Marching With Caesar - Civil War

by R. W. Peake

  Before he could say anything else, I wearily held a hand up. “You'll have your chance to speak. Until then I expect you to remain silent.”

  He looked like he was thinking of protesting, his mouth open to say something, but I gave him a look that snapped it shut.

  “What was the altercation about?” I asked Serenus.

  He shrugged, “It’s hard to tell, Primus Pilus. Supposedly it was over a woman that the man from the 28th claimed had been paid for her services during the time that Verres was with her.”

  Flaccus coughed, opening his mouth, but I shot him a warning look.

  “Witnesses?”

  “Several,” Serenus replied. “All of whom said basically the same thing, that the Gregarius from the 28th forced his way into the who . . . the woman’s room, where she was with Verres and began shouting at Verres, calling him names, you know, the usual insults. Then the man from the 28th pulled a blade and attacked Verres. Verres defended himself, and in the ensuing fight, killed the man from the 28th.”

  “He cut his throat from ear to ear,” Flaccus burst out, but I did not say anything.

  It was clear that Flaccus was upset, more upset than a man who knows his own is in the wrong normally would be, I thought.

  Turning back to Serenus, I asked, “Anything else?”

  He shook his head. I looked at Flaccus, but before he spoke, I asked him for his full name and rank, so that I would know how to address him. He did not know that I actually knew a bit about him; Cartufenus had spoken of him and thought highly of the Centurion, a tall thin man with what I considered a weak chin. Yet his gaze was direct, and he spoke clearly and firmly, with an accent that told me he was from Etruria.

  “I am Tertius Princeps Posterior Gaius Flaccus, Primus Pilus.”

  I nodded my thanks, indicating he should continue.

  He cleared his throat and began, “First, I'd request that we refer to the dead man by his name. He was Gregarius Gnaeus Plautus.”

  He looked meaningfully at both of us, and I nodded. It was only right that we call the dead man by his name; no matter how he died, we owed him that much, and my respect for Flaccus grew a bit.

  “Very well, Princeps Posterior, we shall refer to him by his name. His unit?”

  Now Flaccus looked uncomfortable, so I had an inkling that I knew what he was going to say.

  “Fourth of the Third.”

  I was right, and I hoped that my face did not betray my internal groan at the news. This complicates things quite a bit, I thought, because this is Flaccus’ man. I have a habit when I am distracted or worried in some way of rubbing my face, and I found that I was doing that very thing.

  “So, he’s your man then,” Serenus said triumphantly, Flaccus shooting him an angry look.

  “I assure you, that has nothing to do with my report,” he replied angrily, and I made a placating gesture to him.

  “Nobody,” I looked sternly at Serenus, angry that he had spoken out of turn, forcing me to verbalize this, “is making any suggestion that it will, Princeps Posterior. In fact,” I lied, “it means that you may be able to provide even more valuable insight into what happened precisely because you do know the Gregarius . . . I mean, Plautus . . . very well. Please tell us your side.”

  I took great pains to avoid using the word “version,” having learned that when one used that word, others took it that you were inferring that they were not being truthful.

  Flaccus nodded and continued, “What Serenus has just described is not what happened.” I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise, but he either ignored or did not see my expression. “It's true that Plautus and your man Verres had words, but that is all they were . . . words. Plautus didn't force his way into the woman’s room; in fact, it was the exact opposite. According to my witnesses, both men were sitting in the outer room, waiting their turn for their . . . partners. My information is that they were not seeing the same woman. Anyway, what is true is that my man Plautus began talking to Verres, but the subject wasn't which woman they were seeing.”

  I suspected I knew the answer, but I asked anyway. “What was the topic, Flaccus?”

  Now he was looking like he would rather be anywhere but standing in front of Serenus or me, and I felt a pang of sympathy. Serenus was staring at him coldly, waiting for him to speak.

  “It concerned . . . the . . . uh . . . the events of yesterday.”

  I raised an eyebrow, a trick I had learned from Gisela.

  “Well, that's certainly understandable,” I said reasonably, “since yesterday was an eventful day. Do you know exactly what Plautus was saying?”

  Flaccus looked positively miserable, but as much as I may have sympathized, I could not let this question go unanswered, so I repeated the question.

  “Plautus was commenting on the . . . performance of the men of the 37th,” he could not look at either of us as he finished.

  “Let me guess, he wasn't exactly complimentary, was he?”

  Flaccus sighed then shook his head. “No Primus Pilus, he wasn't.”

  “Do you know specifically what he said about the 37th?”

  Oh, I am willing to bet my entire fortune that at that moment, Princeps Posterior Flaccus was offering an urgent prayer that the ground beneath his feet would suddenly open to swallow him up.

  Closing his eyes tightly, he said something in such a soft whisper that I could not hear, so I had to ask him to repeat himself. “He said . . . he said . . . that the 37th wasn’t worth the sweat off his balls, and that they deserved to be decimated.”

  I had to stifle a laugh at the colorful invective that Plautus had spewed, but it was truly no laughing matter. The last part especially was troubling, because that was about the worst thing one Legionary could say about another Legion, and I said as much.

  “But that isn't reason enough to kill him,” Flaccus protested, and this I could not argue.

  However, Flaccus was not finished; he went on to claim that it was actually the other way around, that Verres had followed Plautus into the room his whore occupied, where he stabbed him to death.

  When Flaccus was finished, I sat thinking for a moment. “Flaccus, I'm curious about one thing. You're the commander of the guard for the 28th in your sector, correct?”

  “Yes, Primus Pilus.”

  “Isn’t it customary that the commander of the guard and the Century on watch be from the same Century?”

  He nodded, and I asked, “So why was Plautus not on duty?”

  “Because I was doing a favor for a friend of mine who commands the Sixth Century, and I took his shift.”

  I had suspected as much; Centurions swapped guard shifts all the time, despite there being regulations against it, which are almost universally ignored. There was no way that this matter was going to be handled quickly, or quietly, for that matter. I would have to talk to the witnesses for both men. Biting back a curse as I stood up, I grabbed my helmet and vitus.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  I was not surprised that the men were no help, on either side. They were uniformly as solemn and sincere as Vestal Virgins, each of them swearing to their household gods that they were being completely truthful and not embellishing a thing. However, I did not really need to hear what they had to say, because I was as close to convinced as I could be that I knew the real story, and unfortunately, it was closer to Flaccus’ version than Serenus’. I think that this Plautus saw a golden opportunity to pay those uppity bastards from the 6th back for all the cac they had been making the 28th eat. What he did not count on was one fact in particular; Verres’ older brother was a Centurion in the 37th, although he had survived the disaster, and I could not help wondering if Verres’ brother was the Centurion we saw cutting his own men down. However, there was no way I could ask Verres that, or that Verres would have known, even if his brother had confessed, since the 37th was still down on the ships. Still, knowing the truth, and proving it were two different things, which was only part of the problem. The bigger issue, at least in my own m
ind, was that by choosing to believe that the version Flaccus gave was closer to the truth than what Serenus, Verres and his friends had provided, I would be siding with the 28th against my own men. The fact that I was as close to convinced as I could be that Verres had killed Plautus simply for what he said just made things more difficult. In the larger picture, this was a no-win situation; if I sided with Verres, the men of the 28th would be even more embittered towards us, while siding with Plautus would make the 6th not only angry at the 28th, but at me as well for siding with them. The fact that I would simply be acting in the interests of justice and the truth had nothing to do with it, because rankers only care about what is fair when it somehow benefits them. If they see the right thing as somehow taking something from them, you can forget them wanting to do the right thing. On the surface, it appeared that the decision, while not easy, was at least clear. The lesser of two evils was to accept Verres’ version of events. I did not think it could make relations between the 6th and 28th any worse, and indeed, Verres escaping punishment might at least encourage the 28th to keep their mouths shut about what happened to the 37th. I also had to consider the fact that while in command of the 6th for several months now, the men still had not fully accepted me. The assault on the island had helped a great deal to solidify my hold over the men, but I knew there were still doubters, and some of them were Centurions and Optios. I could easily see Cornuficius turning this to his advantage; as I was learning, he was much cleverer than Celer, and more devious. I resolved that I would sleep on it, but I got precious little of it, tossing and turning instead, and it slowly dawned on me that the cause of my distress was . . . anger. The realization struck me suddenly, shortly before dawn, when I sat upright, my mind racing. This had less to do with what was true than with the idea that I felt that I was being manipulated by not only my men, but Cornuficius as well, since Verres was his man, and all the witnesses were not only in the same Century, they were Verres’ very own tent mates, a fact I thought was very odd. There was little doubt that they had gotten together and worked out their story, probably rehearsing it. In truth, this was not unusual at all, having done it myself many times when I was a ranker. Except, somehow I convinced myself that this was different, that the men thought that they were getting one over on me, so by the time I was through thinking about it, I envisioned them sitting around the fire laughing uproariously at their gullible Primus Pilus and how easy it was to fool him. By the time the sun rose, I was in a cold fury, and the fate of Verres was sealed.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You’re sure about this?”

  I looked at Cartufenus, sitting across from me but this time at his desk, in his quarters and not mine. I nodded.

  “May I ask why?” His tone was very polite, but I would have answered him regardless.

  “Because I don't believe Verres, or his tent mates,” I said simply.

  He regarded me with an even gaze, his eyes giving away nothing, then he replied, “While I'm sure that my men will appreciate your sense of justice and will think more kindly of you, I somehow don't think your men will feel the same.”

  “I couldn't give a flying fuck what the men think about me,” I snapped, instantly regretting it. Cartufenus’ face flushed, clearly angry, and I made haste to apologize. “I'm sorry, Cartufenus. This has just put my nerves on edge. I meant no disrespect to you.”

  He inclined his head, signaling that he accepted my apology.

  Folding his arms, he looked thoughtfully down at his desk. “And you plan on taking this matter to Caesar? And to recommend the maximum punishment?”

  “Yes.”

  For that was the decision that I had reached the night before, and although my anger had cooled, my determination to see this through had not.

  “Aren’t you worried that the whole story of our . . . difficulties will come to light?”

  This was the crux of the matter, at least as far as I was concerned. By making this official, and bringing it to the attention of Caesar, there would undoubtedly be questions asked that would expose the months-old rift between our two Legions.

  Indeed, I was very worried about it, but to Cartufenus I just shrugged. “I’ve been thinking about it, and maybe we didn’t do the best thing in keeping this quiet after all.” He was not convinced, so I continued talking. “It’s only a matter of time before there's a really ugly incident, and not one involving just one or two men. There’s going to be a riot, and there'll be no way to hide that. Then where will we be? No, I think it’s better to get it out in the open now while it’s still relatively minor and something that we can handle.”

  He did not like it, but I could see that he accepted the sense of what I was saying. His expression sharpened; he had a pair of very bushy, thick eyebrows that when he frowned merged to form one single line of hair, so despite the gravity of the subject, I had to keep from laughing when I saw what looked like two caterpillars crawling towards each other on his forehead.

  “Caesar’s no fool; he’ll know that there’s more to the story, and that this just didn’t suddenly flare up.”

  The urge to laugh fled from me with his words, the way those sailors had on the Heptastadion .

  “I know,” I said soberly. “I'll just have to deal with that if it happens.”

  “Oh, it'll happen. I may not know Caesar as well as you do, but I know him well enough. He doesn’t miss a thing.”

  With that, our conversation was over and I left to go deal with what was coming next.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “You’re going to do what?”

  Not surprisingly, the reaction I got from my own Centurions was more vehement than Cartufenus’, with a babble of voices as all the men tried to talk at once. My nerves were already very raw, so I was in no mood to indulge my Centurions in what I considered useless chatter.

  “Tacete!”

  Even I could feel the walls vibrate from the sound of my voice, and the men instantly obeyed. I waited for a moment, observing the men’s sullen silence, the hostility and anger written plainly on almost every face. Felix looked less angry than puzzled, while Considius looked like he had no idea what we were talking about.

  Calmly, I repeated what I had originally said that caused all the excitement. “I said that after investigating the matter, I've determined that Gregarius Immunes Verres stabbed Gregarius Plautus to death without sufficient provocation. While I don't doubt that Plautus said something offensive, I don't think that it warranted the reaction that he got. I therefore intend to take the matter to Caesar and recommend that Verres be punished.”

  “But Verres has witnesses that saw the whole thing and corroborated his story,” protested Severus, with several of the others loudly voicing their agreement.

  “Yes, and I believe Verres’ tent mates were showing commendable loyalty, but I simply don't believe them. Don’t any of you find it somewhat odd that every witness on Verres’ behalf was from his section? I know men usually spend most of their time with their tent mates; remember, I was in the ranks myself.” As I said this, I thought back to all those nights around the fire with Vibius, Scribonius, Romulus, and Remus.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, I felt my chest tighten as my eyes began to burn, forcing me to blink rapidly to keep from shaming myself. Fortunately, the others were too absorbed in their own thoughts to notice.

  “But it’s very, very rare that every single man in Verres’ tent section just happened to be present, in the exact same whorehouse, at the exact same time.”

  There was not much that anyone could say about this, for they knew what I was saying was true. I suppose it is possible that every single member of a tent section got along with each other so well that they were all good friends and went everywhere, even whoring together, but I had never seen it happen. It certainly had not worked out that way in my tent section, and I thought of Didius, wondering if anyone had caught him cheating and beaten him to death yet.

  “Perhaps it was a special occasion.”

  All eyes
turned towards Favonius, the one who uttered these words. I felt my jaw clench, knowing that whatever he was up to, it was highly unlikely that I would like it.

  “Oh?” I laughed, making no attempt to hide my sarcasm. “And what momentous event could prompt something that we all know never happens? Somebody’s birthday, perhaps?”

  While my words were meant to unsettle Favonius, they did not seem to have any effect at all.

  He merely shrugged and replied quietly, “I don’t know, but I think it might be a good idea to find out.”

  I could not tell what he was playing at, which made me nervous, particularly since his idea had merit, at least in the sense of tying up any possible loose ends, but I decided not to press the matter at that time.

  “Primus Pilus, with all due respect, I have to say that I vigorously protest your decision and I resent the implication that somehow my men are lying to cover up for one of their comrades.” For the first time I could recall in our short relationship, I seemed to have Cornuficius rattled, his normally blank face clearly angry.

  In reply, I feigned surprise as I responded, “I'm not censuring your men in the slightest, Cornuficius. They showed admirable loyalty in trying to protect their tent mate, however misguided that loyalty may have been. And neither am I saying that Plautus was completely blameless, but what I am saying is that while Verres may have had just cause to be angry, he overreacted. He acted in the heat of the moment, which is something I intend to stress to Caesar. It's very likely that Caesar will show clemency; he’s famous for his mercy. You all should know that better than most.”

  That was a calculated slap in their collective faces, but I was gambling that the fact that it was true would keep the men from speaking up. I was relieved to see that I was right.

  “That's all I have to say on the matter. I'll be making my report to Caesar later today. In the meantime, Verres is confined to quarters; I don't see much point in keeping him in close confinement. As bad as things may be for him inside, I'm fairly sure that the Egyptians will have something much more unpleasant in store for him if he decides to go over the wall.”