by R. W. Peake
“So why am I here? What's going on?”
“You’re here because Caesar wants you here,” Apollonius said coldly. “And that should be enough.”
“It is enough,” I snapped. “But if I'm going to be yanked about from one posting to the next, I'd at least like to know why.”
Apollonius’ expression softened as he placed a hand on my arm.
“It has everything to do with the 10th and what happened at Rome. Caesar wants someone he can trust back with the 10th for the invasion of Africa.”
“Surely not every Centurion in the 10th is suspect.” I was thinking of Scribonius and Priscus as I said this, not believing that they could have been part of the mutiny.
Apollonius shook his head. “No, not every Centurion, but Caesar hasn't been happy with the Primus Pilus for some time, and he believes that he should have been warned about the seriousness of the mutiny much sooner than he learned of it.”
“Torquatus.” I said the name, to which Apollonius grunted.
Despite my appreciation of the fact that he had been thrust into the role by the death of Crastinus, such is the fate of every Centurion, to move up when someone more senior than you dies. The fact that Torquatus was unworthy of the job of Primus Pilus was just another example of the gods’ sense of humor, since in the short time I was around him, I had heard Torquatus say more than once that he did not ask for the Primus Pilus spot, it had been thrust upon him. Nevertheless, he had obviously not stepped down. While it is relatively rare for a man to abdicate the position, it is not unheard of, and if Torquatus was so desperately unhappy, then he could have, and probably should have, stepped down, but pride is a funny thing. Even when one part of your mind is telling you that you are not suited for something, there is another part that fiercely protects whatever position you have arrived at, warring against the other more rational part of you that knows your shortcomings, and all this merely in order to maintain whatever station you have managed to claw your way up the ladder to obtain. Apollonius regarded me thoughtfully, his brown eyes revealing nothing as he watched me digest the matter at hand.
“What does Caesar want me to do?” I asked finally.
“That is for Caesar to say. Now come on, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
With that, he turned to lead me into Caesar’s private office. The scene was the usual seeming chaos with men hurrying about carrying wax tablets or papyrus scrolls, whispering to each other importantly about how many buckles needed to be ordered, or how many kernels of grain it takes to feed a soldier. In the middle of it as always was Caesar, dictating to scribes while signing things brought to him, never looking at what he was signing, yet always seeming to know what it was. Seeing me, he dismissed the scribes, waving me over, so I marched over to him, saluting and reporting as he had ordered.
“Salve, Pullus. Are you ready to go back to the 10th?”
That was not a simple question to answer and it caused me to hesitate, something that did not appear to please Caesar at all. I was determined that this time I would not just blurt out the first thing that popped into my head, however, so I did my best to ignore his glare while I thought about it. So many thoughts rushed through my head at once and it was very confusing as I tried to sort them out.
Desperate to stall for time, I asked, “In what capacity would I come back?”
“As Primus Pilus, of course,” Caesar said impatiently, waving his hand as if the fact that there was a man already in the position was of no consequence.
I felt the beginning of an anger building, surprising me considerably. “What about Torquatus?”
“What about him?”
“Is he still Primus Pilus?”
“Yes, but that can be remedied very quickly.”
“How?”
Caesar’s eyes narrowed and I could see that his impatience was turning to anger. “What does it matter to you, Pullus? He'll be relieved of his command and you'll take his place. What do the circumstances matter?”
“Because he'll be shamed. His career will be over, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant such an action.”
“Who are you to tell me whether or not a Centurion in my command is fit for his position?” Caesar’s voice was soft but the barely controlled fury was clear to anyone within earshot, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that everyone in my vision had stopped what they were doing, instead suddenly studying whatever they held in their hands very closely as they strained to listen.
How did you get into this mess? I thought to myself. I had taken particular pains to think before I spoke, yet the tiny coal of anger was starting to glow red, and that ember always burned away my best intentions. I think that it stemmed from the resentment of Caesar’s station, not his abilities, because that was what was behind the action against Torquatus. Even if I was the beneficiary, I knew that I was just as subject to the whims of Caesar and men like him as Torquatus or any man in the ranks and I did not like it. Often was the time we talked of it around the fires, yet for the most part men just shrugged, saying that this was the way things were. They always had been and always would be. Still, I did not like it. In reality, I had less reason to be upset with Caesar because he was not like the other patricians and high-ranking plebeians, showing up for a campaign before running back to Rome to collect their accolades and honors while bragging to their friends about their tactical brilliance. Caesar had been in command of the majority of the army for almost my whole career. There was no general that I held in higher regard, then or now but I was still angry about Torquatus and his fate, though I still cannot honestly say why.
Now, I had greatly angered Caesar, and I knew that the politic thing to do was to offer an apology. “Forgive me, Caesar,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. “You're right, of course. I was wrong to question your judgment, and that's not what I was intending. It’s just that I know Torquatus and consider him a friend, and I feel badly that any advancement on my part is at his expense.”
This was stretching the truth a bit. Torquatus and I had been friendly enough, yet that is not the same thing as friends. I was gambling now that Caesar would respond to my concern for a comrade and I was relieved to see his expression soften a bit as I spoke.
When I had finished, he looked up at me for a moment, his face unreadable. “Very well,” he said at last, “I understand and appreciate your concern. I didn't realize that you and Torquatus were particularly close. Instead of having him relieved, I'll order him transferred to one of the new Legions that I'm forming up when I return to Rome. I'll send him back to the city to have him wait for me there. Does that meet with your approval?”
I ignored the heavy sarcasm, pretending instead that it was a sincere question, responding that it did indeed.
With that settled, Caesar turned back to the matter of my assignment, which carried its own challenges, of which I was more than aware, and wondered how to handle. “I need you in command immediately to prepare for our invasion of Africa,” Caesar said, beckoning to the scribes to return, telling me that our interview was near an end.
I knew that I had tried his patience, yet I had to ask him a question that I knew ran the risk of making him angry again. “Is there anything I should know? I mean, about the mood of the men and what happened?”
His face darkened, the blood rushing to it, but his tone was even was even as he replied, “Talk to Apollonius. He'll tell you everything you need to know.” He took a wax tablet from one of the scribes then offered it to me with one hand while extending the other. “Your post as Primus Pilus of the 6th was ex officio, but this is a duly signed warrant for your promotion to the grade of Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion. Congratulations, Primus Pilus Pullus.”
I took the warrant and his hand, thanking him for both as I told him that I would not let him down.
“See that you don’t, Pullus,” he said with a smile that was as much of a warning as it was anything friendly.
~ ~ ~ ~
Finding Apollonius
waiting for me at the entrance, I relayed to him that Caesar had instructed me to find out more about the situation with the 10th.
Apollonius sighed, then said, “That will take more time than we have just standing here. Can you meet at my tent in a third of a watch? We'll have some wine. You're going to need it to hear all that I have to tell you.”
I agreed to meet him, since I had business with the paymaster, making sure that I was properly entered in the Legion rolls, along with the quartermaster to draw some essential items that I had not brought with me, not knowing how long it would take Diocles to catch up. At the appointed time, Apollonius’ body slave showed me into his tent. I had to suppress a laugh at the thought of a slave having a slave, but such was Apollonius’ status that I doubt that he would have exchanged his current station for freedom if it meant giving up the luxuries that being a member of Caesar’s household afforded him. The tent was richly appointed, with flooring much like Caesar’s, which were covered with carpets of the type we had seen in Alexandria. It was one of these that I was studying when Apollonius appeared, making apologies for keeping me waiting.
“Do you like it?” he asked, pointing down to the carpet I had been looking at. “I got it in Alexandria.”
That is when it occurred to me, and I snapped my fingers, the memory falling into place. “I knew that I had seen it before. But last time I saw it was in the palace. In Cleopatra’s private quarters.”
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow and his face flushed, then seeing I meant no malice, he shrugged, giving a guilty laugh. “It’s not like she missed it. She had a stack of hundreds of the things that her slaves told me had never seen a floor!”
“So you were actually doing her a favor taking it with you, then.”
This time his laugh was genuine and loud. “Exactly! I knew you'd understand, Pullus.”
“Enough of carpets. What's going on with the 10th?”
The laughter in the air dissolved immediately, as Apollonius turned to his slave, ordering him to bring some wine, then motioned me to a seat at the table, where he sat opposite from me. Running his hands through his hair, I noticed for the first time strands of silver sprinkled through the black and it made me realize that we were all growing gray serving Caesar. Perhaps it seems strange that as a man of 30, I had such thoughts, but given the life expectancy of a Centurion in the Roman army, I hope that I can be forgiven. Only now, three years removed from my last formation, can I spare a chuckle at myself for thinking like an old man when I was less than half the age I am now.
“Let’s begin by you telling me what you know,” Apollonius started, “so that I don’t repeat things of which you're already aware.”
I told him everything I had heard from the number of people who had given me bits and pieces of the story.
When I finished, he said, “That’s the bare bones of it. But of course, there's more to it than that.”
What I am about to relay through Diocles I do not believe has been recorded anywhere that I am aware of. It is certainly not in Caesar’s account of his campaigns, something I can certainly understand. If one of the men like Pollio, Hirtius, or Sallustius has written about it, I have not yet seen that account.
~ ~ ~ ~
After Sallustius Crispus went to the camp to make the offer of 4,000 sesterces per man, the assembly accepted the offer, but demanded that he produce the amount in cash right there on the spot. Naturally, he could not, so he was thrown out of the camp.
“He was lucky to get out of the camp with his life. He needs to thank the gods and his horse for getting him out of there in one piece, literally,” Apollonius explained. “That’s when Caesar came to the camp himself. The men ran to the forum, but while they got in formation, they didn't stand at attention when he mounted the rostra. Caesar didn't like that, I can tell you!” He took a sip of his wine before he continued, gathering his thoughts. “So Caesar asks them what they want. Now, the men had been clamoring the loudest for the money that Caesar owed them. That's why they broke into the houses on the Palatine, to get valuables that they could convert into the money they believe Caesar owed them.”
“He does owe them,” I said quietly.
Apollonius’ expression darkened, despite my tone. “Not you too!” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “I thought you would understand Caesar’s predicament.”
“I do understand, but that doesn't mean that Caesar doesn't owe the men what he's promised.”
“Which he has every intention of honoring, I can assure you,” protested Apollonius. “It’s just not possible right now.”
I nodded wearily, then indicated he should continue.
“Where was I? Oh, the subject of the bounties. Of course. Well, for whatever reason, the men didn't mention the bounties. Instead, they started calling for their discharges. Now, I believe that the reason they called for their discharges instead of the money is that they knew that Caesar still needed an army for his operations in Africa and figured that in order to keep them in the army, he'd have to give them money.” His face creased into a smile, apparently enjoying the memory. "But, as usual, Caesar wasn't willing to act in a manner that the men expected. When they called for their discharges, he gave it to them. He said, ‘I discharge you.’ That was all. And you could have heard the flap of a butterfly’s wings it was so quiet! Caesar went on to tell them that he would give them everything he had promised, but only after he had won the war with other men. Oh, you should have seen the looks on their faces, Pullus!”
As he paused to take a drink, I considered what he had told me so far. I could well imagine the look on their faces, because it would have been the same look on mine: a mixture of amazement and uneasiness at the thought that Caesar could so easily turn away from the men of the Spanish Legions, especially the 10th Legion, men he had enlisted himself, who had marched for him for the better part of 15 years.
“So now, Caesar was silent, and I have to tell you, Pullus, it was one of the most uncomfortable moments I've ever experienced and I obviously wasn't the only one. Hirtius had come with us, along with a couple of the junior military Tribunes. Hirtius begged Caesar to say something more, not to leave men who had served him so well in the past in such a state, no matter what their offenses against him now might be, and he relented. But he didn't do it in the manner that Hirtius was expecting, or the men for that matter. He turned back to the men and began addressing them again. He started by saying one word. ‘Citizens,’ he said and then didn't say another word for a moment as he let the word sink in. Well, you can imagine the reaction!”
Yes, I could imagine, and I was thankful that I had not been there. Caesar invariably addressed us as “comrades” or “my soldiers,” so to be addressed as a “civilian,” especially after all that the 10th had been through and the friends they had lost, would have been chilling.
“The men fell to their knees, begging Caesar’s forgiveness. They were crying out that they were still soldiers and they still marched for Caesar and nobody else. They cried out to him to punish the men who had led them astray. You should have seen the fingers pointing at those among them who they wanted punished! Caesar said that he wouldn't punish anyone, but he wasn't through yet, oh no, not by a long way. As soon as he said that he wouldn't punish any of the men, he turned and faced the 10th.”
Apollonius paused to take another drink. Now I was sure that he was doing it just to torment me.
“He told the 10th that he was particularly pained to see that the 10th had broken faith with him and perpetrated crimes against citizens and their property because he had honored them more than any of his Legions. Because of that, he discharged the 10th and the 10th alone! He also said that they would receive the rewards that he had promised them, but only when he had defeated the Pompeians in Africa and the rest of the army had received their reward first. They would receive the land they had been promised, and it would not be confiscated land, but lands from his own private holdings or free land purchased by him, which as you
can imagine was very popular with the men.”
It was true. I could easily see why the promise of land that was not confiscated would appeal to the men. In the past, generals had provided their soldiers with the land they were promised by confiscating the estates and farms of their political enemies, who they had arranged to be declared enemies of the state. While this provided for their soldiers, it also saddled them with extra headaches because the men in the ranks were always the ones who were forced to evict the current owners. Also, in the ever-changing political atmosphere of Rome, yesterday’s enemy of the state is tomorrow’s hero of the Republic, meaning the former soldier’s claim on the land could be tenuous. By supplying his soldiers with land that belonged to Caesar that was previously unsettled, the threat that there would be a dispute to the claim on the land would be non-existent, at least from other Roman citizens. The fact that it belonged to Gauls did not bother us overmuch.
“Now the men of the 10th were the ones out in the cold, and they didn't like it a bit, I can tell you. Their Centurions began calling for Caesar to decimate them to atone for their crimes. Caesar stood there listening, but said nothing, which of course made the men clamor even more for them to be punished. Finally, he raised his hand, and I don't believe I've ever seen the army fall so silent so quickly. Then he announced that he wouldn't punish the 10th, and that they too could march with the rest of the army. The cheering was so loud, you couldn't hear yourself think!”
Finished, Apollonius drained his cup then looked at me, an expectant smile on his face, and I knew what he was looking for.
“Caesar is truly a master at playing us like a harp,” I said, only half in admiration.
Nobody likes being manipulated like a puppet, and even if I had not been there, I still knew how it felt strongly enough that I could taste the bitter bile of it in my throat.
“How are the men now?”