Marching With Caesar-Rise of Augustus

by R. W. Peake

  “Was it everything you thought it would be?”

  Gaius’ eyes widened at the memory of all that he had seen and he grew animated talking about his first visit to the city from which all Romans claim their heritage.

  “It was more than I ever imagined,” he enthused. “I’ve never seen so many people crammed into one place, from all over the world!”

  I smiled indulgently, remembering my own trip to Rome for the first time, where I had much the same reaction. While Gaius described the sights, Scribonius and I exchanged glances with raised eyebrows. Once Gaius paused to take a breath, Scribonius commented, “It sounds like things have changed a bit.”

  “Oh yes, Caesar, er, I mean, Augustus has commissioned a great number of new public works. Most of them weren’t completed when we left, but it’s going to be spectacular when he is finished.”

  “I didn’t realize that you were so enamored of Augustus.” Scribonius seemed to read my mind, because I had been thinking the same thing, and Gaius’ face flushed.

  “I’m not,” he said defensively. “But you must admit that he’s done a lot for Rome. And if you saw all the work going on in the city, you’d be forced to agree.”

  “I don’t doubt that he's doing all the things you say,” I put in. “But I'd caution you against putting too much into the reasons why he's doing what he’s doing. The upper classes say a lot of things about helping the people of Rome, but at the heart of it, they're only doing what helps them advance their own interests.”

  “I know that,” Gaius replied. “But if their interests result in new baths, or a new hippodrome, or new aqueducts for the people to get water, I don’t really care.”

  “It’s hard to argue with that,” Scribonius said wryly, giving me a warning look that I should drop the line of questioning.

  “Did you attend the games?” I asked, tacitly accepting Scribonius’ warning.

  “Of course.” Gaius grinned. “Every day that I could. I got to see Victor fight. He's the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “For a gladiator maybe,” I scoffed. I did not then, nor do I now, think highly of gladiators, particularly after my fight with Prixus.

  “Still,” Gaius insisted, “he’s very good and he puts on a good show.”

  “I suppose,” was all I would say, a bit grumpily, I admit. This conversation seemed to be bound to head into dangerous topics, so I decided to steer it to a safe course that could not possibly cause any friction. Pointing to Iras and her growing belly, I asked, “And how did that happen?”

  “How do you think?” Iras retorted tartly, causing a laugh around the table. Now it was my turn to feel the heat rising to my face.

  “You know what I mean,” I shot back. “Like Scribonius said, you didn’t waste any time.”

  Gaius gave an elaborate shrug, trying to show that he was not concerned, but I saw through it immediately.

  “She got pregnant as soon as I got back,” he said a bit too casually.

  I did the mental calculations in my head, and while I am no expert on childbirth, Iras looked much farther along than the three months Gaius had been back from Rome. I said nothing, yet I could see the worry in his eyes as we exchanged a glance. For her part, Iras looked anything but worried at the possible problem with the timing of her pregnancy. However, I knew what a good actress she was, so I did not put much faith in her seeming innocence.

  I believe that Iras was as eager to change the subject as I was, because she pointed to my rawhide harness covering the stump of my little finger and asked, “How did that happen?”

  Quite frankly, I had forgotten about my finger, having become accustomed to the feeling of the harness, the stump now well healed and toughened. I glanced down at it, and I could feel Scribonius’ eyes on me, making me feel acutely uncomfortable. Although he had guessed the real cause of the injuries I had sustained, I had never acknowledged that he was correct in his assumption. I suppose that there were forces at work that night that convinced me that it was time to clear the air between us of this last mystery. Maybe it was learning of Vibius’ death, reminding me that our time on this earth is limited, and none of us know when our end will come. Perhaps it was the presence of a new life at the table, reminding me of all that I had lost. Whatever the cause, I proceeded to tell the story of Prixus and how he came to meet his end by my hand in a darkened room. I left nothing out; I started with our first clash, and I talked about how Egina had been the unwitting cause and excuse for our final confrontation. Without thinking about it, and because it seemed a natural part of the story, I told the tale of how I had found Egina sharing Diocles’ bed. This part of my tale did serve to lighten the mood, everyone around the table laughing about it, with one notable exception, and I became acutely aware of someone glaring daggers at me from his spot at the far end of the table. It seemed that no matter what topic I selected, it was fraught with hidden dangers, and it did not take me long to announce that I was extremely tired from my journey, which was true enough, even if it was not the real reason for calling an end to the evening. We said our goodbyes, with Scribonius and me agreeing to meet the next day to finalize our plans to present Norbanus with our candidates for Primus Pilus of the 13th. Once everyone had left, I was alone with my thoughts, and I found myself thinking about a short, bandy-legged boy who I had never imagined would be anything but my best friend for the rest of my life.

  Somewhat to our surprise, Norbanus accepted our recommendations for Primus Pilus, but as I was to learn, his gruff exterior and biting remarks were more of an act than representative of the real man. Once we worked together longer, my initial impression of Norbanus changed, and I grew to respect him, while I believe he felt the same. After much discussion between Scribonius and me, we decided to select three candidates from inside the 13th Legion, along with one each from the 8th and the 14th, men who had come highly recommended from their own Primi Pili. The Centurion from the 8th came from the First Cohort, and I had seen enough of him in action when it had been just the 8th with Marcus Crassus to approve of Macrinus’ judgment that the man was ready for the duty of Primus Pilus. Not surprisingly, Festus was not one of the men from the 13th we considered, although he was not as much of an incompetent or crook as I assumed, knowing that Natalis had handpicked him. He was just not bright enough to run anything more than a Century, and truthfully, he should not have been in the First Cohort to begin with, but his performance was satisfactory enough that we had no real reason to remove him. We had made a number of moves within the Legion, while persuading four of the worst cases that it was time to retire and take their pensions, along with the money they had in their Legion accounts, even though we knew that it was most likely ill gotten. This was not an easy decision to make, since it rubbed both Scribonius and me the wrong way to let men essentially get away with robbery and keep the money, yet neither of us relished the idea of having to go through the spectacle of formally charging these men, because it would subject my removal of Natalis to deeper scrutiny. After our initial meeting, Norbanus had reviewed the case evidence that Scribonius had gathered, and we had a meeting where he abruptly announced that the evidence was indeed overwhelming and that he agreed with my decision to remove Natalis. That was the last mention of it, and I did not want to stir things back up again. Accordingly, we told each of the four men that in exchange for their agreement to retire quietly, we would allow them to take their money with them. Only one of them balked at this, but after a quiet visit to his quarters one night, he decided the next morning to accept our generous offer. In many ways, these men were the easiest to deal with because they were straightforward matters; get rid of them, out of the Legion and out of the army. However, there were three men that Scribonius and I agreed were damaged beyond any hope of redemption who were young enough that they were still on their first enlistment, with more than a year left to serve. If it had been a year or less, there were ways that we could have finessed the situation, keeping them on the rolls for the remainder of their time while
removing them from actual physical command. Of course, it was impossible to perpetrate that fiction for more than just a few months before someone higher up was bound to notice, meaning this approach was not viable for us. With these men, there was nothing for it but a Tribunal, presenting the same problem that we had with the older men. Scribonius and I discussed at length our options, until we finally arrived at only one conclusion. These men had to disappear, but on their own. I for one was not willing to shed more blood; there was enough of it on my hands for several men’s lifetimes, and I knew Scribonius agreed. The trick would be to convince these men that it was in their best interests to disappear quietly, leaving the Legion before they were publicly punished and humiliated. I decided that it was time to pay a visit to Tribune Claudius.

  “I know that when you found out what Natalis was up to, you insisted on being cut in on the money.” I went on the attack immediately after Claudius had arrived in my quarters.

  He had been smiling when he arrived, a sign of our improved relationship, but it froze on his face as he stared at me. I saw his body stiffen for a moment, but I held him in my gaze for several heartbeats. Finally, his shoulders slumped, all the fight instantly draining from his body. He looked at the floor, the misery plain on his face, yet I had no wish to humiliate the Tribune.

  “Please take a seat, Claudius,” I said quietly.

  A look of surprise flickered across his face, but he sat obediently in the chair that I had indicated.

  “I didn’t call you here to chastise you or threaten you with punishment in any way,” I told Claudius. I heard him exhale in clear relief as I continued.

  “I can’t change what happened, and frankly I don’t think it would serve the army or Rome any good in seeing that you were punished. The scheme wasn’t your idea, and your involvement was more a matter of opportunity than design.”

  Before he had the chance to think he had gotten away completely free, I hardened my voice.

  “But we have a huge mess on our hands, and you do owe the men of the 13th. I'm giving you the opportunity to help me clean it up. If you do that, then your secret is safe and will go with me to the afterlife.”

  Claudius’ expression hardened, and I could see that he did not like the implied threat. However, after a moment he took a deep breath then nodded again.

  “I agree,” he said quietly. “What do you need me to do?”

  I outlined the plan that Scribonius and I had come up with. He listened thoughtfully, then said, “When do you want me to do it?”

  Once we were finished, I called for Scribonius to tell him that Claudius had agreed. Now all we had to do was wait for Claudius to do his part.

  I have said many times, there are no secrets in the army. There are ears everywhere, always listening for any piece of information that will give the men a hint of what lies in store for them. We were counting on this when we told Claudius to have a conversation with Cornelius, who we had already informed of what was happening. They were in the Praetorium, the absolute best place to have a secret relayed to the rest of the army, where Claudius was telling Cornelius of an upcoming Tribunal of three Centurions.

  “There’s no doubt of their guilt,” he told Cornelius. “So I need your vote of condemno to make an example of these men. They've been bleeding their Centuries dry for quite some time. As far as I'm concerned, they deserve to be flogged with the scourge and if they’re still alive, crucified afterward.”

  “I don’t know,” Cornelius said doubtfully, but he was simply mouthing what we had told him to say. We knew that if Cornelius readily agreed to such a harsh punishment, this would arouse suspicions that there was something contrived going on. Our only concern was if Cornelius could be convincing essentially playing a role. “That sounds excessive to me.”

  “Do I need to remind you that you owe me, Cornelius?” Claudius asked stiffly, again part of the words we had instructed him to say.

  “No, you don’t need to,” Cornelius said loudly enough for the clerks to hear.

  “Good, then I can count on you?” Claudius insisted.

  Cornelius assured him that he could, promising the vote of condemno on the behalf of another Tribune who by common knowledge was a close friend of Cornelius. Three votes would be enough to ensure the punishment would be carried out. Once the seed was planted, the two Tribunes parted. It was only a matter of three or four days before the Centurions who Claudius had named in his conversation to Cornelius decided to absent themselves during the night, two of them on one night, the other on the next. I was called to the Praetorium the day after the third Centurion disappeared to face Norbanus.

  “We have a disturbing development in the 13th,” he said abruptly, without waiting for any pleasantries to be exchanged. Despite knowing exactly what he was talking about, I played the game.

  “Oh? And what is that, General?” I asked, keeping my face neutral.

  Norbanus glared up at me through his shaggy eyebrows.

  “As if you didn’t know,” he snorted, but he did not press the issue. Pointing to the tablet before him on his desk, he continued, “We've had three desertions from the 13th Legion in the last two days.”

  I raised my own eyebrows in mock surprise, trying to make it seem as if I was genuine.

  “Really? That is somewhat surprising. I thought Scribonius had done a good job of turning the Legion around.”

  “Oh, stop with the pretense,” Norbanus snapped. “You know very well what I'm talking about. We've had three Centurions desert in the last two days. I can’t remember that ever happening before, can you?”

  “No,” I was forced to admit. “But I can’t say that it’s altogether surprising. Natalis made some very poor choices in Centurions during his time.”

  He brushed aside my defense with an impatient wave.

  “Be that as it may, do you realize how badly this reflects on me, to have Centurions deserting from the army? What will Augustus think?”

  Before I could answer, he continued, his words tumbling from his mouth and it was clear that he was truly concerned about what Octavian thought.

  “I'll tell you what he'll think. He'll hear of this and think that I'm such a tyrant that even the Centurions are deserting! I can’t have him thinking that, do you understand me?”

  There was a desperate quality to his voice that told me that he was truly concerned about this, so I hurried to calm him.

  “General, I'm sure that it won’t come to that,” I spoke to him in the same soothing tone I used when Ocelus was spooked.

  “Oh? How can you be so sure?” he demanded.

  “Because Rome is far away, and as many things as Augustus has on his mind, I'm sure that three Centurions deserting won't be enough to draw his attention.” I paused for a moment. “As long as their desertions are spread out enough in the Legion diary, that is.”

  Norbanus stared at me for a long moment before he asked, “What do you mean?”

  “I think you know what I mean.” I was not willing to be this coy with Norbanus.

  I needed him to agree to this ruse immediately, because he was correct. If I had stopped to think about it, I might have recognized how strange it would seem that we were talking about Octavian and his reaction, despite the fact that he had supposedly relinquished his power to the Senate. However, both Norbanus and I knew the fiction of his announcement to the Senate, making it no surprise that he was concerned.

  “I understand that Caesar, I mean, Augustus,” I had to make an effort to correct myself, “is extremely involved with the affairs of the army, but not even he can carefully read every single Legion’s diary and try to determine whether or not things are as they appear. If the Legion diary records that a Centurion deserted this week, then another one in a couple of weeks and the last in a month, Augustus won't be able to determine whether this is accurate or not.”

  “So you’re suggesting that we lie in an official document?”

  Oh, Norbanus was cagey, I must give him that, but I had bee
n playing this game just as long as Norbanus, and I had been taught by some of the best men in the history of Rome. In answer, I gave an elaborate shrug.

  “General, it makes no difference to me one way or the other. I'm not in overall command here. I'm simply offering a way whereby you can avoid the scrutiny of Augustus, and we both know that these men deserting are the best thing in the long run for the 13th and the army as a whole.”

  Norbanus continued to glare at me, yet there was a subtle change in his expression that I was just beginning to learn to read.

  He said nothing, fiddling with his stylus for several moments before he said, “Very well. What you say makes sense, as much as it pains me to do something so underhanded. But I suppose it can't be helped.”

  “Not if you don’t want Augustus asking a lot of questions.”

  “No,” he sighed. “We don't want that. It would serve no purpose and alarm Augustus unduly. I know that we're making the right decisions with the army and the 13th, so I'll do as you suggest. But,” he pointed a finger at me in warning, “if this turns out to be a mistake, I'll drop you in the cac to keep me company, Prefect. I'll tell Augustus that it was your idea to make these fraudulent entries in the diary.”

  I cannot say I was surprised, but I did not like it. However, I bit my tongue, simply giving a curt nod at his warning. With our business concluded, I left the Praetorium to return to my quarters, content that we had finished with our work in setting the 13th right again.

  I suppose that with the affairs of the 13th settled, this is as good a place to stop as any, as I have grown very, very tired. There is just one more part to my story, one last chapter of my life that must be told, not just to finish my own tale, but to honor those men who are as much a part of it as I am. It concerns my last campaign, and the greatest threat, not just to my career but to my life that I ever faced, in one full of narrow escapes and brushes with death. But before I can do it justice, I need to pause and refresh myself, and I have an old friend, waiting for me in the stable attached to my villa, ready to try to jump at least one more fence or ditch. Because while I may be old, and not the man I was, I am still Titus Pullus, Legionary of Rome, and I have some life in me yet.