by R. W. Peake
“I'm about to tell you why I've called this meeting,” I whispered. “But before I do, I need to prepare you so that you don't give any kind of outburst that would alert the rest of the men before I'm ready to tell them. So brace yourselves.” I waited for each of them to nod that they understood, then I told them, making my voice as emotionless as possible. “Caesar has been assassinated by a group of Senators.”
As I watched their reaction, it struck me that this was probably what I had looked like when Pollio told me. To their credit, they did not give any kind of outcry, though Scribonius drew a sharp breath that probably sounded louder than it was, but still caused me to look over my shoulder nervously, forgetting that I had pulled the flap closed.
“When did this happen?” Balbus whispered.
“On the Ides of March,” I replied.
“Two weeks ago,” Scribonius said thoughtfully, his tone causing the rest of us to look at him carefully, as we all respected his ability to see things that the rest of us missed. “A lot has happened in the intervening time, no doubt. There’s really no telling what's transpired and who’s in power. Do you have any information about that?”
I shook my head. “The dispatch that Pollio received was apparently written no more than a few thirds of a watch after the murder.”
Scribonius looked at me sharply at my use of the term. “Murder? That’s a little strong, isn’t it? I would think assassination is a more appropriate term,” he said.
For a brief moment, my anger flared white-hot, my hand involuntarily reaching for my sword.
Then I looked at his face, realizing that he had divined the same danger that Diocles had. I let out a slow breath, nodding carefully. “Yes, you're correct, Scribonius. I spoke in haste, and in error. Caesar was assassinated, not murdered.”
With that settled, I gave my friends time to compose themselves, then they followed me out to face the Centurions of the 10th Legion.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Caesar is dead. He was assassinated by members of the Senate on the Ides of March, the day before he was to depart for Syria.”
It was as if the air was suddenly sucked out of the room, which I suppose it was in a sense, as 56 pairs of lungs drew in a breath simultaneously. There was just a heartbeat of utter silence before total chaos broke out as men shouted in despair, cursed the gods, or just let out an unintelligible moan. Shaking their fists, turning to each other, yelling out what they would do to the assassins, asking me for details, for several moments I let the grief and anger wash over all of us as each man dealt with the news that the father of the Legion had been struck down in their own way. Finally, I held up my hand for silence, but I was universally ignored.
Drawing a deep breath, I roared at the top of my lungs. “Tacete!”
For the first and only time, I was not instantly obeyed, and it was only the circumstances that kept me from lashing out at the nearest man who was still baying for the killers’ blood.
Still, I was very angry, and made no attempt to hide it. “I said shut up now, you bastards! The next man to speak I'll flay and use his ball sac as my coin purse!”
That shut them up, as their looks of contrition and anguish extinguished the flames of my ire immediately.
These men were heartbroken, just as I was, and I had to let them come to terms with what had happened. “Brothers,” I said with what I hoped was a sympathetic tone. “I know that you're hurting, as I am. You all know how much Caesar has favored me, how much I owe to him, and now to his memory. But we all have to be strong now, more than at any other time. The men are young and raw, and for most of them, the name of Caesar has been in their ears since they were born. They grew up on our exploits in Gaul, with Caesar at our head. Now this one constant fact of Rome is no more, and they'll be confused and frightened about what this means.”
“What does this mean?” someone asked, and I felt the pressure of 59 pairs of eyes looking at me for the answer.
“It's too early to know,” I said as honestly as I could. “The dispatch General Pollio received didn't give any kind of instructions, and it was apparently sent just thirds of a watch after the….event. As of this moment, I don't know what our orders are, but I plan on finding out.”
It was not much, yet it was the best I could do for the moment, and I was relieved to see that the men seemed to accept that. “I've decided that rather than call an assembly and tell the men all at once, that I'm going to have you tell each of your Centuries. I think that this is the best way to handle it because I don’t want a scene of mass hysterics.”
As I expected, this did not go down well, but I was not going to be swayed. With that, I sent the men back to their Century areas, then sat down with Diocles and an amphora of wine, preparing ourselves for the coming uproar.
The next few days passed in a blur, as I found myself going almost every third of a watch to the praetorium to find out from Pollio the latest developments. Dispatch riders came in a steady stream, not all of them from Rome, but from other parts of the Republic as the men who had belonged to Caesar sent missives back and forth, feeling each other out while trying to gather more information. First, we heard that Brutus and the other faithless bastards had been hailed as saviors of the Republic, that the people were acclaiming them as heroes, something I did not buy into for a moment, and it turned out that I was right. In fact, the reaction of the people was quite the opposite, as Brutus and Cassius in particular were now hiding from the masses. The people of the Head Count, my people, wanted to skin them alive and nail their hides to the Senate door, so the two of them were taking refuge in the Capitol. A couple of days after we heard this, word came that the two of them had ventured down to the Forum to mount the Rostra to give speeches justifying their actions, the reaction obviously not what they were expecting. The people did not tear them asunder, instead just standing there in complete and total silence. I can only imagine how unnerving that must have been, for either of the assassins or for the people watching. The eyes and attention of the people of all classes now turned to Marcus Antonius, waiting to see what he would do. When he took no actions against the assassins, I requested an audience with Pollio to get his opinion on what Antonius was thinking, because his inaction infuriated me, as well as the rest of the men. To us, it was clear-cut; no matter what I might say publicly, I viewed Caesar’s death as nothing but murder, and for Antonius to sit by doing nothing to his assassins made no sense to any of us in uniform.
Clearly, I was not the only one missing my rest. Seeing Pollio, his eyes red from fatigue and sleepless nights, I recognized that the man was suffering from all this upheaval, as much if not more than we were. He was still seated behind his desk, and as it had become my habit, I did not wait for him to give permission, throwing myself into the chair on the opposite side of the desk.
“I believe Marcus Antonius is just being prudent,” he told me, when I asked him about it.
“Prudent?” I asked incredulously, forgetting that Pollio was my superior for a moment as I let out a string of curses. Fortunately, Pollio was not the sort of officer who punished men for lapses like mine, particularly under the circumstances. “Prudent,” I repeated. “What’s prudent about letting the men who killed Caesar go unpunished? If anything, it would seem to me to be prudent for him to take action against them, since he was Caesar’s man just as much as you or I.”
I am not sure what I was expecting, but it was not the snorting laugh that Pollio gave. “Antonius is nobody’s man but his own,” Pollio said acidly, and I could see that he had no love for the man, no matter how popular he had been with the troops. “And while I don't care for the man personally, in this I agree with him. His position is too tenuous for him to take any drastic action against Brutus, Cassius, and the rest of them. And make no mistake,” at this he leaned forward, pointing at me for emphasis, “it’s Brutus and Cassius that matter the most, along with Decimus Brutus. And Trebonius,” he sighed.
I found myself sitting upright, shocked to m
y core. “Trebonius,” I gasped.
I had known about Decimus Brutus, which was something of a shock, but nothing like this. Gaius Trebonius had been one of Caesar’s most loyal lieutenants, benefitting greatly from Caesar’s patronage and support.
Pollio nodded wearily. “He didn't wield a knife, that much is true. But he kept Antonius tied up on some nonsense outside while the others did the deed. Yes,” he sighed. “I'm afraid that Trebonius was in it up to his eyebrows. So you see,” he continued, “that's another reason why Antonius can't just order the execution of any of the assassins, who by the way, are calling themselves The Liberators.” Pollio laughed at this, though there was no humor in it. “The Liberators. What a joke. What do they think they've liberated us from? The Republic is dead as Caesar, it’s never going to come back.”
I must admit that his last remark disturbed me; like most Romans of my class, I could not really explain exactly what the Republic was, I just knew that it had been in existence for hundreds of years.
I also believed that it was the best form of government in history, though I could no more explain why this was so than I could sprout wings. “You think the Republic is finished?” I asked cautiously.
Pollio gave me a sharp look, clearly trying to determine if I had some ulterior motive. Such were the times that we were all looking at each other out of the corner of our eyes, wondering exactly what was going on in each other's heads.
Apparently, Pollio discerned that I was sincere. “Yes, Pullus, I do. The fact is that it was dead before Caesar ever took power, but the boni,” he spat the term that the enemies of Caesar had claimed as their own, long before his assassination, “refused to accept that fact. Caesar’s death doesn’t change the reality, but I suspect that our Brutus and Cassius are only now coming to terms with that fact. And the jug is broken now; Caesar is dead, and nothing will bring him back.”
“So you think Antonius is doing the right thing?” was my next question, his eyes narrowing as he thought about it.
“No,” he said finally. “I don’t think he’s doing the right thing, I think he’s doing the only thing that he can do under the circumstances. Until he solidifies his power base, and has a better idea of how much support Brutus and the rest of that bunch have, he really has no other choice.”
“But the people are on Antonius’ side, that has to count for something,” I argued.
“That's true,” Pollio conceded. “Pullus, don't take offense when I say this. The people of your class may have numbers, but they don't have money, and money is power. The patricians, and the wealthy equestrians, especially those who live outside of Rome, have the money, and therefore, they have the clout.”
“I’m actually eligible for the equestrian class,” I do not know exactly why I chose that moment to say this, other than my pride was stung by his words, no matter how true they may have been.
Pollio’s bushy grey eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? I didn't know that, Pullus. Well, er, congratulations I suppose,” he said awkwardly. “However, that really doesn't change things; however wealthy you may be, you're one man, and your riches are nothing compared to what the boni can marshal to further their cause.”
I sighed; this conversation had given me a headache, yet I had to admit grudgingly that I saw Pollio’s point, but I still needed some sort of assurance from him about Antonius’ intentions, which he could not give.
“Ultimately, as I said at the beginning of this conversation, Marcus Antonius is his own man, with his own ambitions,” Pollio finished. “He's going to do what’s best for Antonius, no matter what.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Pollio, of course, was entirely accurate, at least in his assessment of Antonius’ motives. While the common people and the veterans of Caesar’s army that had retired were grief-stricken, showing their sorrow by a spontaneous demonstration in the Forum and attempting to burn down some of the assassins’ homes, Antonius took a conciliatory stance towards the men who called themselves The Liberators, even if nobody else afforded them that title. He issued a public proclamation granting the assassins amnesty, which was hugely unpopular in the army, while I found myself making offerings of thanks to the gods that I had such a green Legion under my command, for if it had been composed of Caesar’s veterans, I do not know what would have happened. Even so, the men were extremely unsettled, while the tone was set by the remaining veterans, as whatever grievances they had had towards Caesar seemed to have evaporated with his death.
One night, I had Scribonius and Balbus as guests for dinner, and I broached the subject with them. “Do you think it’s odd that the veterans are so worked up over Caesar’s death after most of them mutinied against him?” I asked the both of them as I poured them another cup of wine.
“Not really.” Balbus shrugged. “Whatever grievances they had with Caesar, ultimately they loved him as a father. I don’t know how it was with your father, Pullus, but I loved and hated mine, all at the same time.”
I had no desire or intention of discussing my relationship with my father with either Scribonius or Balbus, but I took his point.
Considering this, I then asked the both of them, “So what do we do? Do we let them talk, or do we clamp down on them?”
Scribonius frowned as he thought about it. Then, “I don’t think trying to shut them up is going to work, it will just make them, the veterans anyway, more resentful. They need to be able to express their anger.”
Balbus shook his head immediately. “I disagree. The youngsters are going to follow the lead of the veterans, and if you let the veterans continue to moan about Caesar, you set an example that will dog this Legion for the rest of the time these men are under the standards.”
After listening to both, I agreed with Balbus, telling him and Scribonius to pass the word quietly to those veterans the most vocal in their anger that it was time for them to shut their mouths. I must admit I was somewhat torn about it, given that the men were just expressing my own feelings, but I knew that Balbus was right.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fortunately, a quiet word to a few key men was all that was needed and while the anger remained, it was muted to little more than a whisper around the fires. A few days later, at the end of April, we received word that Brutus and Cassius, no longer able to bear the pressure of constantly watching their backs and homes, had fled Rome, with Antonius aiding Brutus at least by passing a law that enabled him as urban Praetor to be absent from the city for more than the ten days prescribed by law. Antonius also introduced a law that abolished the office of Dictator, along with a measure that ratified all of Caesar’s acts prior to his death, along with his proposed measures. However, it was on Antonius’ say-so alone as to what Caesar had proposed to do and what he had actually begun implementing, since he had seized Caesar’s private papers immediately after his death. The granting of citizenship to Sicily was one example, so in effect Antonius was every bit as powerful as Caesar in this respect. Oh, he was treading a very careful path and as time passed, and grudgingly I had to admit that Pollio had been right about Antonius, at least as far as what he was doing in the early tumultuous days after the assassination. As difficult a situation as it was, we still had to continue training the men, although we now had nowhere to march to, so we began incorporating day-long marches out into the countryside. Compounding our problems was that we had no idea when or where we would be marching, or who we would be fighting when we got wherever we were going. What all the officers feared was that we would be fighting against Romans again. Still, that did not keep us from training our men to the best of our ability.
~ ~ ~ ~
The next momentous event occurred when word arrived about the contents of Caesar’s will. Once again, I found myself sitting in Pollio’s office, but this time he was more animated than I had seen him in weeks, though not in a good way.
I had barely sat down when he waved yet another scroll in my face. “Do you know what this says?” he demanded. I assured him that I had no idea what
it contained. “It’s the contents of Caesar’s will, or at least the most important parts.”
We had been expecting to hear of it for some time before this, so it was not a surprise that we were finally receiving word about it, but what followed was not just very much a surprise, but a huge shock.
“Caesar’s heir is named,” Pollio continued, and I nodded, fully expecting to hear the name Marcus Antonius, since he was really the only logical choice.
I supposed Decimus Brutus was another possibility, but I was sure that his part as one of The Liberators notwithstanding, he was not a likely candidate.
Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would hear the name that Pollio uttered, and so shocked was I that I made him repeat himself. “You heard me correctly. Gaius Octavius is Caesar’s principal heir. His other nephews Lucius Pinarius and Quintus Pedius get a pittance, at least in terms of proportion, though they'll still be wealthy men, but Caesar named Gaius Octavius not only his main heir, but adopted him as his son as well, so he inherits the name, which in some ways is more important.” Pollio smiled bitterly, “Though I doubt he’ll live long enough to make any use of it.”
I sat there, stunned, thinking that I just needed to learn not to expect anything to make sense so that I was not constantly having my head spin with all that kept happening. “Antonius will kill him,” I blurted the first thing that came into my head, and Pollio nodded in agreement.
“I expect so, and I can’t say that I blame him. I admire….admired,” Pollio amended, “Caesar a great deal, but I think he did a great wrong to Antonius in this. And I think that in naming Octavius as heir, he has guaranteed that Roman will be fighting Roman.”