those Varciani who tried to stand against this new threat to their left flank were chopped down until the Second managed to cut almost all the way through what had been a packed mass of snarling, furious barbarians fighting for their homes just an eyeblink before. Although this sight was a welcome one, I was far too tired to cheer about it, and none of my other comrades did so either. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my arm and I turned wearily to see Capulo holding something in one hand, which he proffered to me.

  "By rights, these are yours," he said, and I noticed his voice was hoarse.

  Only then did I look down and see that the objects in his hands were, in fact, the two armbands Draxo was wearing on each bicep, along with a pair of heavy gold rings that, only when I saw them then, did I recall noticing on his hands. It is impossible to recount the new flood of emotions that ran through me at the sight of these spoils. For an instant of time, I was transported back to the year before, when I had slain Vergorix, another chieftain, this one of the Chatti. That time, I had been awarded the spoils by none other than Nero Claudius Drusus himself, except I had been forced by Urso to turn over the most valuable piece, a heavy gold torq, which I never saw again nor did I see the supposed proceeds from the sale of it. He had also kept a heavy gold chain the slain chieftain had used to fasten the bear cloak he wore, but I did not begrudge him that; it has been a custom for centuries for Centurions to always get a cut of the spoils from their men. Although I was still in the Fourth then, he was my Primus Pilus, and honestly, it was the torq that bothered me the most, although not for my own profit; again, knowing you are already wealthy alters your perception of matters involving money, at least it did, and does, for me. At the time, my outrage was more about the fact I could not share the proceeds with men who were comrades and friends. Now I stared down at the collection in Capulo's grimy hand and I noticed that, contrary to my first impression, the armbands were not iron, but silver. Tarnished, although that could be fixed easily enough. I was just reaching for them when Avitus said something that made my blood freeze.

  "Where did Caecina run off to?" he asked. "I thought he went back to his normal spot, but I don't see him over there."

  My answer came in the form of spinning about and shoving the spoils into Avitus' hands then, without another word, turning and heading in the direction I was sure Caecina was headed. Until Avitus spoke, I confess I had completely forgotten, not just about Caecina's sudden disappearance, but what I was sure was the cause for it, a bound girl who was alone and undoubtedly terrified, confined in a darkened house. I had not gone more than a dozen paces, however, when I met Asinius heading in the opposite direction, yet despite my almost frantic need to continue in pursuit of Caecina, I felt compelled to stop to address the Optio.

  "The Primus Pilus is dead," I said, and although it is true my mind was elsewhere, I still admit that I winced at the flat tone of my voice.

  Asinius, on the other hand, actually staggered a step backward, and I reached out to steady him, part of me taking note of the red smear of blood I left on his upper arm.

  "What?" he gasped. "When?"

  I could only shake my head; honestly, in that moment I could not speak about what I had witnessed, so instead I told him, "Just now, right before the Colapiani turned tail."

  "And why did they do that if the Primus Pilus is dead?" he demanded, and while I felt a flare of irritation that he seemed suspicious I was telling him something other than the truth, I managed to curb it and not say something to make it worse.

  "Because I killed Draxo right after he killed the Primus Pilus," I explained. "They obviously saw it happen, then they let out a howl like Cerberus and ran off. Although," I thought to add, pointing back in the direction of what now looked like a solid wall of flame, "I have no idea where they think they're going to go."

  The Optio considered for a brief moment before nodding his acceptance, but when I began moving past him, it was his turn to grab my arm.

  "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded.

  "Have you seen Caecina?" I asked, which seemed to startle him, but then he thought for a moment.

  "Not for a while," he admitted. "I saw him head off in your direction. He's not there?"

  "No," I replied flatly. "He ran off."

  Determined not to say anything more, I grew acutely uncomfortable when Asinius seemed to think this through, then stared at me intently.

  "Pullus, what's going on?"

  I did not say anything, instead just looking over his head, which was somewhat difficult; when we had been in the ranks together back when he was my Sergeant and I was a new tiro, he had marched next to me in the rank and although he was shorter, it was not by much. Nevertheless, I could feel his eyes boring into me as if he could peer into my soul, but when I heard him sigh, I was not prepared for what he said.

  "Fine," he sighed. "Go do what you need to do. Now that the Primus Pilus is dead, we're going to need to clean the Century up. But, Pullus," he warned me, and something in his tone compelled me to look directly into his eyes, "if whatever you have planned goes badly, we never spoke. Do you understand? I'll hang your ass out to dry if you try and bring me into this."

  In answer, I only gave him a grim nod, but it was enough.

  "All right," he muttered.
"Let me go sort this mess out."

  He did not even glance back in my direction as I resumed running, heading to the southeast corner of the town.

  Of all the changes that came with my rapid departure from the common area the sudden quiet, at least in a relative sense, was the most disconcerting. Running down the same street that Caecina, Mela, Geta, and I had used to reach the fight just a watch before, I was dimly aware my ears were ringing, although this is not that uncommon when the sounds of battle recede. I was more acutely mindful of another sensation, however, as the blood of the last Colapiani I had slain was exposed to the wind as I ran, cooling and drying on my hand and arm, which is distinctly unpleasant, no matter what the circumstances. It did not slow my pursuit, but I was nevertheless cognizant of the feeling that my skin was both tightening and turning sticky as the ichor clotted on my arm; still, it was this same feeling from the skin of my face that threatened to disrupt my concentration as a part of me shouted to slow down and at least use my neckerchief to clean my face. I resisted, not wanting to spare a moment since there was no way to estimate how much of a head start Caecina had on me in terms of time, but the one thing of which I was sure was that he was not my only enemy, that it was against me as much as he was. Reaching the end of the first street was the easy part in terms of remembering which way to go, so that despite my resolve, I had to slow down as I cursed the Varciani for their seemingly nonsensical layout of this town. My one, very faint, hope was that Caecina had experienced a similar problem, but after pausing perhaps five heartbeats, I chose to take the intersecting street to the left. Before I had gone another ten paces, I offered a silent prayer of thanks as I recognized the sight of a house whose door had been kicked in from the search earlier in the day. Unfortunately, my appreciation was premature; after negotiating another turn, then another, it was not until I reached the end of this last street before I became convinced it was the wrong one. I made no attempt to stifle my shout of angry despair as I whirled about and went charging back up the way from which I had just come. All these years later, it is impossible for me to calculate how many watches I have spent internally chastising myself for this error; while I have learned to live with my mistake, the bitterness and regret is still there inside me whenever my mind is turned to remembering that night, as it is now. Now there is yet another regret added to this episode, the fact that I must relive this horrible night all over again in order to give a proper and complete account. However, I made a sacred vow to emulate the example set by my Avus, the first and greatest Titus Pullus, and leave behind a record for our descendants that is not only complete, but more importantly, one that is as truthful as possible for a mortal man to be. And, dear as-yet unborn reader, this means recording the failures of my life with as much fidelity as the successes. While there is no way for me to know whether my error actually did make a difference in all that was about to happen, I freely confess it is the uncertainty that haunts me the most. In most ways, I would prefer at least to know the truth, however bitter it may be, especially when compared to the gnawing sense of disappointment and loathing I have for myself for my perceived failure.

  Despite all that lay ahead, in the moment, I was still propelled by hope as I reversed myself and corrected my blunder. Finally, I was racing down a street I clearly recognized and although the area was still darkened, it was not nearly as dim as it had been. Not only was there reflected light caused by the flames that had fully consumed the western side of the town, the fire had reached the last row of houses at the southwest corner of the town, and fires are hungry beasts that are never satisfied until they have consumed everything in their path. Unless the fire is stopped, of course, but the 8th was in too much a state of disarray, and the senior Centurion in command of the Cohorts who were not in the first line but held in reserve, had obviously deemed the fighting to be sufficiently heavy that he did not detach at least one Cohort to race to the area around the southern gate and try to stop the fire's progress. Honestly, I can find no fault in his decision, if only for the reason that by this point the fire was completely out of control, and I believe the entire Legion would have been needed to tear down a few blocks' worth of houses to create a fire break large enough to stop it. Even then, it is not a certainty. Once I reached the head of the street, the reflection from the fire made dancing shadows that bathed the houses to my left in a lurid light, but I also noticed out of the corner of my eye the sight of actual flames just over the rooftops of the houses to my right. Only giving a glance in that direction, I judged the fire was still several streets over, yet it was clearly moving east, held in check on one side by the southern wall. That was when I recognized the fire was essentially following the contours of the wall, meaning it was undoubtedly heading in my direction. But most importantly, once it consumed all the houses along the southern wall, although it would now be moving against the wind, I had little doubt about whether it would still be strong enough to consume all the buildings on the eastern side of the common area. That probability, I must confess, was not of an immediate concern at that moment. The house where the girl had been left was at the far end of this block, and I rounded the corner of the street, moving at a run, or at least as much one as I could manage after all that had taken place. I was still a few houses up the street when a figure emerged from the house, then came to an abrupt stop, clearly alerted by the movement of my approach. For the briefest eyeblink of time, I felt an intense burst of what I recognized as hope, if only because the figure in the doorway was not holding a shield, which I had seen Caecina carrying with him when he ran from the fight. That hope was snuffed out in the next instant because, after the barest hesitation, the figure broke into a run, running out into the street in front of me. Once out of the shadow of the doorway, I had no trouble recognizing that it was indeed Caecina as he raced down the middle of the street, but in the opposite direction from me.

  "Caecina!" I roared. "Stop, you fucking cocksucker!"

  I believe this was the epithet I used, but honestly, I did not expect him to heed me, so I was not surprised when he did not even glance over his shoulder as he darted around the corner to the right, but while it was in the direction of the flames, I was certain he planned on using one of the three or four streets oriented in the direction of the common area where the fire had not yet reached. Running down the street behind him, even as I knew it was futile, I suppose buried inside me somewhere was a faint hope that the girl was at least still alive. Let me be clear on this point; I was under no illusion that she would escape being violated, though in the moment, my hope was that, if forced to choose between indulging himself but knowing he did not have time to commit rape and kill the girl, he would do the former but forego the latter. Even so, I also knew any delay would heighten Caecina's chance of making it back to the relative safety of the Century, where I would be unable to exact my revenge, at least immediately. Nevertheless, I slowed down and approached the door of the house, which had been left open. Then, over the sound of my own breathing, I heard a noise from within the house, a grunting sound that, had I stopped to listen carefully, I would have recognized was much lower-pitched than the girl would have even been capable of making. But my excitement and relief at what I interpreted as the sound of the girl struggling to free herself was so overpowering that I went rushing in, and while I had drawn my sword, it was only with the intention of cutting her bonds. Since the lamp had not been relit and the windows were still shuttered, it took my eyes a moment to adjust back to the deeper darkness of the house from the steadily growing light of the street. After that, it took perhaps a heartbeat longer to for my mind to make sense of what my eyes took in as I saw a figure on top of the girl. Although I could not even see her small body, the man was thrusting away, explaining the grunting sound I had heard. I was vaguely aware I unleashed my own roar, yet even so, there was a part of me relieved that at least I had been in time to save the girl's life. The sound of my bellow apparently was the first indication to Mela that I was present and
I saw the white blur of his face turn towards me, with the dark "O" of his mouth just visible in the middle.