Marching With Caesar - Civil War

by R. W. Peake

  “Not just Caesar. Any Roman who's served in a type of office, both currently and if he's held this office in the past, is entitled to his lictors. The number depends on the office. What of it?” I asked impatiently, aware that while the noise had died down, now there was an air of anticipation hanging over us, and it was not just coming from the Egyptians. Caesar was not renowned for his patience.

  “No person in Egypt other than Pharaoh has the right to take a man’s life, Centurion, even a Consul of Rome.”

  “It’s a symbol of office,” I argued. “I haven’t seen or even heard of a lictor administering punishment in my lifetime. It’s simply a mark of the status of Caesar and men like him to have lictors.”

  “I understand that, Centurion, truly I do.” He indicated the crowd behind him with a minute nod of his head. “But they do not. I must respectfully request that Caesar not be preceded by his lictors as he makes his way through our city.”

  I stood there for a moment, although I knew delaying was not going to make things any easier. “Very well,” I said tersely, “I'll relay what you've said to Caesar. Wait here.”

  Whereupon I turned and walked back to Caesar, fighting the urge to break into a run because it would not be dignified. Caesar had been standing there for a few dozen heartbeats, and for a man like Caesar that is a lifetime, so his impatience and irritation was clear to see even as I approached him.

  “Well?” he snapped as I saluted him, which he did return, despite his obvious impatience.

  I relayed what Paulinus had said, and I saw the same puzzlement in his eyes that I had felt.

  “But it’s a ceremonial office,” he said in exasperation.

  “I told him that, Caesar, but he says that although he understands that, those folks over there,” like Paulinus, I used my head to point, “they don’t know that.”

  “Well, that's too bad for them. I'm a Consul of Rome, and they would do well to remember that. Tell the emissary that I won't be dismissing my lictors, and I will make my way to the palace.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  And with that, I turned to walk back to Paulinus, informing him of Caesar’s decision.

  His chin quivered, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cry, but he took a breath then said slowly, “Very well. I will inform the City Guard that you and your party are to be escorted as they are currently formed. Do not worry, Centurion. The City Guard will ensure your safety.”

  I threw my head back and laughed, which he did not care for in the slightest. “Thank you Paulinus, but,” I indicated my own men, “these are Legionaries of Rome. I think we'll be safe enough.”

  “Fine, Centurion. As you wish,” he snapped.

  Again, I was struck by how womanish he sounded. Paulinus turned away, walking over to the commander of the City Guard to say something. I saw the man’s body stiffen in anger, then he looked over Paulinus’ shoulder at me, and if looks could kill, I would have dropped stone dead. I merely winked at him, then turned to my men and ordered them to form up to march. And that is how we entered Alexandria.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Despite Paulinus’ warning, we marched to the royal palace without major incident, save for a couple of rotten vegetables thrown our way, thankfully not at Caesar because we would have had to punish them, and one thing I was learning, tramping through the streets, was that there were a lot of Egyptians. Normally, Caesar would have led the way with his retinue, but given the tensions, he ordered me to send a Century ahead, and I chose Felix’s, marching with him as we cleared the way for Caesar. I had never seen so much humanity crammed into one place in my life, and I wondered if perhaps it was a case of every citizen choosing to be out in the streets to watch our approach. They gave way easily enough, yet were clearly not happy with our presence. I am just happy that none of us knew the local language because I am sure someone in the crowd said something that guaranteed their head leaving their shoulders prematurely, and that would have been bad. Another thing I noticed was the layout of the city itself, never seeing anything like it before. The streets for the most part are perfectly straight and intersect each other at right angles. As we marched, I studied the layout, trying to think why it was so foreign but so familiar at the same time. Finally, I made mention of it to Felix.

  “That’s because it’s laid out like a Roman army camp.”

  I started; he was right. That was why it had seemed so familiar, but was also so strange, because none of our towns or cities is laid out in a similar fashion.

  “So these bastards stole our design,” I said smugly, but was surprised when Felix laughed.

  “No, Primus Pilus, it’s the other way around. We stole the design from them.”

  “Gerrae,” I replied indignantly, “how’s that possible?”

  “Well, you know who Alexandria is named for, don’t you?”

  “Of course, I’m not that uneducated,” I shot back indignantly, nettled at his presumption of ignorance on my part.

  “Well, Alexander lived more than 200 years ago, and we’ve only been making our camps this way for about 150 years. So I think it’s safe to say that we copied Alexander. Not,” he added hastily, apparently worried that he had offended me, “that Alexander is a bad person to copy from.”

  I regarded what he said, then asked, “And how did you know this, Felix?”

  Now he looked uncomfortable.

  Finally, he shrugged and looked away as he mumbled, “I like to read a bit. I just picked it up from somewhere, I guess.”

  I looked over my shoulder to make sure Felix’s Optio and men were out of earshot, then told him quietly, “So do I. I read quite a bit.”

  He looked so surprised that I am sure a strong wind could have blown him over. I recognized that here was the opening I was looking for, in my attempt to make him an ally.

  “In fact, I’ve built up quite a little library over the last few years,” I said, hoping my voice sounded casual. “If you ever have the urge, please feel free to borrow anything that strikes your fancy.”

  Through the cautious expression, I saw the blaze of interest at my words, and recognized that look, for I suspect there were times when my own face was a reflection of his. Once I finally started reading for reasons other than reports and tallies, a whole world had opened up to me, and now rarely a night went by that I did not spend some time reading whatever I could get my hands on. I knew that look because I knew that feeling, and I hoped that this would be enough. Following the Street of the Soma, one of the principal north-south thoroughfares, we passed by the great Library, interesting the men not at all, but Felix and me greatly, and we exchanged a secret smile, knowing what the other was thinking.

  “I could get lost in there for months,” he said wistfully as we marched by

  “More like years,” I replied, my tone matching his.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  Upon reaching the Canopic Way, which is the primary east-west road, we turned left, and I marveled at how the roads not only ran straight, but how wide and well maintained they were. The streets were made of carefully fitted stone, much like our military highways, with curbs and gutters. Now the gutters were lined with people standing shoulder to shoulder and several people deep, and gazing down the length of the avenue, I realized that I could see almost a mile down the thoroughfare without my view being obstructed. And as I looked down the road, my heart sank; every step of the way was lined with people, a great brown, heaving mass, none of whom looked happy to see us.

  “How many people you think live here?” Felix’s question mirrored my own thoughts, but I could only shrug.

  “More than I’ve ever seen in one place is all I can say,” I answered.

  “It has to be bigger than Rome.”

  I looked at Felix in surprise. “You’ve been to Rome?”

  He nodded. “Several times.”

  “How does this compare?” I asked him.

  He gave a short laugh. “This place is much, much cleaner.”

  “So are the stree
ts laid out this way?”

  Another laugh. “Not even close. I don’t think there’s a street in Rome that runs straight for more than a few paces.”

  That did not make sense to me and I said so. “But if we make our camps like this, and we copied from Alexander, and Alexander laid his cities out like this, then why don’t we?”

  He shrugged. “I think it may be because it’s too late. The only way to make Rome look like this is to tear everything down and start over. And I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”

  I was struck by a thought. “Don’t be so sure,” I replied. “I have a feeling Caesar is going to be changing a lot of things about Rome. If he looks at Alexandria and thinks it’s a good idea for Rome, he’ll do it. He’ll tear everything down and start all over again, and nobody will stop him.”

  He looked at me for a moment, saying nothing. Then, “You have that much faith in him?”

  “Yes.” I was about to continue, but decided against it.

  “Well, that’s understandable. You’re his client, he’s your patron.”

  I felt a surge of anger well within me, but I pushed it aside, forcing myself to think about it from someone else’s perspective. I recognized that it was a logical conclusion for one to draw, and in fact could be true, but I just had not realized it.

  “I understand why you think so, Felix,” I said carefully, trying to decide how far to go. “But it’s not that simple. Caesar’s my general; in fact, he’s the only general I’ve ever followed for any length of time, except for that bastard Labienus. I was part of his dilectus when he raised the 10th. And say what you want, nobody can argue with what we did under Caesar because it’s never been done in the history of Rome. We conquered more territory and people in Rome’s name than any other time in our history. Through all that time, I’ve come to one conclusion. Caesar is blessed by the gods; he is truly their favorite. I’m not a particularly religious man, but there are things that even I can’t ignore, and all the signs are that Caesar will go down in the history of Rome as its greatest man.” I turned to look him in the eye. “Greater even than Pompey.” I could tell that he did not like my words about Pompey, but he said nothing. Turning my head back forward, I continued, “The simple truth is that I’ve never seen Caesar fail, and over the years I’ve simply come to the conclusion that it’s wiser to be on his side than against him. As you and the rest of the men should well know.”

  He liked that even less than my remark about Pompey, but I was speaking nothing but the truth, and I saw that he understood that. He did not like it, but he accepted it.

  There was a silence between us for some time before he shrugged. “That makes sense, Primus Pilus. I understand what you’re saying. It’s just . . .”

  He looked away, and I could tell he was torn about what he wanted to say next. “Go ahead, Felix, speak your mind.”

  “It’s just that while I may understand what you say about Pompey and Caesar, I don’t think the men are ready yet to accept that reality. Just like you, they were part of Pompey’s dilectus and view him as the father of the Legion.”

  I nodded, and I replied, “And I understand what you are saying, Felix, and I’ll bear it in mind. Thank you.”

  By the time our conversation ended, we had reached the gates of the palace enclosure, home of the boy king Ptolemy. We halted, waiting for Caesar to make his way to the front of the formation so that he could be the one to ask for entrance, and I had to suppress a smile when he was preceded by his lictors. He strode up to the very nervous looking Nubian guards, big brutes of my size with skin so black it looked very much like a ripe plum, but before he could say anything, one of them turned to open a small door inset into the huge gate, disappearing from sight, drawing a chuckle from us. A moment later, the door opened and a creature that could have been the twin of Paulinus stepped out, although if anything he was more richly attired, wearing an elaborate wig, black as night. His face was made up in the same style of Paulinus, and when he spoke, I was shocked because it was as if this thing and Paulinus shared the same voice. His name, he said, was Pothinus, and after listening to his oily blandishments for a moment, I felt in desperate need of a bath. However, Caesar behaved with impeccable courtesy, showing none of the impatience he had displayed at the dock. After a brief exchange that I could not clearly hear, Pothinus turned to the guards, who in turn put their weapons down to begin straining against the gates. Ponderously, and with much shrieking protest from hinges that did not seem to have been oiled in my lifetime, the gates opened up, giving us a glimpse into what would turn out to be our home for the next several months.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  We marched into the enclosure, and thank the gods that the palace compound was so large, given what would take place. There was still not enough room for everyone to assemble in formation, so I was ordered by Pollio to send one Cohort back to the docks, accompanied by Nero, who was going to arrange billeting for the men. Choosing the Seventh to remain in the palace complex, there immediately arose another complication, with Pothinus haughtily informing Caesar that we were not allowed to remain under arms while inside the palace compound.

  There was much back and forth over this, but Caesar ended the impasse by saying simply, “If you think your men can take their weapons, Pothinus, by all means order them to do so.”

  We kept our weapons, although Caesar did have us stack our arms and allowed us to take seats on the ground while he entered the palace proper. He also ordered that his two Primi Pili, meaning me, and the Primus Pilus of the 28th, a man named Gnaeus Cartufenus, to accompany him and his senior officers into the palace. Gnaeus Cartufenus was about ten years my senior, but he had spent most of his career in garrison or frontier postings and did not have a fraction of the combat experience that I had,. Thankfully, Cartufenus recognized his lack of experience and despite being technically senior, he usually deferred to me over questions concerning tactics. That was how Cartufenus and I were present for what happened next. Caesar formed us up, with Cartufenus and I naturally bringing up the rear, then marched into the palace. It was hard not to gawk and I was relieved that at least Cartufenus had the same problem. We had never seen anything so ornate; it seemed that everything was covered in gold, with even the most common objects made of precious metals and encrusted in jewels. That, however, was not the strange part. All around us were statues of the most bizarre creatures I had ever seen before, or since for that matter. A man’s body with the head of what looked like a dog was just one example, and as I looked more closely, I felt my skin crawling. If that was indeed a statue, it was made out of a substance I had never seen before, making me queasy as I wondered if what I was seeing was a real man. There were several stuffed crocodiles, their eyes replaced by gems like emeralds and rubies. We were marching down a very long passageway, and if I squinted, I could just make out what appeared to be a throne at the far end, and I recognized that this was all for the effect of overawing visitors like us. Lining the walls were dozens of men and women, most of the men dressed in the same style as Pothinus and Paulinus, while the women were wearing almost nothing at all, most of them lounging on couches. They all had their faces painted in what I was quickly learning was their fashion, and they were engaged in a variety of activities. Some of them were puffing on what I took to be some sort of pipe, although it was more elaborate than anything I had ever seen before. Meanwhile, others seemed to be engaged in some sort of sexual activity, and only the discipline of many years, along with a healthy fear of drawing Caesar’s displeasure, kept me from openly staring. Cartufenus was not quite so successful, and I had to nudge him a time or two. Now that we were closer, I saw that the throne was empty, but arrayed before it stood Pothinus and a number of other creatures like him. Caesar ordered us to halt as he stood a few feet away from Pothinus, and I saw that one of the creatures next to Pothinus held a small wicker basket.

  Caesar spoke, “Greetings to the House of Ptolemy. I am Gaius Julius Caesar of the Julii, direct descenda
nt of the goddess Venus, Consul of Rome and I hold the imperium granted me by Rome, which gives me the authority to engage in treaties and adjudicate disputes. I am here to see Ptolemy XIV and pay my respects.”

  Pothinus’ heavily made up face was a mask, making it almost impossible to read his expression, which, as I would come to learn, was one of the main reasons they did as much.

  He bowed when Caesar was finished, and said, “Alas Caesar, I am desolate.”

  Caesar raised an eyebrow. “And why, may I ask, Pothinus are you made desolate by my visit?”

  Pothinus held his hands out and while his voice throbbed with emotion, it was disconcerting to see the completely blank expression as he said, “It is not your visit that is so distressing Caesar. It is that our glorious Pharaoh Ptolemy, Lord of the Two Ladies Upper and Lower Egypt, Master of Sedge and Bee, Child of Amun-Ra, Isis and Ptah is not here.”

  For the second time in a day, Caesar was nonplussed “Not here? You mean not in the palace?”

  Pothinus shook his head. “No, great Caesar. I mean that he is not in Alexandria. He is with his army, a few days’ march away from here.”

  “Very well, then I will see his wife. Or his sister, however which you wish to style her.”

  Now I was confused; it was not until a day or so later that I learned the custom of the Ptolemaic dynasty that brother and sister also be man and wife, which I find despicable. But Pothinus knew exactly what he meant and for the first time I thought I detected a crack in his mask, matched by a tone of uncertainty when he answered Caesar.

  “Alas, Caesar, that is not possible either.”

  “Ah, so she is with her husband then?”

  I had been with Caesar long enough to recognize his tone; he was asking a question to which he already knew the answer. Since this was undoubtedly one of his many tests that he subjected people to, I felt a glimmer of sympathy for Pothinus, but it passed. Now Pothinus began fidgeting with his hands, and despite his face still looking serene, there was no mistaking the distress when he answered, “No, not exactly, Caesar. It would appear that our beloved queen Cleopatra has fallen prey to listening to evil counsel. She has raised an army in rebellion against her husband.”