by R. W. Peake
~ ~ ~ ~
Just as the doctors had predicted, the man in the 28th died without ever regaining consciousness, creating another problem because of all the paperwork that is involved when a man dies in something other than battle. If he had died just the day before, during the fight for the docks, no questions would be asked. But since there had been no skirmishes taking place anywhere when the man died, we would have to come up with a reason for his demise. Actually, Cartufenus would have to come up with the reason, but since we were more or less bound in this together, I was not surprised when he showed up in my quarters, a stylus and wax tablet in hand, ready to write down what we came up with.
“We can’t list him as a fever because it'd be too sudden. Besides, he’s beaten from head to toe. If any of the Tribunes or Legates got curious and saw the body, there'd be too many questions.”
I nodded, thinking about it. “Why don’t we just dump him over the wall? He was going to desert anyway; we can just say that he disappeared.”
“I already thought of that,” Cartufenus said glumly. “The problem is that the doctor is chummy with our Tribune. He might not say anything, but I can’t be sure. If he hadn’t been brought to the hospital, that would have worked.”
“Who brought him?” I asked, annoyed that some ranker had complicated matters.
Cartufenus shrugged, indicating that he did not know. We sat there disconsolately, not even able to suck down wine because it was being rationed. Finally, we decided to say that he had been found beaten and unconscious, but had no idea of the circumstances. This fiction had the advantage of being partially true, and was completely deniable. Oh, there would be a raised eyebrow, and perhaps even suspicions, except matters like these occurred all the time in the army, and our superior officers were all experienced men who had been under the standard for several years. They knew that there were things that they did not know, and that they did not want to know. I think they may have been surprised about how much they actually were not aware of, even Caesar, although he was better informed than any of the other generals I ever served with. The other thing in our favor was that Caesar and his entire staff had much more pressing problems than the death of a single Gregarius, no matter what the circumstances, meaning that we made our report, then heard nothing more about it.
~ ~ ~ ~
In the larger world, the Egyptians had sent out a call for a dilectus of their own, this one going out to the whole kingdom of Egypt. Men began streaming into the city, drawn by the promise of booty, glory, steady meals, or whatever motivated them. Standing on the roofs of the buildings, we watched the Gabinians put the new men through their paces, while the rest of the Egyptian army continued to build towers and walls, constructing them to a height that overlooked our own positions. From prisoners, we learned that Achillas had ordered the conversion of every local smith and metalworker into a military endeavor, where they were churning out weapons and ammunition. Woodworking shops were similarly working on ballistae and scorpions; in short, the entire city had been mobilized to destroy us. With thousands of mouths to feed, along with more than 900 horses, only the horses were eating well, thanks to the marsh grasses that men went out to gather under cover of darkness. The salt grass of the marsh was so rich and plentiful that not only did the horses not suffer from hunger, they actually filled out some, indirectly ending up as a help to the men later. The Egyptians also were focusing their efforts on exacting revenge for the loss of their fleet by attacking ours, moored in the Great Harbor. For their first attempt, they sent small boats loaded with men through the arches from the Inner Harbor, and Caesar’s foresight in placing a detachment with artillery on Pharos Island was fulfilled, with every boat destroyed. Undaunted, they tried again, this time sending boats loaded with combustibles that were set afire, except the wind was against them, causing the boats to do more damage to Egyptian shipping than to ours.
It was also about this time that the snake Pothinus was discovered sending secret messages to Achillas, urging him to maintain his pressure on us and not lose heart. He also included what information about our dispositions he had gleaned from his own spies, so it was with a great deal of happiness that the men gathered in the theater to watch Pothinus’ head leave his shoulders. True to his nature, he acted like a woman, shaking and crying, having to be dragged onto the stage, where one of Caesar’s Germans did the deed. The men cheered lustily at the sight of his bald head rolling across the stage, spraying blood in a trail across the stone floor. His head came to rest not far from where I was standing, and I could plainly see the look of terror and surprise still plastered on his face, his eyes sightlessly staring into the void. I noticed that for once, his face was devoid of that horrid makeup, and remember wondering if he had thought that to be some sort of punishment, not being allowed to paint his face before he died. These Egyptians with their customs are a strange lot, and I have no idea if there is some deeper meaning to all of the paint, but I suspect there is. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the death of Pothinus did not deter Achillas in the slightest, the Egyptian general continuing with his training and manufacturing all day and night. He was an implacable foe, with his army gaining strength every week. Consequently, the men grew more worried watching the progress his army made in both their training and their investment of our position. That is why what happened next was further sign of the gods’ favor of Gaius Julius Caesar.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Achillas is dead!”
Appolonius came immediately after hearing the news, ostensibly to tell Diocles, but knowing that I would want to hear the news as well. That I did; this time I did not even pretend to be busy in my quarters, coming straight out into the outer office.
“What happened?”
Appolonius looked smug, as only the bearer of news that he knows others wants to hear can, and said, “It appears that our young Arsinoe and her man Ganymede have a bit more ambition than just being a figurehead.”
That was indeed interesting, my expression giving him all the encouragement he needed to continue.
“Well, as you know, Arsinoe volunteered to set herself up as the symbol of Egyptian resistance against the Roman oppressors, a role which Achillas was more than happy to give her. But something changed; Caesar thinks that the real string puller is that Ganymede, and that he convinced her that she, or more likely he is just as capable of leading the army as Achillas. So she had Achillas murdered.”
Even though we had heard that a rivalry had developed between the two that split the army, we had no idea that it had grown so bitter that one of them would kill the other. From our spies, we were informed that the division in the army was between the Gabinians and the rest of the professional arm of the army, consisting mainly of Cilicians and a few other nationalities, who understandably favored Achillas, against the provincial levies and native Egyptians, who rallied around Arsinoe. Now that Achillas was dead, it was a fair question to ask just how hard the professionals would fight now that the general they favored was gone. The Gabinians in particular had developed a reputation for choosing inopportune times for demanding pay raises, usually by threatening to turn on their masters, so perhaps they would choose this time to do the same to Arsinoe. When word of Achillas’ death became known to the men, there was a period of optimism at the idea of facing a 15-year-old girl and her tutor. Unfortunately, that optimism was as short-lived as it was unfounded, because we quickly discovered that while Ganymede may not have possessed the military experience of Achillas, he more than made up for it in other ways.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ganymede began by attacking our most precious resource, our water supply. Despite having done all that we could to secure a supply of fresh water, we were unable to secure the source. Accordingly, Ganymede attacked this source. There were a number of wells in the private residences of the people who were unlucky enough to live in our sector, but the main source of supply was the canal. Blocking the conduits from the canal carrying our water was a simple enough busines
s, except Ganymede was not content with that. Using large capacity pumps that were powered by men turning huge wheels, he began pumping seawater from the Inner Harbor to flood the streets of the city at night. With our redoubt situated in a part of the city a few feet lower than the surrounding area, the water naturally flowed in our direction. It was not long before one morning there was a rap on my door, and I opened it to find the duty Centurion Sido, his face pinched with worry.
“Sorry to disturb you, Primus Pilus, but I think you better have a look at this.”
His tone was sufficiently urgent that I did not bother donning my uniform, grabbing only my vitus to follow him outside. Standing there was a section of men, each of them carrying two buckets, their expressions a mirror of Sido’s.
Indicating the first man, he turned to me and said simply, “Taste the water.”
I dipped my hand in, took a sip, then spat it out. It was salty, not completely fouled yet, but close.
I kept my expression neutral, indicating the other buckets. “Are these all from the same well?”
Sido shook his head. “No, Primus Pilus. When we tasted the first bucket, I went to every well that’s in the 6th’s sector and had a bucket drawn. The results are pretty much the same.” He waved his hand at the buckets the other men were holding. “You can check for yourself if you would like, sir, but they’re all the same.”
I shook my head. “No, that won’t be necessary, I trust you. Very well; I'll go to headquarters and see if the 28th is facing the same problem. You’re dismissed.” As they turned to go, I called out, “Sido!” He turned to stand at intente. “Good work. That was good thinking.”
His face turned red, but I could tell that he was pleased, opening his mouth, probably to thank me before thinking better of it, then saluted and turned away, following his men. I did not bother telling them to keep this quiet because I knew that there was no way that the men would not find out. Returning to my quarters, I put on my uniform before heading over to headquarters to see if the news was any better.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fortunately, only the water in our sector was contaminated, at least at that point. But while that was good news, it was still going to pose a problem for us, since we now had to draw our water ration from the wells of the men of the 28th, whereupon the numen of that dead Gregarius came back to haunt us. Tensions were still high between my men and the 28th. While Cartufenus and I had managed to keep a lid on things, succeeding in avoiding drawing the attention of Caesar or his staff, the fact that we would now have to send detachments into the 28th’s sector to take some of their already-rationed water was not going to sit well with them. Compounding the tension was the attitude of my men towards the 28th, who they thought of as a bunch of scared boys. That this was not far from the truth did not help matters for anyone. Cartufenus and I met, agreeing that our water-carrying parties would be escorted not only by a Centurion of the 6th, but of the 28th as well, and we would only do it once a day, in the morning. Calling a meeting of my Centurions to inform them of this agreement, I stressed that there would be no exceptions; we would draw water once a day and that was all. If the men ran out before the next morning, that would be too bad; perhaps it would teach them to ration their water more carefully. However, as it turned out, I need not have worried. These men of the 6th had been part of Pompey’s army under Afranius in Hispania when we had cut them off from water, meaning this was not the first time they were thirsty. In fact, they found the whole situation grimly amusing.
“The first time we went thirsty was because of Caesar,” I heard one of the men joke to his comrades, “and now this time we’re going thirsty because of Caesar. The only difference is that now we’re on the same side.”
I had to smile; the gods certainly did have a perverse sense of humor.
The 28th’s respite from fouled water was short-lived. Barely three days later, I heard another rap on my door, only this time it was Cartufenus who came to bring me the news. When he told me, I was not surprised, but he was not through.
“It gets worse,” he said, his face grim. “My men are panicking. There are all sorts of wild ideas being thrown around about the cause. Some of the men say that it’s one of the Egyptian gods who's favoring Ganymede and his bunch.” He saw the look of scorn and disbelief on my face, and waved a hand wearily at me. “Oh, they're very much in the minority. It’s the other idea that worries me, and that seems to be what most of the men believe. There’s talk that this has to be the work of some of the Egyptians trapped in here with us, that they’re working as spies for Ganymede and they’re poisoning the water.”
“But it’s not poisoned,” I protested. “It’s only salty.”
He nodded, but said, “I know that, but I just wish we knew why it’s happening.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it IS one or more of the civilians with us.”
I should point out that our knowledge of what Ganymede was doing with the pumps and seawater only came after the fact. When this was happening, it was a mystery to everyone, including the officers.
I sat thinking about what Cartufenus had said, then shook my head. “I don’t think so. If it were one well, or two, and in the same immediate area, then I might see it. But this is now every well, throughout the entire redoubt. We would have noticed something if any of the civilians had been involved, I’m sure of it.”
Cartufenus sighed, then stood up. “I don’t know. All I do know is that it’s getting ugly with my boys. I need to get back before they do something foolish.”
A chill ran down my spine, and I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, ‘do something foolish’? What do you think they’ll do?”
He shook his head. I could see the weariness and pain in his eyes, causing a pang of sympathy. The rank of first grade Centurion is what so many of us aspire to, and we work hard to achieve it. But then when we get there, suddenly it does not seem that being a Primus Pilus is as much fun as you thought it would be. That was true if you had a good group of men like the 10th or the 6th. When you got a bunch of scared rabbits like the 28th was turning out to be, it could be a nightmare from which you will never woke up. Without thinking, I walked to Cartufenus to put my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry.” I spoke with as much confidence as I could muster. “Whatever comes, you’re the man to handle it.”
He gave a tired smile, but shook his head. “Thanks, Pullus, but I know you’re just saying that to help me.”
I could not help laughing. “Maybe,” I admitted, “but you wouldn’t feel so great if I told you that you were fucked, would you?”
He chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” He squared his shoulders before turning to leave. “Well, let me go find out what my boys are up to now.”
With that, he left me to sit wondering what could go wrong next.
~ ~ ~ ~
What the 28th had in mind was to demand a meeting with Caesar, the whole lot of them. Once that became known, Caesar obliged by ordering a formation that evening at the theater, with all but the guard Centuries in attendance. I sent a runner to Cartufenus asking him a question, and when the runner came back with the answer that I needed, I called a meeting of my Centurions to discuss what I had in mind.
“We're going to hold the men until the last possible moment,” I announced.
Nobody said anything at first, yet their faces wore puzzled expressions. At least, all of their faces save one. I looked at Cornuficius, who regarded me steadily, his eyes revealing nothing but I saw a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Deciding to confront whatever he had in mind head on, I called on him.
“Cornuficius? Do you have any thoughts on what I just said?”
“Thoughts?” An eyebrow lifted, and I realized that he was considering the question, trying to find some angle that I might be taking of which he had not thought. Finally, he continued, “I don't know that I'd call them thoughts, Primus Pilus. But I think I know why you're doing it.”
“Very well. Tell me and I
'll let you know if you're right or wrong.”
He shrugged, then nodded. As he spoke, he took great pains not to look at me, preferring instead to examine his fingernails, which I could not help noticing were caked with dirt. Well, I thought, we are under water rationing.
“I think you want to keep our men separated from those . . . boys of the 28th who are causing all this commotion, given what's taken place between our two Legions in the recent past. I think that your reasoning is that if we get there early, and spend any time waiting for Caesar to appear, that every moment that goes by increases the likelihood that someone will say something that sparks a riot.”
Now he looked at me, his smile clearly evident. You smug bastard, I thought, but I tried to make sure my thoughts were not visible on my face.
“Absolutely correct, Cornuficius. That is my thinking precisely. So, to that end we're going to hold the men on the opposite side of the theater. I've arranged for Apollonius to let my slave know when Caesar departs his quarters, and only then will we march in. Does everyone understand?”
Heads nodded, and I was pleased to see the looks of relief on most of the men. Clearly, they were worried about the same thing as I, taking this as a good sign. Forming the men up as planned, we waited for Diocles to come running to give us the word. Just a short time later, I saw his slight figure running around the corner to give me the signal. I called the men to intente. we marched into the theater, where the men of the 28th were standing, and even over the tramping of feet, I heard their mumbling. While I could not hear what was being said, the tone was clearly ugly, and I was struck by a feeling that I have had before and since, of reliving a moment in my past once again, this particular feeling like that day on the plains of Pharsalus all over again. With the noise from our boots subsiding as the men halted, a voice carried from the ranks of the 28th.