by R. W. Peake
The fact that we cheered his words at all should be considered a tribute to the leadership of Caesar, because in truth I was not sure the men had the energy for what he was ordering, but I knew that we would die trying.
~ ~ ~ ~
Despite our almost overwhelming fatigue, we marched quickly, although it was more of a stumbling half-run than a march, out of the camp to the base of the hill about six miles from the rear gate by the route we took, swinging around to the north. By this time, the sun was close to setting, meaning we would be working well past dark, and Caesar quickly made his dispositions, placing us in a circle around the hill before ordering us to dig. At first there were not enough spades and picks to go around, something of a blessing in disguise for the men, since it allowed them to work in shifts and get a small amount of rest. Nevertheless, once we began, I sent the men who were not working to fetch water, using their helmet as makeshift buckets. Beginning the job, we had to use our bare hands, but finally men came with mules loaded down with entrenching tools. Once all the men had tools, the work progressed rapidly, despite it being done in the dark. This was the advantage gained from all the digging we had done all over Gaul, Hispania and now Greece, enabling us to work just as quickly in total darkness as if the sun was shining high in the sky. The Pompeians could not see us, but there was no doubt that they could hear us digging, and I am sure it was that sound that compelled a deputation from the Pompeians to come down the hill under a flag of truce, asking Caesar for terms. His reply was that he would only take their unconditional surrender, whereupon the deputation marched back up the hill to discuss the matter. It was a short discussion, and at daybreak the day after the battle started, the remainder of Pompey’s army threw their weapons down, falling to their knees and begging Caesar for mercy. And of course, Caesar showed them mercy, in the same manner he had been doing the whole civil war, ordering us not to molest our prisoners in any way and to respect their property. This did not set well with the men, who felt that they were being cheated of their just reward for all that they had done, especially since the contents of the camp traditionally went to them. Ultimately, I believe that this was the final straw for the men and was a direct cause of what happened next. For it was on this day of Caesar’s greatest victory that came not only the greatest challenge to his leadership, but to mine as well, along with the death of the friendship between Vibius and myself.
~ ~ ~ ~
The details of accepting the surrender of such a large force of men took at least a couple of watches, making it mid-morning before things settled down sufficiently to allow our own men the chance to rest. Once given permission, they finally just dropped to the ground in their normal spot in formation, with adjustments made for our losses. With the men sitting on the ground talking quietly among themselves, I called my Centurions to my side, or more accurately, the Centurions who were still standing. Niger had fallen, victim of a slingshot to the eye that penetrated his brain, killing him instantly. Crispus was down with a serious wound to the thigh, but he would probably recover if the wound remained clean. In their places were their Optios; Niger’s was Gaius Vatinius, a man who was part of my dilectus and in fact had lived not very far away from me and Vibius. In Crispus’ place was Vibius Flaccus, also one of our dilectus, but I do not remember where he came from. We went looking for Torquatus, finding him standing grim-faced with the remaining Centurions of the First Cohort. I could tell by the postures of the men surrounding him that something was amiss, and we soon found out the cause.
“Caesar wants us to be ready to march in two parts of a watch,” Torquatus said grimly, and despite myself, I gasped with shock, the only saving grace being that I was not alone in my reaction.
“Why?” Celer blurted out, and I was still in too much shock to admonish him for speaking out of turn. Truthfully, he only asked the same question I would have asked.
Torquatus smiled, but it was not a happy look on his face as he said, “Because as many big fish as we may have bagged, the biggest one got away. Pompey was spotted heading for Larisa and Caesar wants to hunt him down. He’s ordering the Spanish Legions to march with him.”
“How many men does Pompey have?” I asked, but the answer was only a shrug as Torquatus looked away, clearly not wanting to answer the question.
Again, I was not alone, evidenced by one of his own Centurions asking him again.
Finally, Torquatus let out a sigh and said, “Perhaps 30 mounted men, and less than a Century of infantry.”
“And he wants to chase that with four Legions?” someone asked in astonishment; I do not remember who.
Now Torquatus’ face started to suffuse with red and he snapped, “I don’t remember hearing that the Legions have become a debating society. Caesar has ordered it, and that’s that. Make your men ready.”
As quickly as it had come, his anger passed. He could only look at us and shrug helplessly, “I know that it stinks, but those are our orders.”
“The men are really not going to like this.”
All heads turned to the one of us with the courage to utter aloud what we were all thinking, and it was with equal parts pride and irritation that I saw that Scribonius had opened his mouth. His tone was less of an admonishment than it was thoughtful, and looking at him, I saw an expression that I had come to learn meant that he was thinking things through.
Torquatus, however, was in no mood for indulging Scribonius’ mental exercise, and he said angrily, “You think I don’t know that? Well, I do, but I also know that they’re going to do what they’re fucking told, or I’ll flay every last one who so much as whispers a word against my orders.”
“Primus Pilus, with all respect, I'd be careful what you say, because I think that you’ll have to carry it out on almost every man of the Legion, and not just in the ranks.”
I cannot convey the quality of shock that immediately descended on the group when these words were uttered, not just from the words themselves but who had uttered them. Quintus Balbus was the Primus Princeps, the Centurion in charge of the Third Century of the First Cohort, and outside of Gaius Crastinus himself, was one of the most respected Centurions of the Legion. He was a large, muscular man, although not as large as I was, and his arms were covered with scars, as was his face, where a Gaulish axe had sliced off one ear and left the right side of his face a knotted mass of scar tissue. Balbus was well regarded enough that if he were to be permanently appointed Primus Pilus over Torquatus, none of us would be particularly surprised, nor displeased. Except Torquatus, of course. Balbus did not talk much, but when he did, he usually said something that needed to be said, and apparently, he believed that this was one of those times.
Despite there being no love lost between Torquatus and Balbus, the acting Primus Pilus could not afford to ignore such dire words from a man like Balbus, and his face clouded with doubt as he asked warily, “What do you mean Balbus? Spit it out, man! Don’t talk in riddles.”
However, Balbus was not one to be cowed, even by his superior, and he did not speak for a moment as he gathered his thoughts.
Finally, he spoke in a lower tone of voice to keep his words from carrying far. “Simply this, Primus Pilus. The men are as exhausted as any of us have ever seen them. Would anyone disagree with that?” We all shook our heads, and Balbus continued. “Add to that the men weren’t allowed to plunder the camp, nor were they allowed to take the Pompeian baggage as spoils of war.”
“But you know why Caesar did that,” Torquatus protested, but Balbus held up his hand in a placating gesture.
“I’m not saying I disagree, Torquatus. What I am saying is, put yourself in the men’s boots for a moment and see it how they see it. I’m not saying they’re right; in fact, I think they’re in the wrong, but right now I don’t think right or wrong much matters.” Grudgingly, Torquatus nodded his head, indicating that Balbus should continue. “We all know that there's already been trouble with the men, although thankfully it hasn’t been with the 10th. . yet.” He looked m
eaningfully at each of us, then finished, “I think that the men are at the end of their tether physically, and they feel like they've been wronged. What I’m afraid of is that if those bastards in the 9th refuse to march, and I think that’s exactly what they’re going to do when they get the order, that our boys are going to follow suit.”
We stood for a moment, digesting what Balbus said.
Finally, Scribonius spoke, his face creased in a thoughtful frown. “But the men of the 9th have at the least a legitimate complaint because of their discharge situation. None of the 10th is due for a discharge for some time yet. So what do you think they’ll use as their excuse?”
No sooner had the words left Scribonius’ mouth than I was hit with a sickening certainty, making me feel like I had been punched in the stomach.
Slowly, I said, “I think I know what it’ll be.”
Almost like it was on command, all heads turned, the eyes of every Centurion fastening on mine. By this time, our small group was joined by most of the rest of the Centurions of the 10th, and before I spoke, there was a whispered account of what had been said to that point. Seeing the mixture of expressions sweep across the face of the other Centurions as they digested what had transpired, my sick feeling increased when I saw that surprise was not one of them.
Finally, I spoke again. “I know that the men have been muttering for several days about the bonus that Caesar promised them.”
Despite myself, I glanced at Scribonius, and saw that he knew exactly where my thoughts were, because one of the loudest complainers was my very own Optio. I had hoped that promoting Vibius to Optio would at the very least modify his feelings about Caesar, because now that he was an officer, albeit a junior one, he could no longer engage in the kind of talk that pervades the ranks about their senior officers. Also, I hoped that by more exposure to Caesar and his decisions, he would come to see the man for what he truly was and not what Vibius had made him out to be in his mind, just another patrician who used the plebs to further his own ends without any regard for the greater good. However, nothing of the sort had happened; if anything, Vibius’ animosity towards Caesar had increased. And I was guilty of turning a deaf ear to his talk around the campfire, except in truth, I was not ignoring his talk any more than I did over the last several years, but that was, and is, a shabby excuse. Being my Optio, I should have called him to account long before and made him shut his mouth, no matter how it had to be done, but I had not. And now, I was sure that if Balbus was right, and there was a mutiny, the men of the 10th would use the bonus as their justification for joining their comrades.
Now that I had spoken my suspicions, I saw several heads nodding, and someone said, “I think Pullus is right. I know that my boys have been moaning about it for a couple weeks now.”
“I can’t say that I blame them,” said a voice.
I whipped my head around to see who had uttered such nonsense, but was shocked to the core when I heard many voices add their agreement, and I looked over at Torquatus, who looked as surprised as I did. But significantly, or at least so I thought, Balbus did not look surprised at all, and wondered what that meant.
“So what do we do about it?” someone else asked, stopping the muttered conversations as we all looked at Torquatus, who rubbed his face wearily as he thought. I remember thinking then that perhaps the cost of ambition and my goal of rising to Primus Pilus bore a price that ultimately was too high for me to pay, yet I quickly shrugged it off, thinking that somehow I would never find myself in this position.
Waiting for several moments as Torquatus stared at the ground, he finally spoke. “Nothing. There’s nothing we can do until it happens.” He glanced up to see how his decision was being received, and encouraged, he continued, “We can’t very well start dragging men out for punishment because they’ve been the loudest complainers about this bonus. Especially when it’s clear that a number of their Centurions agree with them.” He glared around as he said the last bit, and was rewarded by a few heads bowing, some of the Centurions suddenly finding something about their boots incredibly interesting at that moment. Torquatus then gave a tired shrug. “I think we just have to wait and see what happens, and whether Balbus is right. And then,” he looked meaningfully around at the Centurions of the 10th, “we’ll see who stands where, won’t we?”
And with that, we were dismissed to go pass the word to our men to make ready to move out. Or to mutiny, we weren’t sure which.
~ ~ ~ ~
As matters turned out, Balbus was about as right as he could have been. When the order was given to make ready to march the men of the 9th, led by their Centurions, simply refused to budge. They were followed quickly by the 8th, then the 7th, and thanks to the warning that Balbus had raised, the only person shocked when the 10th followed suit was Caesar himself. Stepping in front of the Cohort, despite my belief that I had prepared myself, I was still a bit shaken when Vibius was not standing there ready to receive my orders. Instead, he was standing in his former spot in the formation, and I think I was trying to postpone the inevitable because I did not order him to me.
Instead I acted like everything was normal, turning to the cornicen to sound the call for the men to pick up their gear, who actually hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something before I said to him quietly, “Don’t. Just carry out the order, and whatever happens will happen. Don’t compound your crime by refusing a direct order.”
His face darkened, but he obeyed and blew the call, whereupon the men of the Cohort followed the lead of the rest of the army. Instead of picking up their gear, almost in unison, they sat down on the ground next to it. Even knowing it was coming, actually watching it happen was a blow almost physical in nature. I stood for a moment, not sure what to do at this point, looking over at the First Cohort to see if Torquatus had any ideas, but he just looked at me and shrugged helplessly. Finally, I walked towards Vibius, who sat calmly watching me approach, but did not come to his feet.
The anger that was building inside me at being put in this situation flared up through my chest, and I spoke sharply, “Get on your feet when your superior approaches, Optio.”
For a moment, he did not move, then slowly got to his feet, coming to intente. For moments that seemed to last forever, we stood staring at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, I shook my head.
“Why, Vibius?”
He looked at me as if I had gone mad. “Why,” he said incredulously, “why? You know very well why, Titus. He lied to us, Titus. Surely you can see that?”
I shook my head. “First, I don’t believe that just because he hasn’t given us our bonus it’s a case that he’s lying to us. If you haven’t noticed,” my voice was heavy with sarcasm, “he’s been a little busy the last few weeks.”
“I know exactly how busy he’s been because it’s been thanks to our sweat and blood,” he shot back, and this I could not argue.
For a moment, we stood there, neither of us speaking and I could almost pretend that we were just two friends standing in comfortable silence, but we both knew it was just that, a pretense.
Finally, Vibius placed a hand on my arm and said, “Titus, you know that I’m right. You know that he owes us, and he owes us more than just some bonus.”
Now, all these years later, I will finally confess that at that moment, Vibius had almost convinced me. The surprise of that realization almost undid me, because I nearly opened my mouth. I had not realized until that moment that I had some resentment built up inside me that I was unaware of, some numen that inhabited my soul, feeding a flame of bitterness and anger that I did not even know was there until that moment. And standing there thinking on it, I also realized that I did not really know why I felt this way. After all, Caesar had favored me, not as much as some other men, but more than most; however, I was also tired. I was tired of all the marching, and I was tired of watching my men bleed and die. When all was said and done, was it not really for the reasons that Vibius had been arguing about all
these years, that we were just pieces on the board of some great game being played by Gaius Julius Caesar? That all of his high-flown rhetoric about preserving the Republic and stopping tyranny were just empty words, that this was about little more than one patrician trying to gain ascendancy over another? These thoughts rushed through my mind staring down at Vibius’ hand resting on my forearm, and through all of the confusion and emotions running through my body, I remembered how Vibius and I had met, and how much we had seen together. When I first saw that hand, I thought, it was so much smaller and white. Now, it was as brown as a piece of leather, the knuckles scarred from hard work and fights. So was the forearm it rested on, his hand partially covering the long scar that ran down my arm, and I frowned, trying to remember where I had gotten it. What battle had it been, I wondered? Then I remembered; it was from the Gallaeci all those years ago, and one thing I knew was that Vibius had been by my side.
“Join us, Titus. Caesar will listen if you’re with us.”
And there it was; all I had to do was say yes, and my friendship with Vibius would be preserved. Besides, was there not something to what he was saying? Perhaps the way the men were going about it was not the right way, but surely they had just cause, and ultimately, did Caesar not owe us what he had promised? I do not know how long I stood there, looking down at that hand resting on my arm, but then I shook my head. Looking up, I saw Vibius frowning at me, and I was suddenly filled with a sadness that I had never felt before, because I knew that this time, our friendship could not survive.