by R. W. Peake
“Pilus Prior Pullus,” Antonius called to me, “Caesar requires your presence in the Praetorium immediately.”
This cannot be good, I thought, hurrying over to the headquarters tent, and I barely heard the secretary calling out another man’s name as I made my way to meet Caesar.
~ ~ ~ ~
Entering the tent, I gave my name to the junior Tribune who acted as the watchdog to Caesar’s private office, waiting for only a few heartbeats before he returned and with a curt nod, indicated that I should enter. This only increased my anxiety, because it was normal to keep us waiting for a few moments just, I suspected, to remind us of our places. Entering the office, I marched over to Caesar, who was standing over a table looking at a map, and saluted. For a moment, Caesar continued his study of the map before looking up and returning the salute.
“Salve, Titus Pullus.”
Before I could return the greeting, he turned and said loudly enough for all to hear. “Gentlemen, I need to talk to Pilus Prior Pullus alone. Please give us this room. I'll send for you when we're through talking.”
One could have heard a gnat fart in the thunderstruck silence that filled the room, I suppose because it was currently full of all the fine young men, not to mention the likes of Antonius, Sulla, and the rest of the Legates. Still, not even men as high-ranking as they were wanted to draw Caesar’s wrath at this time, so they filed out, not without some of them shooting poisonous glances at me over their shoulders. Once the room cleared and it was just Caesar and I, it made me realize that this was the first time I had ever been alone with my general, which did not help my stomach any. Since there was no way I was going to break the silence, I waited for Caesar to speak, and it seemed like he had the same thought because we stood there saying nothing for a moment before he finally laughed, but it was not a happy sound.
“Interesting day, neh, Pullus?”
I could not help laughing myself, but I was careful in my reply. “That’s certainly one way to put it, Caesar.”
Pursing his lips, he seemed to be thinking about the best way to begin. Finally, “What happened with the 10th has . . . disturbed me, to say the least. Of all my Legions, I didn't think that the 10th would turn on me.”
I might have imagined it, but I thought I detected a tone that indicated that he was hurt by what had happened and not just surprised or angered.
Be careful, Titus, I thought as I answered him. “I can’t say that I was surprised when it actually happened, Caesar.”
He looked at me sharply, his lips turning into a thin white line as he clearly tried to suppress his anger. “What do you mean, Pullus? Why weren’t you surprised?”
My heart started hammering in my chest, and I was as thoroughly scared as I had ever been. Although Caesar did not have a reputation of taking his anger out on his subordinates, neither had he been in this position before, and I had said something that angered him, perhaps leading him to believe that I had not alerted him to the danger.
Realizing that my career and perhaps my life hung on the next words out of my mouth, I chose them carefully. “What I meant, Caesar, was that in a conference of the Centurions, one of them brought up the men’s dissatisfaction with the bonus situation, and thought that it was possible that it would be the bonus that served as the spark that lit the fire, as it were.”
I went on to relay the entire conversation as I remembered it.
“When did this happen?” His tone was sharp, but I sensed that his anger was easing.
“Less than a watch before you gave the order to march.”
“And you didn't think it sufficiently important to come to me with this piece of news?”
His tone was not accusatory, seemingly more curious than angry, but now I found was getting annoyed; the position Caesar was putting me in was patently unfair.
“With all due respect, General, it wasn’t my place to do so. That kind of information should have been passed to you by the Primus Pilus, not from any of the Pili Priores. That would have been outside the chain of command.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then said, “And if Crastinus were still alive, I have no doubt he would have come and told me. Torquatus . . . ?”
He shrugged and did not finish the sentence, but I could tell by the expression on his face and his body language that Torquatus was not likely to be in the slot of Primus Pilus very long. A sudden thought struck me, and again I felt weak in the knees but for an entirely different reason. Could it be, I wondered, that Caesar plans on making me Primus Pilus? When I was promoted to Pilus Prior, it had been a surprise then, so why not now? I did my best to contain my excitement as I waited to hear what Caesar had on his mind, but it was clear that Caesar was not finished going over the events of the last two days yet, and he turned back to it.
“I understand that your Optio, Domitius isn’t it, was one of the officers who sided with the men?”
I was not sure where this was going, but I would not lie to him, so I answered him that Caesar had the rights of it.
“And if I remember correctly, you and he have been friends since childhood, true?” I could not hide my look of astonishment that he would know this, but he laughed and said, “What? You don't think that I know the backgrounds of the men I appoint to the Centurionate? Besides,” he finished, “you two were hard to miss. You were an unlikely pair, at least from appearances sake, you being so large and he being so . . .”
He did not finish for there was no need since I knew exactly what he spoke about. Vibius and I had taken a lot of abuse over the years because of our physical mismatch, so it was no surprise when Caesar mentioned it.
His face turned serious as he continued questioning me. “I also understand that you drew your blade on him when he made his feelings known. Is that true as well?”
When it was put like that, I experienced a sense of shame, but it was nothing more than the truth, and I said as much. Caesar said nothing for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the map laid before him on the table, yet I do not think he was looking at it.
Finally, he looked up and directly into my eyes. “Would you have struck him down if the circumstances had warranted it?”
“Yes.”
I said it before I thought the question through, and it felt like I was punched in the gut when the word came out, because I knew it was the truth. I would have struck down the best friend I had ever had, a companion since childhood, and I did not, nor do I now know what that says about me.
Caesar’s reaction was to stare into my eyes for a moment before giving a simple nod. “Very well. Thank you for your honesty, Pullus. I know that that couldn't have been easy for you.” Turning, he began pacing about the room and continued, “So now we come to the matter which I wanted to speak with you about. There was a reason I asked about you and Domitius, which I will explain in a moment. Suffice it to say that I'm somewhat wary about who I can trust out of my Centurions, and who I cannot. I've made a vow to continue my pursuit of Pompey, and I will not be deterred by anyone or anything. However, the refusal of the army to march has put me on the horns of a dilemma in a manner of speaking. While we have either killed or accepted the surrender of a large part of Pompey’s army, by our intelligence estimates, he still has about three Legions’ worth of men, composed mainly of men from the 1st, 4th, and 6th, along with about 5,000 auxiliaries, although as you saw on the field their quality is very low, and about a thousand cavalry.”
He turned to see if I had digested this information, and I nodded for him to continue.
“Now, I know that Pompey actually left camp with only four, perhaps five men, and shortly afterward was joined by about 30 cavalry and perhaps a Century of men as he fled to Larisa. And that’s one reason, albeit a minor one, why the army refuses to march. Why should I force several thousand exhausted men to tap further into what reserves of energy they have left to chase down less than a hundred men? It is a fair question.”
He put the elbow of one arm in a cupped hand to tap his lips with his
index finger, as if he was giving the matter serious thought, but I knew it was just a show. He had already thought this through, except Caesar was at heart a performer, among other things, and he could not help himself at times like this.
“But herein lays my dilemma. As a general, I can't operate on the assumption that those three Legions won't march to join Pompey. In fact, they may be doing just that even as we speak. The same goes for the auxiliaries; even with their poor quality, there is something to be said for their numbers. Therefore, it wouldn't be prudent of me to go chasing after Pompey with just my bodyguard and whatever scraps I could muster up. I need good hard men, veterans who know their business. That was why I ordered the army to march, because I thought I could count on them. That was where I went wrong, obviously.”
He finished this statement through clenched teeth, and I could see his anger was beginning to come back as he touched on the sore in his mind that was what had happened. It took him a moment to compose himself, then sighed and in that sound I could hear all the weariness and turmoil that came with being Gaius Julius Caesar.
“So now I must choose between breaking my vow, or finding another group of men who I can count on to march with me, and I believe that I have found them. And that's where you come in.”
He looked at me to gauge my reaction, but in truth, I had no idea how I was supposed to react. The only thing I was sure of now was that this was not about making me Primus Pilus of the 10th, because he had already given the order for the 10th to return to Italy, and up until moments before I thought I was going with them. So I just waited for him to continue, which seemed to irritate him a bit.
“Do you know about the two Cohorts of the 6th who have sworn their allegiance to me?”
I nodded; it was common knowledge that during the battle, the 4th and all but two Cohorts of the 6th had managed to cross the river and escape. These two Cohorts were completely surrounded and prepared to fight to the last man, but the men of the 8th and 9th were looking at fellow Spaniards, and began calling to Antonius to offer them the chance to surrender honorably, which Antonius offered and the men of the 6th took. Then Caesar offered them clemency in exchange for their agreement to fight for him, which they agreed to do, under the condition that once the war was over they would be allowed to take their discharges, just like the 7th 8th and 9th, all of whom were part of the same dilectus. Caesar agreed to these terms, although I would be lying if I said that it had not crossed my mind that the men of the 6th were essentially running the same risk of having what happened to the 7th, 8th, and 9th happen to them. Regardless, desperate men could not be choosy men, and that apparently worked for both parties, because Caesar was as desperate in his own way as the men of the 6th.
“They're who I will take in pursuit of Pompey.”
My mind began working rapidly, and I asked, “And what’s their strength, Caesar?”
“Since they're the 7th and 10th Cohort, they're actually close to full strength. Combined, about 900 men, give or take a few.”
“And you’re going to take 900 men and chase after three Legions’ worth, of which a number of them are their comrades from the same Legion?”
Despite knowing it was not wise, I made no attempt to hide my skepticism, but Caesar was, as ever, a man of surprises.
Instead of getting angry, he threw his head back and laughed, a true laugh, not forced in any way. “Why, Pullus, that is exactly what I am proposing.” He turned serious, and continued, “Which is why I need someone I can absolutely trust in a position of authority, and I believe, no I know, that man is you. You proved your loyalty to me by your actions against your closest friend. Pullus, I have watched your career closely, and you've proven time and again that not only are you loyal, you are resourceful and your courage in battle is almost unmatched. You probably don't know this, but one of your biggest supporters was Gaius Crastinus. He told me on more than one occasion that he saw in you a Primus Pilus worthy of Dentatus.”
That was high praise indeed, and my heart soared at the words that Caesar was speaking. Then, in my mind I heard a little voice speaking quietly, telling me to be careful in accepting Caesar’s words at face value. I do not know why that voice chose to speak; perhaps all the carping and complaining that Vibius had been doing about Caesar all these years had more of an effect on me than I was aware. Whatever the cause, my elation at hearing Caesar’s flattery was short-lived, because all his honeyed words still did not answer the question that was at the heart of this matter.
“So what is it you wish me to do, Caesar?”
He nodded, clearly pleased that I had accepted his praise. “I would like you to come with us, and I'm appointing you as de facto Primus Pilus. The two Cohorts will retain their senior Centurions, but they will report directly to you. You'll command the entire force, answerable to me, of course,” he finished, in my mind unnecessarily, as if I was not clear that he would still be in overall command.
So there it was, and now I had to make a decision. It was not the decision you might be thinking, gentle reader; there was no real question whether I would go, at least if I did not want my career to die in front of my eyes. After all that Caesar had been through in the last two days because of the army, my refusal to accompany him would finally give him something, or someone, tangible to punish and on whom he could take out his frustrations. As much as I have talked about Caesar’s mercy, and the clemency he showed his enemies, there was the other Caesar, the Caesar of Uxellodonum, where a pile of bones of the hands of the defenders still moldered. There was the Caesar who gave us Gomphi just to make a point, and I had little illusion that he would make an example of me should I refuse him, so I was going. However, he was making a request of me, and I was well within my rights to demand something appropriate in return, but the question was what? I turned it over in my mind; aware of Caesar’s eyes on me, I finally spoke.
“Caesar, I'm deeply honored by your words, and by your request, and I hope you know that I would follow you across Charon if you asked it of me,” I said as sincerely as I could, thinking to myself that there were two of us in the room who could lay it on thick. “But I’m concerned about my Cohort. Who did you plan on appointing as the Pilus Prior? And what happens when you’re done with the 6th? What happens to me then?”
He smiled at me like I was a prized pupil, and perhaps at that moment I was. “Do you have something in mind, Pullus?”
In truth, I had not really thought things through at that point, and I suppressed a flash of irritation at Caesar, whose mind always worked more quickly than almost anyone else’s in the world, and who assumed that others were able to marshal their thoughts with the same speed that he did. I did not answer immediately, then decided to turn the tables on him somewhat.
“Before I answer, Caesar, perhaps you tell me what you’ve been thinking along those lines?”
His smile broadened, and he sat on the table with his arms folded, looking at me. “Pullus, I think I may have underestimated you,” he said equably. Without waiting for a reply, he pressed on, “As I see it, given what's transpired, getting you away from your Cohort for a time might actually be to your benefit. While every Cohort has been split apart by a number of Centurions and Optios, none have been as . . . dramatic as the split between Domitius and yourself. You were the only one of my Centurions who demonstrated a willingness to take physical action, and while I applaud and thank you for that display, I can't help but think that the men of your Cohort won't view things the same way.”
I had never thought about things in the manner that Caesar was describing. In fact, I had not been thinking about the situation much at all. The reality was that I had been trying to avoid thinking about it, which is why I had tried to get drunk with Scribonius the night before. However, I could see that I should have been thinking along the lines of Caesar, realizing instantly that he was right. If I was willing to strike Vibius down, how sure could I be that Vibius did not feel the same way and would not take action? That was when the f
ull import of our rift hit me; I was now thinking of Vibius as a possible threat to my life, the force of what it all meant hitting me almost like a physical blow. I felt my knees start to shake as my stomach, which had settled down since my initial entry, now threatened to rise in revolt. I was assaulted by such a swirl of conflicting emotions; anger at the very idea that Vibius might pose a threat to me. Later I was forced to acknowledge, if only to myself, how hypocritical it was of me to be angry with Vibius for such a possibility, when I had stated openly to my general that I would have done the same thing I was angry about. I felt indignation at the idea that the men I had led for these years might actually side with Vibius against me. Underlying it all though, was an incredible sadness, and it was this feeling that was the hardest to suppress, and horrified, I felt the beginnings of tears start to form in my eyes. Nothing would be as humiliating or unforgivable as crying like a woman in front of my general and it was only through a huge force of will that I managed to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks.
“I know this is hard for you, Pullus,” Caesar said gently. “It always is when someone is as a brother to you, and then something happens to destroy that bond. But you know I speak the truth. Right now, getting you away from your Cohort is the best possible solution, which is another reason why I chose you for this endeavor.”
Forcing my mind back to the topic, I repeated my question to Caesar.
“Well, it would be customary for the Pilus Posterior to take your slot, but given Celer chose to side with the men, that is quite out of the question, as is Domitius of course.”