by R. W. Peake
Once the meeting with the Crassoi was concluded, those men with families were allowed the liberty of the city, and this was where Caspar was headed, although he was barely aware of where he was going, his head spinning with this latest conversation with Caesar. He could tell he was nearing the quarter where the executed king Phraates had ordered the Crassoi families to be housed when he was still two streets away, just from the noise of jubilation caused by the reunion of men and their families. Rounding the corner, Caspar’s progress was brought to almost a complete halt because the street was filled with men, surrounded by women and children, all of them in a reprisal of what Caspar had experienced the night before. Because of his status as Primus Pilus, Caspar was stopped almost every step of the way, as men introduced him to families, as the women of these men, some of them sobbing, thanked him for keeping their men safe. Although they had no way of knowing they were doing so, these appreciative families were making Caspar’s torment even greater, which contributed to why he tarried more than he might have otherwise. Nevertheless, he found himself standing outside the building that, in something of a luxury, had been assigned to his family alone, in recognition of his status as the Primus Pilus of the Crassoi, and yet he still hesitated for a moment. Then, after a deep breath and a rueful acknowledgement that he was behaving as if he was about to go into battle, Caspar opened the door to his home, and while it wasn’t quite as exuberant as it had been the night before, the greeting he received was nonetheless gratifying. This time, however, Kira let his children reach him first, and again, he repeated the ritual of hugging each one. Then, he was standing, facing the woman that he had fallen in love with, something that had occurred completely unexpectedly, back when he had been on sentry duty on the walls of Merv. She had worked for her father, in a stall that was directly underneath where Caspar, or Numerius Pompilius as he thought of himself then, was moving back and forth, an Optio who was still struggling to come to grips with the changes in his and his comrades’ circumstance. In short, at the time, he was still fully Roman, and was counting the days before he returned home to his town in Latium, despite not having any idea how many days that would be. Then, he had glanced down at the same moment she had done the same, up at the strange Roman standing on the rampart of the city. Their courtship had been swift, and Kira’s fertility confirmed almost as quickly, but as all couples with children know, there was a time before the arrival of offspring when it was just a man and a woman. Standing there, their eyes met, and in the manner which many couples have, communicated before a word was spoken. Once his greetings to the children were done, and Kira had shooed them out of the room, they sat down together at the table that was part of the large room where the family spent most of their time.
“Well?” Kira demanded, her tone tart, yet Caspar heard the love in her voice. “I can tell by your face that something has happened. So, what is it?”
Caspar considered the best way to begin but ended up just blurting out, “Caesar doesn’t want me to retire. He wants me to stay as Primus Pilus, in command of the garrison that he plans on settling at Merv.”
In response, Kira stood up and put her hands on her hips, adopting a posture with which Caspar was all too familiar, but her tone was more indicative that danger lay ahead for him as she asked with deceptive mildness, “And? What did you tell him?”
“I told him no,” Caspar answered truthfully, then exacted his own small revenge on his woman by pausing just long enough for her to express her relief before he added, “but then he made me an offer.”
“An offer?” she asked, clearly suspicious, but it was her hands returning to her hips that Caspar recognized as being most meaningful. “What kind of offer?”
“Money,” Caspar replied shortly, and as he suspected, suddenly, Kira didn’t appear quite so steadfast, shifting her weight as she took this in.
“Money?” she repeated. “How much money?”
“Twenty thousand sesterces in one lump sum,” he answered, “and a salary of five thousand sesterces a year as long as I serve. And,” he added meaningfully, “citizenship for you and the children.”
Kira’s immediate reaction was one of disinterest, which Caspar understood was because of her ignorance when she scoffed, “Twenty thousand…whatever you call them. What does that mean?”
Caspar had actually expected this response, so he had performed the necessary calculations to convert the Roman amount into one that she would understand. “That is about eighty thousand drachmae,” he explained.
As he also expected, this made his woman react by staggering backward to land heavily back onto the bench.
“Eighty thousand drachmae,” she gasped, her eyes gone wide. “My father did not make that much money in his entire lifetime!”
“No,” Caspar agreed, “he didn’t.”
“Do you know that this means?” Kira seemingly didn’t hear him. “This would mean that you would never have to work again, and we could provide a dowry for our daughters worthy of a satrap!”
“Remember that he’s making you and the children citizens,” Caspar interjected mildly, because to him this was, while secondarily so, still almost as important as the sums being discussed.
Kira barely heard him, her mind grappling with what, to her, was the stupendous wealth that was being offered by this Roman who, from her perspective, had been trying to kill her husband a matter of days before.
“Citizens,” she scoffed. “Citizens of what? And what does that even mean? Look,” she made a wave encompassing their immediate surroundings, “at what being a ‘citizen’ of the Parthian king has done for us!”
Feeling the first stirring of anger, Caspar somehow controlled himself, and realizing that his best option lay in the monetary rewards, he offered, “Don’t forget that I’d get five thousand sesterces a year as long as I serve as Primus Pilus.”
Kira, like every other woman of not just her class but who fell under the aegis of the Parthian Empire, was an uneducated woman, yet as Caspar had learned, and had come to appreciate, an untutored mind wasn’t the same as being unintelligent. It did take her a moment to perform the necessary calculations, a skill that she had acquired working for her father, to fully grasp what this meant.
“That’s twenty thousand drachmae a year,” she gasped, trying to grasp this sudden and dramatic upturn in the family fortune. Despite this dizzying news, she retained enough of her composure for the suspicion to at least partially return as she demanded, “And what would this Caesar have you do for this kind of wealth?”
“The same thing we were doing before,” Caspar answered with a shrug. “Guarding the city and the Silk Road from bandits and making sure those bastards to the east don’t try to make any mischief.”
This seemed to satisfy Kira, and the couple sat for a bit, neither of them saying anything, listening as their children bickered over something in the next room.
Finally, Kira asked timidly, “So, husband? What is your decision?”
Caspar smiled fondly at his woman, knowing her well enough to know that this was a moment where her deference was calculated, and that if he gave what she considered the wrong answer, it would evaporate in a display of temper.
For a moment, he thought about teasing her, then decided she had been through enough, and answered with mock surprise, “Why, I said yes, of course!”
Her body sagged with relief, and she whispered a prayer of thanks to the gods of her father, while Caspar silently did the same, but to the gods of his youth. Then, she was seated in his lap, and they were laughing, as the children, drawn by the sound, came bustling into the room, where they spent that evening, the first in months, enjoying each other’s company, without the prospect of danger and loss looming over their heads. When he went to sleep that night, Caspar felt physically dizzy from the spectacular change in his fortunes, and it was with a combination of chagrin and wry amusement that the man responsible for this development was a man that he had wanted to kill not long before. For the first ti
me in months, Caspar fell asleep immediately, a slight smile on his lips.
Once Caesar’s offer was made known to the men on the list who were asking for their release from further duties, while none of them were offered as much as Caspar, the amounts were substantial enough that all but a handful of men reconsidered and decided to continue serving. One subject of much speculation, with both the Crassoi and their newly allied Roman counterparts, was from where these sums were coming. And, as usually happened, it was Sextus Scribonius who, although it was never confirmed, had deduced the source of the funds.
“The Parthian treasury,” was Scribonius’ guess, “which we took when we captured Phraates. That’s where the money is coming from.”
On the other side of the table, Pullus mentally counted the heartbeats before Balbus spoke; he had reached three when the scarred Roman grumbled, “And how much of that money are we going to see, eh?” Setting down his cup, he glared, first at Pullus, then Scribonius, his tone challenging as he continued, “None! That’s how much! Not a brass obol!”
The other two men exchanged an amused glance, but as was the norm, it was Scribonius who responded, sighing as he countered in a mild tone that he knew would exacerbate Balbus’ ire. “And, how do you know that, for one? Just because Caesar hasn’t addressed this yet doesn’t mean he’s not going to. Besides,” he prodded, “what would you spend it on? Whores, gambling, and wine.”
“So?” Balbus replied defensively, his profligacy being another of the handful of long-running topics that served as fodder for the lengthy watches of time where nothing else was happening. “I’m a free Roman citizen! I can spend my money any way that I see fit!”
“Personally,” Pullus interjected, “I’ve never understood why you just don’t have your money delivered to your favorite whore straight from the paymaster.”
“‘Whore’?” Balbus scoffed, then corrected Pullus with a leer. “You mean ‘whores,’ don’t you? I,” he said expansively, “am a man of varied tastes. There isn’t a woman born who can satisfy Quintus Balbus for very long.”
“Or goats,” Scribonius countered with a straight face. “Don’t forget goats.”
Normally, this would be guaranteed some form of physical reply, either in the form of a punch, a thrown cup, or at the very least a threat, but this time, Balbus replied with a retort that, if his friends had known, he had been waiting to use for some time, having thought it up days before.
“Goats don’t count,” Balbus’ version of a grin split his face, “because goats are free.”
As he hoped, this caused his friends to begin roaring with laughter, and even Diocles, seated at his small desk in the corner ended up doubled over, tears streaming from his eyes, not only because of what was the Balbus version of wit, but this was the first time since Susa had fallen that these men he admired and loved seemed to have returned to normal.
The next month was spent consolidating the Roman hold, not only over Susa, but of the mechanisms formerly used by the Parthians to govern their vast empire. All of the spear-wielding Parthian infantrymen were released from captivity, and as had been done after the fall of Ctesiphon and Seleucia, these men were given the opportunity to fill the ranks of the Legions that had been depleted over the course of this season’s campaign, although in one slight alteration, some of those men who were interested were set aside to be trained as auxiliaries, which Caesar realized he would need more than ever before in order to keep Parthia under Roman control. Although it couldn’t be said that every Legionary was happy about this, compared to the year before, their resistance was confined to grumbling among themselves; men like Mardonius had proven themselves in a manner that not even the most skeptical Roman could deny. After some consideration, Caesar had decided that this offer wouldn’t be extended to two groups, and while one of them came as no surprise to Pullus and the other Primi Pili, the second one was, to the point that Caesar held a special meeting with his senior Centurions to explain his reasoning.
“I know that it makes sense to integrate those Crassoi who wish to do so into our own ranks,” he began. “But I think that our cause is better served by keeping them together, and here are my reasons.” Holding up a finger, he continued, “First, these men have not only been together for many years by this point, I think we would all agree that they’ve endured more than their fair share of misery and suffering.” As he expected, none of the Centurions was disposed to disagree with this, although, predictably, Batius appeared to be the least sympathetic, which Caesar ignored as he usually did, extending another finger as he said, “Second, now that so many of them have changed their minds about whether they want to continue serving or retire, they constitute one full-strength Legion, although of the more traditional eighty-man Century size and not my own standard of one hundred. More importantly, it is one battle-tested, veteran Legion that has served together since the beginning of Crassus’ campaign. At least,” he amended, “they’ve served as one cohesive unit since their capture, although they originally came from all seven Legions.” Pausing long enough to let this sink in, he added, “And there isn’t enough money in the world that can compensate for that kind of experience.” Caesar stopped again, scanning the faces of his Centurions, knowing that the quicker among them wasn’t likely to miss what came next, and he had debated with himself about whether or not to mention it all, but in his usual fashion, decided it was better to confront a possible problem now rather than allow it to become a definite issue later. “Finally,” his third finger extended, “they have seen enough fighting for the foreseeable future, and we need to garrison Merv to secure the trade route the Parthians call the Silk Road and to keep the barbarian tribes that live to the east in Sogdiana from getting ideas. Rather than dispatch one of the Legions from the army to make that march, I have decided that it makes more sense to allow the Crassoi to return to the city that many of them now call their home.”
He stopped then and watched the faces of the Primi Pili as they absorbed what he had just told them. As he expected, three of them; Pullus, Spurius, and Balbinus, who always sat together during meetings like this, were exchanging troubled glances, but somewhat surprisingly, when the other two nudged Pullus, he shook his head, refusing to say anything. The reactions of the other Primi Pili ranged from looking a bit concerned to bored now that they understood this didn’t immediately impact them or their Legion. Without any questions, Caesar dismissed the Primi Pili, and they all rose and began to make their way out of the large banquet room in the palace that Caesar had appropriated for his own use. The general was secretly amused as he surreptitiously watched the whispered but furious exchange between his three most trusted Primi Pili, who had stopped at the doorway to conduct their debate.
Deciding to take pity on them, and at the same time get a sense of how his men would be taking what he knew he couldn’t postpone much longer, given the amount of preparation and planning it would take, he called out, “Pullus, please stay for a moment. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
The look of relief on the faces of both Spurius and Balbinus, and the expression of resignation on Pullus’ confirmed Caesar’s suspicion that none of them had missed there was a significance to Caesar’s words. Once the pair left, Caesar, without saying anything, beckoned to Pullus to follow him, exiting the room through the door at the opposite end, then navigated a path that, after several turns, led to the room that Caesar now used as his private office. Although the throne had been removed, the dais on which it stood was made of stone and was mortared in place, and Caesar had decided to use the raised platform for the desks of Apollodorus and two other of his senior scribes.
“I put them there so they can look down on me and make sure I stay busy,” Caesar joked, since this was the first time that Pullus had visited Caesar in his new office.
Leading the Primus Pilus over to where his desk was located, placed so that one wall was immediately behind his chair, and on which was a large map made of multiple pieces of vellum,
on each of which was a segment of territory, Caesar stood to the side of the desk. The presence of this map wasn’t unusual; what was, and it took Pullus a span of a few heartbeats to notice, was the scale was much, much larger than the one that had been hanging on the wall in the praetorium in camp. Caesar watched Pullus studying the map for a moment, observing the Primus Pilus’ face as it began to dawn on him the implications of what was drawn on the vellum with black ink.
Pullus finally turned to Caesar and asked carefully, “Caesar, is there a reason this map covers so much territory to the east?”
The month after the surrender passed, and the Ides of September came. It had been a period of intense preparation for the men of the now-named Crassoi Legion, which now carried its own eagle standard, representing Rome once more, which prompted a highly unusual moment, a lustration ceremony that consecrated the sacred status of the eagle and recorded the oaths of those men who marched under it, held at the end of a campaign season instead of the beginning, which Caesar conducted in his role as Pontifex Maximus. Those wounded of theirs who were able to recover had done so, while the families of the men had been prepared for a journey that, although it would be long and arduous, was one to which they looked forward, returning to what they thought of as home. As far as Caesar’s Legions were concerned, they had begun the process of training the new replacements, while the 28th Legion was finally recalled from Sostrate, replaced by two Cohorts of auxiliaries that had marched from Ctesiphon. Among the party leaving for Merv were some notable additions, but it was one man in particular that, of those who had dealt with him on a regular basis, were happy to see him go. Marcus Aemilius Lepidus had been afforded the “honor” of being appointed Praetor of the yet-to-be-named region of the new Roman province of Parthia, of which Merv was the capital. While men like Pullus viewed it as a method of addition by subtraction, Caesar’s decision wasn’t based solely in the man’s incompetence when it came to battlefield command. The truth was that, for all of his other faults, Lepidus had proven to be a competent, even moderately talented administrator in his role as quartermaster for the vast Roman army. Not that Lepidus viewed it as any kind of honor, but when he had come before Caesar after screwing up his courage, with the intention of demanding he either remain with the army or be released to return to Rome, his nerve had failed him, in an almost identical manner that it had vanished during his disastrous time commanding the cavalry, in the first skirmish with the Parthian forces. As Caesar had known he would, in the end Lepidus meekly complied with his orders, but he wasn’t the only Roman that would be marching with the Crassoi column, the general assigning him a not inconsiderable staff of a half-dozen Tribunes. One of them was one of his nephews, Quintus Pedius, and if the truth were known, Caesar had struggled more with this decision than the one he had made concerning Lepidus, and finally, he had decided to be honest with Pedius.