Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  Besides, I had formed a half-cooked plan that I was sure would solve more than one problem, and I sat forward, eager to launch my attack. “I understand all that Vibius, but I've got an idea that I think will put your mind at ease. What if,” I paused for a moment, for no other reason than to make him wait, his earlier expression of consternation replaced by an almost pathetic hope “you bring Juno, and she can move in with Gisela? They can live together, and look out for each other.”

  I am not sure what reaction I was expecting, but it was not what I got. Instead of showing any enthusiasm, Vibius’ eyebrow raised again, and I knew this expression intimately. It was the same look I got when I proposed that to save time we cut across a neighbor’s field that we always avoided because of the very large, very angry bull that claimed it as his domain. We were around eleven and twelve, so I felt that we had grown sufficiently strong and fast enough that getting past some tired old bull would not be much of a challenge, a sentiment that Vibius did not share. I only convinced him by taunting him to the point where his anger overruled his caution, and despite the fact we made it across unscathed, it was not without a mad dash and a dive over the stone wall, the bull’s breath literally blasting our heels as we dived over. A fact that he never let me forget, and I was half-expecting that damn bull to be brought up now. Thankfully, he remained back in that field in Hispania.

  “Have you talked to Gisela about this? I mean, is she all right with this idea?”

  Of course I had not talked to Gisela, so while I waved the question off and gave a snort of manly contempt, Vibius’ question ignited a little nagging fire in the back of my brain. “What does she have to do with it?” I demanded, and for a moment I was sure that Vibius’ eyebrow was going to reach new heights that neither of us had ever seen before. His open skepticism stung me, and I continued a bit more hotly than needed, “Gisela will do what I tell her to do. She’s my woman, and she lives in my house. Besides, she’ll love Juno the same way we do. How could she not?”

  I think that idea had more impact than anything else I said. As far as Vibius was concerned, Juno was as close to perfection as a mortal could be, and indeed, who could not grow to love her the way he did?

  “Well,” I could tell he was weakening, and I thought hurriedly for something to tip the scale, as he said slowly, “if she lived with Gisela, I think that’s the only way I could see this working. Still, I just don’t know.”

  It was then I was struck with the inspiration. “What if you could go back home to get her, visit your family and bring her back?”

  I knew I had convinced him, his other eyebrow shooting up to join the first in a look of surprise and joy. “You’d sign me a pass for that long? I mean Titus, it'd take at least a month.” “More like two,” I responded. “But you’ve earned it, and we’re sending men home on leave now anyway. In fact,” I tried to sound casual, “I was thinking that I might take some leave as well.”

  I had been thinking no such thing, and in truth, I was not sure that when it came down to it, I could afford to take the time away from the Cohort, what with Celer lurking around. However, if it convinced Vibius, I would at least consider it. I was pleased to see that my last remark tipped the scale, and Vibius and I spent the rest of the evening, the alea board forgotten, talking excitedly about finally going home.

  I planned on spending the next night at the house in town, except that I found that certain urgent matters suddenly cropped up that demanded my presence in camp, so I sent Zeno to let Gisela know that I would not be coming home that night. She took it well enough, as she did the next night, when other matters came up. On the third night, Zeno came back clearly flustered, apprehensive about relaying the message that Gisela gave him to deliver to me. On the fourth night, he staggered back, the blood barely dried from the cut on his head where a cup bounced off of it. It was then I realized two things; I was putting off talking to Gisela about the whole Juno idea, and that pregnant women are at least temporarily insane. This did not make going home any more attractive a proposition, yet I knew further delay would make things worse, and I will confess right here and now, walking up the street towards the house my heart was hammering in much the same manner as it did before I went smashing into a line of Gauls. The lamp was burning outside the door as always, but it was not the warming, welcoming sight to me that it was meant to be. In my state, it marked the entrance to Hades, and I spent several moments pacing outside the door, working up the nerve to go in.

  “Oh-oh, someone must be in some trouble. What did you do, Centurion?”

  Snapping my head around, I saw an older man, a Roman merchant from the look of him, grinning at me. For a moment, I felt an angry retort rise up, then it disappeared in a wave of sheepishness, and I found myself giving him a rueful grin. “I’ve been staying away a few nights.”

  “Ah, found another bed to warm, did you? Well, that may be a man’s right, but in my experience, women don’t tend to see it that way.” His reference to another woman was the first time it even occurred to me that this was a possibility that Gisela might consider, and if my heart were racing before, it was a mild trot compared to what it was doing now, my stomach now threatening to join in the mad dash. My dismay was plain for him to see, so he wrongly assumed that he had guessed right. “Well, in my experience Centurion, a gift is always the best way to smooth these things over. The shinier the better.”

  “She’s pregnant,” I said miserably, his face instantly changing to one of open sympathy, and even worse, pity.

  “Gerrae! Well, then I’m afraid that you’re in for it, Centurion. At least you wore your sword, but you might want to go back and get into full battle gear for this. Good luck.” He turned to continue on his way, but I plainly heard him mutter, “You’re going to need it.”

  It did not go well that night. Not only was I denied the right of the conjugal bed, I was denied the physical bed as well, banished instead to spend the night in the servants’ quarters, making them a bit nervous as you can imagine. I could have simply gone back to camp, yet for some reason, an instinct that I never felt before told me that it was important that I stay the night. I was right; in fact, I sent the freedman back to camp to inform the Primus Pilus and the Centurions of my Cohort that I was delayed by urgent business in town, and that Celer, as the next ranking Centurion, would take command of the Cohort until I returned. Although I was not happy with the idea of Celer running things, I reasoned that the amount of damage he could do in a day would be far less than the damage done to my relationship with the mother of my unborn child if I left the house. My instinct proved to be correct; in fact, the act of staying and not returning to camp had more impact on Gisela than any of my words did, since she knew not only of my devotion to the army, but my ongoing battle with Celer. The fact that I stayed to talk to her smoothed the waters more than any gift, and it was an important lesson for me in how to keep peace in my home. I decided that it was not a good idea to bring up the whole Juno question, given that I just made the peace, so when I did return to camp shortly before midday I now was faced with either avoiding Vibius, who was eagerly waiting to hear how things had gone, or lying to him. Fortunately, Celer did not get a chance to inflict much mischief in my absence, and I took over the Cohort to resume our day.

  My ongoing quandary about taking leave was also weighing on my mind, to the point that I did something that I very rarely did, even before going into battle, and consulted the camp priests, paying for a healthy white kid goat to be sacrificed in order to help me find a way that I could fulfill my promise to Vibius without having to worry about Celer undermining me behind my back. Vibius kept pressuring me to sign the pass; I had already submitted the proper paperwork to both the Primus Pilus and the duty Tribune, and his leave was approved at both levels. All that remained was for me to sign the pass, but Vibius was also expecting that I would be going with him. This was yet another subject I had not brought up with Gisela, so every passing day made me more anxious about the looming talk wi
th my woman, who in my mind grew more and more insane, almost by the day. She was well into her fourth month of pregnancy, and I could not imagine what things would be like in another few months. Physically, she seemed to be thriving; I paid handsomely for the best midwife and practitioners I could find, not wanting the same fate that befell Calienus’ child to happen to mine. I will confess that it was not only concern for the baby; despite the fact I am not very superstitious, it just seemed to be a bad omen if she lost the baby, given Calienus’ fate. I suppose it is a good thing that we were such a veteran Legion at this point that much of the day-to-day routine ran itself, the habits of ten years being so ingrained to the point that the lowest ranking Gregarius knew what needed to be done. Training continued as always, the forced marches being cut to twice a month, although every so often the Primus Pilus would throw in another one on a day’s notice just to keep everyone on their toes. The discipline was the same, except that the pall of Atilius’ execution still hung over at least our Cohort, so the only problem Century I had was that of Longus, but I was beginning to figure out exactly what the real story was with his Century. He was using it as his very own source of income, and the way he exerted pressure on his men to pay him was in the use of punishments. Longus was always careful to send men up for punishment for offenses that only cost money or extra duties and not a flogging or worse, and I suspected that what he was doing was threatening his men with writing them up for a greater offense. Then, in exchange for a few coins, he would instead turn in a report that detailed a crime that was minor enough that we did not have to form up in punishment square to watch someone be flayed. He was smart, I will give him that; he was not flagrant about it. If one were to casually glance at the reports turned in by each Centurion, he was only one or two men above the average per month, but it was consistently so. After being in charge of the Cohort for a year, I was able to actually spot a pattern, yet at that moment it was just a matter of a nagging feeling that something was not right. All in all however, things were running smoothly, which was a good thing since I was very distracted with my personal troubles. With every passing day the worry I felt increased, as of course every day guaranteed that Vibius grew more impatient, while Gisela was likely to throw more than a cup at me.

  The gods answered my prayers in an unlikely way, by arranging the death of Celer’s father, who was summoned home to arrange his affairs. This meant that I could leave the Cohort in the hands of Priscus, and despite it taking a bribe to the Legate that made me wince, I was given leave to go home with Vibius, for a period of 60 days. Now all that was left was to tell Gisela, and once again I stood outside my house with a pounding heart, except this time I did not stand outside for any extended time, knowing that it was no use postponing any longer. I entered, and despite trying to act like it was a normal day, I made it no more than two or three paces past the front door when I was confronted by Gisela.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I froze; for a moment, I thought about bluffing and insisting that nothing was wrong, yet as I stood there trying to decide what to do, I actually saw her for the first time in a long time, and if it were possible, I fell in love with her even more. She was wearing a simple gown cut to accommodate her growing figure, a rich green in color that accentuated the green in her eyes. Her red hair was unbound, in the Gallic fashion, which I liked more than our Roman style, and her cheeks were flushed, something I noticed seemed to happen more often now that she was pregnant. Her head was up, her chin tilted outward in a defiant manner, but behind the mask I saw the worry in her eyes and I felt about as low as I could remember at the idea of causing her such concern.

  “Nothing,” I began, but she cut me off with an oath in her native tongue that she was fond of using.

  “Why do you think I’m a fool Titus Pullus? I know you better than you think. And I know what is bothering you.”

  For a moment I thought she had presented me with a good way to introduce what I wanted to talk about. I could not have been more wrong. Before I could answer, she spat, “You have found another woman, and you’re about to put me out and move her in here.”

  I was struck speechless, which unfortunately she took as a sign that she guessed correctly. We had just moved into the dining area, where the table was set for our supper. From it she picked up a plate and in a blur of motion hurled it at me, and it was only the reflex gained over years of battle that allowed me to twist my body out of the way just as the plate went whizzing by my head to smash against the wall.

  “You bastard! You son of a whore! I knew you would do this!”

  I was still rooted to the spot, completely shocked into immobility and speechlessness as she raged, her hands grabbing at another plate to throw. That finally spurred me into action and I crossed the room in two quick strides, catching her arm as it came forward. She struggled like a wildcat caught in a bag, yet I was careful not to grab her arms too strongly, being worried about the baby. She had no such concerns, so I did not see the foot come up to strike me violently in the groin, sending a lightning bolt of pain through my body, the breath leaving me in a great whoosh. For the first time since I could remember, I was knocked to the ground; the fact that it was at the hands of a pregnant woman did not even register, so great was my agony. I lay gasping for breath, and I was looking at her feet as she stood over me.

  “At least you won’t be able to use that for a while,” she said with satisfaction as I cupped the part of my body she was referring to, groaning in pain.

  “I……I’m not throwing you out for another woman, Gisela. I haven’t been with another woman since we’ve been together,” I gasped. I heard her snort in disbelief.

  “It’s true,” I insisted, “I was going to ask you to accompany me back home to meet my family. I’ve been given leave, and I wanted you to come.”

  Now, this is not exactly the truth, though at that point I did not see any reason why she needed to know that. I barely finished my sentence when she dropped to the ground to grab my head, smothering it with kisses and asking forgiveness. There are some times, I reflected as I lay there, where the truth is not necessarily the best idea.

  Leaving for home the next week, we set out in a hired wagon so Gisela could be comfortable, and to bring Juno and her belongings back. I still had not told Gisela the complete truth, swearing to do Vibius great bodily harm if he let it slip out before I was ready to tell her the rest of the story. All I knew at the time was that she was happy, and if she was happy, I was happy, so that meant I was content to let it stay that way for as long as I could manage it, no matter how much it pained Vibius. When I told Vibius that Gisela was coming, at first he was not thrilled, saying it would slow us down. Then he realized that the plan to have Juno live with Gisela would most likely go more smoothly if both were given the chance to get used to the idea, and a journey together would be the best way to accomplish that. Since we could not do a return journey with the two of them without bringing Gisela along on the first leg, he quickly got used to the idea. I was not quite so quick to agree with his conclusion, for a couple of reasons. First was the inconvenient fact that I still had not told Gisela, and every passing mile heightened my anxiety, my imagination running wild thinking of her possible reaction. Would she demand that we turn around and go back? And if I refused, would she get out of the wagon and start walking back? If so, what would I do then? The second part of all this that bothered me was my worry about the baby; I did not know much at all about women and pregnancy, yet I was fairly sure that sitting in a bouncing wagon was not a good thing for it. However, when I brought this up to Gisela, she scoffed at the notion.

  “Pullus, I marched with Caesar’s army every day, up until a week before I gave birth. This is more luxury than I know what to do with.” I was smart enough to know that pointing out that she lost that baby was not a good idea, so I simply kept my mouth shut. The way matters turned out, I finally broke the news to Gisela on the third day of our journey, over breakfast as we sat at an outdoor
table at an inn along the way. She was munching on a piece of bread to go with the boiled bacon we had purchased to supplement our rations, a wisp of hair straying down across her forehead, which she distractedly kept trying to put back in place as she watched the people around us. She was always fascinated by everything going on around her, and it was this curiosity about the world that I found so appealing, probably because it matched my own.

  Clearing my throat, I began, “Gisela, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Her head whipped around, eyes narrowed suspiciously as she waited for me to blurt out whatever it was I had to say, and I felt an icy finger trip up my back. I can laugh about it now, the fact that I felt as much or more fear facing my woman than I did facing another man in battle, but back then it was no laughing matter. There was a healthy dose of fear of Gisela’s anger, although to be fair it is not as if I had not been warned; Calienus regaled us with stories of her rages and tantrums, yet they were much more amusing if you were not the subject of one of them. Vibius immediately got up from the table, mumbling something about answering a call of nature, and inwardly I cursed him for his cowardice.