Marching With Caesar- Conquest of Gaul

by R. W. Peake

  “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.

  “What? Well, come on, out with it. Don’t stammer about.”

  This of course was a guarantee that I was going to do the exact thing she told me not to, so I stumbled and fumbled, trying to phrase things in such a way that there was less likelihood of the cup she had snatched off the table as I was talking being hurled at me.

  “Well, Vibius asked me something, and I wanted to talk to you about it before I give him my, I mean our, decision.”

  There, I thought, I might as well drop Vibius in the cac if I were going to be swimming in it too. She did not reply, just lifting that damn eyebrow that told me to press on.

  “He’s decided that he's going to ask Juno to come back with us.”

  Before I could finish, her face split into a smile, her rosy cheeks lifting as she clapped her hands together.

  “Oh Titus, that’s wonderful! I’ve been hoping that he would finally get up the nerve to do the right thing instead of mooning about.” This was a good sign, so I decided to just get the real nut of the matter out and done with, yet before I could, she said something that is just further proof that I will never understand women.

  “Of course, she will stay with us,” she announced, and I felt my jaw drop.

  Seeing my expression, she completely misread it, saying crossly, “Now, you do NOT think that she is going to live by herself, away from home for the first time and never having been around the army? Don’t you even think about arguing about this, Pullus. I will not stand for it. Besides,” her face took on that practical expression that I knew so well, “she will be a help when my time approaches and I can barely waddle about.”

  She looked me directly in the eye and said with a sweet smile that was as much a direct order as any that came from Caesar, “You agree of course, don’t you my love?”

  I gulped, and nodded.

  It took a week and a day for us to reach Hispania, thanks to the roads that Caesar had the Legions build during our winter years in Gaul; without them it would have taken more than two to get there and leave us barely a month at home. I sent word ahead as soon as I knew that both Vibius and I would be coming, and I am ashamed to say that the letter was the first in several months. More accurately it was a couple months short of a year since I last wrote, but I told myself that it was only because I was so busy as Pilus Prior, which had the benefit of being partially true. The bigger reason was that I had changed, and no longer really had anything in common with my family. I felt that I left them behind, becoming something they could never understand, especially since their world consisted of the ground they could cover in a day’s walk, whereas I had seen so much of the world the idea of going back to that way of life was unthinkable. And being brutally honest, I had long outgrown my homesickness and stopped missing my sisters, as well as Phocas and Gaia, some time ago. I still planned on fulfilling my promise, and in fact carried with me a large amount of money, more than twice what I thought I would need to free Gaia and Phocas from my father. Despite my ambivalence about going home initially, I will say that the closer we got the more excited I became, as Vibius and I bored Gisela to tears regaling her with stories of our childhood, not that she showed it. My worries about the trials of a long journey and the toll it would take on her proved to be unfounded; if anything she seemed to flourish being out in the open air. Vibius and I did not completely dominate the conversation, however; I learned more about Gisela, her childhood and her people than I did in the previous years I knew her. She had seven brothers and sisters; that I knew, but I did not know that she was especially close to one sister who died when Gisela was twelve and her sister fourteen. Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke of her, and it was the first and last time she ever spoke of it. As she talked I thought of Livia and Valeria, and resolved to let them know how much I did care about them, even if I had not done a good job of showing it. But as I was about to find out, I was too late for one of my sisters.

  Rolling into Astigi, both Vibius and I were struck by how small the town was compared to our memories. Neither of us had made it to Rome at this point, yet we had seen places like Narbo and even Vesontio that made our town look positively shabby. The scene in the forum was much the same, with the same people doing the same business. Although people recognized and seemed to be happy to see us, I could tell there was a certain apprehension in their attitude towards us, reminding me of our last homecoming. Vibius noticed it as well, turning to me as we rode through the street towards his house.

  “Try not to kill anyone this time, will you Titus?”

  Needless to say this got Gisela’s attention, but I ignored her questions to retort, “Try not to get yourself into trouble you can’t get out of, and I won’t have to.”

  We laughed as Vibius climbed down from the wagon and grabbed his gear. Making arrangements that we would return in a few days so that Gisela and Juno could meet, I headed the wagon towards my farm, telling Gisela what happened the last time we came home.

  Topping the low rise and seeing the farm, I felt my stomach lurch as I wondered if there would ever be a time in my life where the sight of my boyhood home would not make me feel like I was ten years old, coming home without a bag of nails because I lost them. Gisela sensed my mood; without saying anything she reached over to put her hand on my arm, and I felt my face flush as I slapped the reins, turning the wagon off the road and bumping up the path to the farm. Despite it looking much the same as I remembered I saw some slight changes, things that had fallen into disrepair, like the holes in the path that normally would have been filled. I did not see Phocas at first, but the rattling of our wagon caused the door to open, then I saw his familiar figure emerge, peering at us from the gloom of the house. Having experienced the sensation of how he aged the last time I was home, I prepared myself for the change an even longer interval of time had wrought on him, or at least I thought I did. Nevertheless, I was shocked, because Phocas had become an old man, this time for real. The slight stoop I noticed the last time I visited was much more pronounced, and what was left of his hair had gone completely gray. The wrinkles around his eyes had deepened and moved down the length of his face, leaving crevices around his cheeks. With some people this is a sign that they have spent a lot of their time laughing, but I could see that was not the case with Phocas. Waiting for him to recognize us, I finally realized that his squinting at us was not due to just the bright light; his vision was obviously degraded as well, so it was not until we were no more than a dozen paces away that his
face dawned with recognition. Staggering a step, his hands went out towards me as if I were some sort of apparition that he was trying to ward off.

  “Titus, is that truly you?” it was his voice that caused the tears to flood my eyes.

  Gone was the soothing, mellifluous deep voice that still carried the accent of his native land, replaced instead by the quavering croak of an old man. I tried to speak, yet could not, and I was ashamed of myself, but as I glanced over I saw Gisela’s eyes filled with tears as well. Instead of saying anything, I jumped down from the wagon and strode over to him, engulfing him in an embrace, my shock deepening at the feel of his fragility. Still, his grip around my neck was just as strong as I remembered it, and we both stood there weeping for I do not know how long before, wiping our eyes and sniffling, we broke our embrace, both laughing embarrassedly.

  Finally, I spoke, “Yes, it’s me Phocas. I’ve come home to visit. And to fulfill a promise I made to you.”

  I am not sure what reaction I was expecting, but it was not what I got. Phocas' face took on an expression of extreme sadness, with a fresh spate of tears immediately flowing down his cheeks, bewildering me, and I was about to press him on the cause of his grief when he stepped around me, peering up at Gisela in the wagon.

  “And who is this then? And what are you doing dragging a pregnant woman all about the country?”

  Embarrassed that I had completely forgotten her, I mumbled the introductions, but Gisela did not seem to take offense. Without waiting for either of us to help, she climbed down from the wagon by herself. Walking over to Phocas, to his surprise, and some discomfort I suspect, she swept him into her embrace.

  “I am Gisela, Phocas. I'm Titus’ woman, and I'm carrying his child. He has told me so much about you, and I'm happy to finally have the chance to meet you.”

  To my irritation, Phocas looked surprised. What, am I so unable to attract a fine woman that it should provide such a shock, I thought sourly? However, I said nothing. Turning to me, Phocas beamed.

  “Well done, boy. She is truly a jewel.”

  “Where’s Gaia?” I asked, looking over his shoulder, puzzled that the commotion did not bring her to the door. I was not expecting such from my father, but I was sure that Gaia would have been all over me by now. There was no answer, and my heart skipped a beat, so I turned to face Phocas, his face telling me everything I needed to know, and it was my turn for more fresh tears to run down my face.

  “She died almost a year ago,” Phocas told us as we sat at the table, and looking about, I could see that things were hard for Phocas and my father. Phocas had done his best, but there is just a difference between the way a woman keeps a house and the way a man does it, especially one the age of Phocas. I was still unable to speak, so great was my shock, and Gisela was sitting next to me, trying to comfort me, as was Phocas. He poured us some wine and I noticed that he did not add water to his, as was his normal habit. Staring into his cup, he continued.

  “She had been complaining about being tired,” he smiled sadly, “at least more than she normally complained. You remember Titus, how she was always sure that she was coming down with some malady.”

  I smiled back. It was true; rarely a month went by where Gaia did not dramatically pronounce that she was sure she had come down with some ailment that was likely to take her life. Phocas and I teased her unmercifully, with Phocas even joking that it would give him the excuse to find another woman, which she always answered with a tart retort that he did not have to wait for her to die, he was more than welcome to go find some foolish woman who was stupid enough to fall for his blandishments. Despite the words, the tone was always loving between the both of them, and that teasing was a part of my childhood I remembered with great fondness.

  “Well, she complained as usual. And as usual, I didn’t listen,” suddenly his composure broke, and he was racked with sobbing. It took him a few moments to compose himself, as I sat there helplessly, not sure what to do. I had never seen Phocas like this, and being in the army ten years such tender feelings were signs of weakness, so I just sat there waiting for him to regain his composure. Gisela glared at me before pulling herself to her feet to place her arms around Phocas, and as he lay against her arms and continued to sob, I realized that this was probably the first time he had a chance to grieve. After all, I could hardly imagine Lucius being any comfort. Finally composing himself, he continued.

  “But then she started losing weight, and you know Titus that she didn't have much to lose. I went into town to consult the priests and even hired a doctor. I tried everything, but nothing worked. She just……..faded away.”

  I sat there, unable to speak, partly because I did not know what to say, but also because my sense of shame was so overpowering that I did not trust myself to speak. I had been selfish and completely absorbed in my own career and my own life, turning my back on the people most important to me. Now, all my promises about freeing them were empty since Gaia was dead. I could not even cry anymore; I was past being worried what Gisela would think, so deep was my shock and sadness. Instead we sat there in silence, gulping our wine as I imagined I felt Gaia’s numen hovering above us.

  “Phocas!”

  Even all these years later, the sound of his voice sent a thrill of hatred and fear up my spine. My head shot up, catching Phocas’ eye, and he answered my unspoken question.

  “He’s worse than ever. Truthfully, I don't know what keeps him alive.”

  Smiling meanly, I stood up and said, “Well, maybe a visit from his long lost son will do the trick and send him to Hades where he belongs.”

  Heading to my father’s room, I left Gisela sitting open-mouthed, and Phocas looking grim.

  “Hello, Father.”

  My greeting had exactly the effect I desired; laying in a filthy bed, unshaven, smelling worse than any German, my father let out a shriek of fear at the sight of me, and when I stepped towards the bed my nose wrinkled at the smell as his bladder lost control, his fresh piss mixing with the stale smell. When Gaia was alive, she at least forced him to bathe at somewhat regular intervals, but now that she was gone, Phocas had neither the inclination nor the energy.

  “What….what are you doing here?”

  The hatred and fear in his voice was both satisfying and unsettling, yet I was not about to let him see that he had rattled me.

  “Father, is that any way to greet a beloved son, your only son?” I asked smoothly. Taking another step towards him, Lucius jerked and fell off the bed, landing in a filthy heap at my feet. I looked down at him with contempt as he scuttled like a crab into the corner, whimpering in naked fear.

  “Why are you afraid, Father? What do you think I’m going to do?”

  “You’re here to kill me! I know why you’re here! You want all that I have, and you’re here to take it from me by killing me!”

  I am not sure how long I laughed, but I was soon gasping for breath and forced to sit on the corner of his bed as he stared at me in gape-mouthed astonishment, unsure if I had gone mad. Catching my breath, I pulled the purse tied to my belt. In it were freshly minted gold denarii, and although it represented perhaps a third of my wealth at that time, just what I carried could have bought my father’s farm and everything on it several times over. Contemptuously, I dropped the purse on the floor in front of him, the sound of the coins clashing together making a heavy, metallic sound.

  “Lucius,” I sneered, “I could buy this place, and a dozen like it just in what I carry on my belt. Believe me; you have nothing I want, except one thing.”

  A look of naked avarice filled my father’s face as his addled mind tried to calculate how much wine could be bought with what I carried, and in front of my eyes he actually began salivating at the thought, a thin line of drool falling from his chin like the silver thread of a spider’s web. My disgust for him could not have been any higher than it was at that moment, yet I forced myself to remain as businesslike as I could.

  “Well, what is it, boy?”

/>   Standing up, I walked closer to him, then squatted so I could look him directly in the eyes, causing him to push himself hard against the wall.

  “You know what I want, Lucius. I’m here to buy Phocas’ freedom.”

  I was sure that my father could no longer hurt me, and I was right at least physically, but he still could draw blood with a few words. His voice was filled with a malicious glee when he shot back, “Too bad you didn’t come a few months sooner. I'd have made more money selling the both of them.”

  Fighting the urge to reach out and strike him, I settled instead for simply saying, “Yes, that would have been nice. More money means you could have drunk yourself to death more quickly. Name a price, old man.”