by R. W. Peake
The Legion was buzzing with activity and gossip and we were assailed on a daily basis with news from Rome. One of the most difficult aspects was trying to separate fact from fiction; one day, the word spread through the camp that Caesar was arrested, and thrown from the Tarpeian Rock, causing a near-riot before the culprit who spread the rumor was found and flogged until he confessed that he made it up out of boredom. Then there was the word that Pompey had gathered his Legions and was marching on Caesar at Ravenna, where he decided to spend the winter, quickly followed by a counter-rumor that it was Caesar who was marching on Rome. That, as it turned out, was the truth. Caesar crossed the Rubicon with the 13th Legion, and was moving on Rome. And Gisela went into labor a week early.
Chapter 14- Rubicon
Looking back, it is difficult for me to clearly separate the events that took place over those next weeks. What I remember are bits and pieces of memories, flashes of conversations, so once again I will be relying on the Commentaries to provide a chronological order to the events that had such a huge impact, not only on me but on the fate of Rome itself. Essentially, as I mentioned before, Caesar was on the horns of a dilemma. Despite having managed, through Pompey’s efforts, to have a law enacted that allowed him to stand for a second Consulship in absentia, making it so that he did not have to surrender the imperium that came with his governorship, his enemies were not defeated, staying very busy hatching plots to destroy him. Also, Pompey changed the law concerning the interval between which a candidate could hold a city office such as Consul or Urban Praetor, and the beginning of a governorship of a province. What this meant in effect was that a man other than a Consul of the previous year could hold a governorship. In theory this could help Caesar, except that two of his bitter opponents, Aemilius Paullus and Claudius Marcellus were elected Consul, whereupon they immediately put forward a motion to recall Caesar immediately, months before he could run for Consul. This would make Caesar a private citizen and strip him of his imperium and immunity, making it clear that his enemies, Cato being principal among them, would use that status to destroy Caesar. However, Caesar was not standing idly by, buying one of the Tribunes of the Plebs, a young rake named Curio who used the Tribunician veto to forestall Caesar’s recall. Meanwhile, negotiations were taking place to attempt a peaceful solution between Pompey and Caesar, with intermediaries coming and going between the two with proposals and counterproposals. Curio, whose alliance with Caesar was a secret at the time, put forward a proposal that garnered a great deal of support with the moderates; namely, that both Pompey and Caesar lay down the command of their respective armies at the same time. As promising as this may have been for a peaceful resolution, there were powerful men who wanted no such thing. Unsurprisingly Cato was the primary force behind those who opposed Curio’s proposal, and I place most of the blame for what happened on his shoulders. Even Vibius was uncomfortable with the developments engineered by Cato, although it was his actions that actually got Vibius and I talking again in a manner that was almost back to normal. I was visiting my old tentmates, where naturally the topic of conversation was the events in Rome, and more importantly to us, when Caesar would be calling us. To that point, only the 13th was with him, but orders had come to begin preparations to march, so I had been inspecting the Cohort’s readiness before stopping by.
“So Pullus, what’s the latest? When do we move?” Scribonius asked as he worked on polishing his helmet.
I shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything more than what I’ve already passed on, other than all the crazy rumors.”
I remembered something. “Oh, I did hear that Pompey has summoned the Legions from Spain.”
The 6th had been recalled from their service with Caesar some time before, an act that was certainly within Pompey’s rights, but it was also an ominous sign, along with Caesar surrendering the 15th, thereby reducing the forces at his disposal. Both Legions were now sitting in Italy, waiting for orders. Supposedly they were bound for an expedition to Parthia, but nobody believed that.
“Well, I hope that prick Cato ends up on a cross, that’s all I can say,” declared Vellusius.
Almost immediately all eyes darted over to Vibius, who was sitting silently in the corner, stuffing items into the pack that would be loaded on the Cohort baggage wagon. He did not answer at first, then seemed to notice the silence, and looking up to see all eyes on him, he shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I definitely think that he’s put Caesar into a no-win position, and I think he’s brought about the ruin of the Republic, even though I know that was the exact opposite he intended.”
You could have heard a mouse fart; this was certainly not what we expected to hear from Vibius of all people, who had been a strong Catonian for years.
“Hopefully a peaceful solution will still win out,” Scribonius said; he was always the peacemaker among my tentmates. He was a fierce fighter, yet he hated to see any kind of conflict between his friends. This time, his attempt was met with open disagreement from all of us.
“Not likely,” Vibius shook his head. “I think things have gone too far, and honestly, I don’t think those boys in the Senate, Cato leading the way,” with that he glanced meaningfully at me, “want a peaceful solution. Between what Marcellus did in flogging that official from Novum Comum, and them spitting on the proposal for both sides to disarm, I say we’re marching in a month, maybe sooner. What do you say, Titus?”
This was the first non-official exchange between Vibius and me since I kicked him out of bed back home, and I was smart enough to recognize the peace offering for what it was. I also knew it was no time to quibble about him calling me by my first name in front of others, no matter how old friends they may have been, also recognizing that this was his way of testing the waters. If I corrected him, our friendship would more than likely never be repaired. Still, even knowing that I hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, a part of my brain screaming at me to upbraid him for his lapse. I am glad I did not listen.
“I think you’re right, Vibius,” I said quietly. “I think we’re going to war, sooner rather than later.”
“I wonder what it’s like fighting our own?” Scribonius asked, and while at that point it was somewhat of a rhetorical question, I know that it was a topic that filled my mind. It comforted me to know that I was not the only one who was thinking such thoughts.
“We’ll at least know what they’re going to do, not like those fucking Gauls,” Didius spoke for the first time from his spot, lounging on his bed closest to the fire. I still did not like Didius much, and I had my doubts about how reliable he would be in a really hard fight, but like it or not, he was one of us, my longest and best companions, no matter how high up the ranks I climbed. Besides, what he said was true, and there was a chorus of agreement from the rest of us.
“Still,” Scribonius insisted, “it’s going to be strange looking over the shield and seeing another Roman doing the same thing.”
“I just hope it’s nobody we know,” Vellusius replied, and that sentiment touched the nub of what was bothering us all. It was bad enough that we would most likely be facing our own kind, but the thought that we might have to fight and kill someone with whom we sweat and bled was what kept us up at night. With that last comment, I excused myself and left their quarters. I had gone only a few paces when I heard Vibius call my name, so I turned and waited for him to come to me, where we stood for a moment, neither of us speaking. I was not sure what was on his mind and did not feel right saying anything first, mainly out of foolish pride, which was probably what kept him rooted there.
Finally, he blurted, “Look, Titus. I just wanted to thank you for giving me the boot in the ass back home. I was………”
I stopped him there. “No apology necessary, Vibius. You’d have done the same for me. And,” I added with a grin, “I’d have been mightily pissed at you for probably longer than you’ve been at me.” I gave him a friendly push, and laughed, “Although I would have kicked your ass.”
Now it was my turn to snort in derision. “I seem to remember catching that lightning a time or two.”
“A blind dog'll find a bone every now and then,” he retorted, and our bickering continued all the way back to my quarters, lasting through a jug of wine.
Events were gaining momentum; after crossing the Rubicon, Caesar invested Ariminum, Pisarum and a number of other towns, all without any violence. Despite, or perhaps because the Senate was against Caesar, the people were solidly behind him, and it was the citizens of the towns who forced the Senatorial garrisons to surrender. Some of the fine gentlemen commanding the garrisons remained true to the cause of the Senate, but an equally large, if not larger number came over to Caesar’s side at the first opportunity. The 12th was summoned, joining Caesar when he moved into what was supposedly the heart of Pompeian territory, his home province of Picenum. Even there, the people were either solidly behind Caesar, or so half-hearted in their support of Pompey that Caesar encountered no real opposition. It was not until Caesar, with some Cohorts of the 13th, and reinforced by the 12th, reached Corfinium that he met anything that could be called resistance. Domitius Ahenobarbus, one of his bitterest opponents commanded what amounted to three full Legions, 30 Cohorts of men, but they were all raw tirones, and there was no doubt that our boys would slaughter them. However, Ahenobarbus’ hatred of Caesar blinded him to this military reality, so he made preparations to defend Corfinium. By this time the 8th, along with a total of 22 Cohorts of the levies that Caesar raised to protect The Province to defend from Lucterius’ thrust during the rebellion of Vercingetorix, also joined Caesar and the army, and with this force he invested Corfinium. Before the encirclement was complete, a final message from Pompey reached Ahenobarbus that let him know that he was on his own, that Pompey considered what he was doing foolish in the extreme and that he had no intention of risking the two veteran Legions closest to hand, the 1st and 3rd in a risky gambit to relieve the town. Ahenobarbus, now that he was forced to face the fact that his cause was futile, apparently began planning for his own escape, despite telling the boys in his army that all was well and help was on the way. His men got wind of the truth, consequently sending their own envoys to Caesar so that just seven days after Caesar arrived, Corfinium fell without a fight. It was at Corfinium that I believe Caesar made one of his greatest errors, although I say this with the unerring accuracy of vision supplied by hindsight. There were more than 50 men of the Senate and equestrian order who were in Corfinium, almost all of them staunch Pompeians, yet Caesar not only let them all go free, he also did nothing to Ahenobarbus, a man who was one of his bitterest enemies for more than ten years. Caesar also returned the pay chest of 6,000,000 sesterces that was there to pay the troops, in a sign that he was not after pursuing wealth but only wanted to assert his rights as a Roman citizen. His clemency certainly helped to win the populace over to his side, although I can tell you that it was not very popular with the Legions, particular his very strict orders against looting, even if I for one could see the sense of that. Caesar might be able to beat the combined forces of the “good men”, but he could not beat both them and the ill-will of the people. There is nothing quite like having all your possessions taken then seeing your wife and daughter raped to give a man a bitter feeling towards someone. Nevertheless, his generosity and clemency was a case of casting pearls before swine, particularly with the likes of Ahenobarbus, who swore an oath that he would not oppose Caesar, but immediately broke it the moment he was a mile down the road. I cannot help but wonder if Caesar had been a little more bloody-minded, particularly with the men like Ahenobarbus, if things would have turned out differently.
I do not want to paint a picture that Caesar suffered no setbacks of any kind, because that is not the case, and one of those setbacks was more of personal betrayal, at least as far as we were concerned. Labienus, who commanded the 10th most of our time in Gaul and was the Legate in charge of our camp at Narbo, defected to Pompey. I cannot speak for Caesar, especially given his public reaction, yet to a man the 10th took this as one of the bitterest blows of the whole civil war. From our viewpoint, Labienus owed all that he was to Caesar but he obviously did not see it that way. In fact, as we were to learn over the next several months, according to Labienus it was the other way around; he had made Caesar the man he was. I will grant that Labienus was a good general; he knew how, and more importantly when to fight and when not to, but he was not even a full shadow of the leader that Caesar was. We respected him, but we did not love him the way we loved Caesar and there was more than one man in the army who would have slit his gullet wide open if he thought he could get away with it. However, Caesar made no public, or private as far as I know, comment against Labienus and indeed, ordered that all of his baggage, including all the loot that he was awarded by Caesar, be sent after him. For his part, Labienus never made any kind of sign of gratitude for that gesture, but the gods always have a way of evening the scales, and Labienus’ day of reckoning was waiting down the road. At the time, however, his actions brought a stain of dishonor to the 10th, at least as far as we saw it. Thankfully, Caesar did not feel the same way.
Caesar’s move through Italy was so rapid and his conquest, albeit bloodless, so complete that Pompey, the Senate and all of those aligned with them, having first abandoned Rome, now made to abandon Italy, with Pompey marshaling his army at Brundisium for shipment to Greece. Caesar set off in hot pursuit with the 8th, 12th, 13th, and a new Legion he formed out of the Cohorts from Transalpine Gaul that he named the 5th Larks. Whether they were so named because he authorized them to wear those feathers as crests for their helmets, or they wore the feathers in their crests because of what he named them, I never knew. Pompey may not have been the boldest general, at least now that he was older, but he was a master of logistics, and I do not think it is insulting to Caesar or his memory to acknowledge that Pompey’s organization and skill at moving large numbers of men was unparalleled. These qualities enabled him to withdraw his entire force almost completely intact, despite the fact that Caesar and the army arrived at Brundisium several days before the evacuation, making several attempts to stop the crossing. Only two ships were lost, run aground on booms that Caesar ordered constructed in an attempt at cutting off the harbor while Pompey, his supporters and the rest of his army made it away safely. More importantly, Pompey took the entire merchant and military shipping with him, leaving Caesar nothing with which to pursue. He would have to buy and build a fleet of his own, and that task would take months. During the week that Caesar and Pompey were in close proximity to each other, Caesar made several attempts to arrange a face-to-face meeting with Pompey, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a full-blown and bloody civil war, but Pompey steadfastly refused. Therefore, Caesar was left standing on the shore, watching Pompey run away. There was nothing left to do at that time but go to Rome.
As interesting and as much of an impact on my, and the Republic’s, future all these events were having, I still found it hard to devote my full attention to matters. Gisela tolerated the hard journey, along with the tension between Vibius and me on the way back, about as well as one could reasonably expect and she gave no signs of distress in the days leading up to the birth of our child. Nevertheless, a full week before the midwife, the soothsayers and the medicine men from Gisela’s people had said, she woke me one night by punching me full in the chest. Jerking awake, I found her sitting up, gasping in pain, her knees up. My heart started hammering; I had no idea what to do. We had arranged for the midwife to begin her vigil, staying at our house, but she would not start that for a couple more days. Fumbling around, I managed to get a lamp lit, then just sat there dumbly at the edge of the bed, looking at her. There was a stain of something wet spreading on the mattress from between her legs and I felt my stom
ach lurch, the sight of it rooting me to the spot, paralyzed.
“Titus, you idiot! Don’t sit there like a useless lump. Go get Thuria! Then have the boy go get the midwife. My time has come!”
I still did not move; I do not know whether I did not want to believe that the moment had arrived or what, but there I sat. “But...but it’s not your time! It’s not supposed to be another week!”
“Well, apparently,” she said through clenched teeth, “he has other ideas!”
Even through my panic, that one word penetrated through. “He? What do you mean he? How do you know?”
“Because only a man would cause me this much pain,” she howled before slapping me, hard, across the face.
That got me moving, I can tell you. Everything after that is a blur; Thuria did her best to calm the both of us while we waited for the midwife, but finally my anxiety was too much and I was banished to the outer room, for which I was eternally thankful. The midwife arrived, and she was the only one of us who did not appear to think this was unusual. I remember confronting her about what it meant that the baby was early, which she shrugged off.
“It might not be,” she replied. “Maybe there was a miscalculation of the date. Or,” she said over her shoulder as she walked into our bedroom, “it’s early.”
That was not a great help. The labor lasted gods only know how long; afterwards Gisela told me very surely that it lasted more than four full watches, and I imagine she would know. What I remember most vividly of that night and day was the fear, a fear that I never mentioned to Gisela, but one that she learned from Valeria, that my baby would do the same thing to Gisela that I did to my mother. After all, I killed my mother because of my size, so I had to believe there was a chance of the same thing happening again. I sent for Vibius, who sat with me, doing all he could to take my mind off of my worry, and he was a great help. Even so, the waiting was an agony, but finally in the middle of the afternoon we were rewarded with what sounded to my ears, at least at that moment, like a cat that just had its tail cut off. Vibius and I looked at each other before leaping to our feet and rushing over to the bedroom door, almost bowling over a tired but happy looking midwife who was coming to get me.