by Peake, R. W.
"What I wouldn't give for a nice, warm loaf of bread, made with wheat, and not this slop," Pullus grumbled, but that didn't stop him from consuming what Diocles was offering.
He knew he needed to keep his strength up, and as tasteless as the white, sticky grain was to his tastes, it clearly possessed whatever it was that provided the same kind of energy his beloved bread did.
"I wonder if Caesar is going to make these people start growing wheat?" Diocles was more thinking aloud than asking a question for which he expected an answer, because he missed bread no less than Pullus did.
"I don't know, but I doubt it." Pullus had become somewhat accustomed to shrugging with only one shoulder, at most. "This island is just too mountainous. Besides, what little arable land is available is already flooded. It would have to be drained for wheat to grow."
"Well, maybe you can whisper the idea into Caesar's ear!" Diocles suggested, prompting a bark of a laugh from Pullus.
"Somehow I think he's already thought about it," Pullus replied.
Just as he finished, the slaves bearing the litter arrived, and Pullus, still grumbling, walked out of the open door and settled himself in as much comfort as he could manage.
"I don't know how long I'll be gone," he told Diocles as the bearers lifted the litter and began walking with their slow, sliding gait that was designed to provide the smoothest ride possible.
And with that, Pullus departed for the palace to meet with a god.
Since this meeting was for men of Caesar's army only and was conducted in the largest room in the palace that could be sealed off, with every entryway guarded by a combined force of Caesar's Germans and Legionaries personally selected by the general, Caesar appeared in his normal state, without the paint or crown.
"As you can imagine, we have much to discuss," Caesar announced to the assembled senior officers of his army.
The only men missing at this point were the Primus Pilus of the 25th Legion, along with Aulus Ventidius and his officers who had accompanied the Legion on its mission or who were still with the fleet. Otherwise, every man in a leadership position was present, and the stools that normally graced the praetorium had been brought here. The only exception made was for Pullus, who under Caesar's stern eye, was perched on a couch, trying not to look embarrassed at being propped up on pillows as he reclined. Unwilling to allow the men to whisper their speculations to each other as he normally did, Caesar raised a hand for silence.
"Truly, we have no time to waste. I need to apprise you of my plans, both for the immediate future of the men of the army, and my longer-term vision for what I hope to accomplish."
What followed, over the next full watch, was staggering in its scope, ambition, and thoroughness, even for men like Pullus who had more faith in Caesar than just about any other man present. But even for Caesar, this was breathtaking, and it told Pullus, and some of the others with equally quick minds, that this was something Caesar had thought through in a very, very detailed manner. As Pullus would try to relay later that night to Diocles and Scribonius, the gist was essentially simple: Caesar had decided that for all intents and purposes, this campaign, now in its tenth year, was over. He had reached what he considered to be the end of the known world, and because of a variety of circumstances, he had decided to take full advantage of his newly found status as a god of the people of Wa and stay put.
"This will be my new island kingdom." He said this as matter-of-factly as if he were proclaiming his decision to purchase a horse. Or a mule, even. "I will rule here for the rest of my days, with your help."
Caesar didn't appear to be particularly surprised when there was a subdued uproar over this, as men protested either to the man next to them or to Caesar that they had no desire to live on this accursed island. He listened impassively for a few moments before he raised his hand again, and because the words that would come from his mouth were so important, the men fell silent immediately.
"I did not say that those of you who wish to return home may not do so," Caesar explained patiently. "However, I can't allow you to leave just yet. There is one task that I need you men to perform."
Because Pullus was on his couch, he was somewhat isolated and unable to exchange a glance or quiet word with a man sitting next to him, so he was left to observe all of this taking place.
"What is it that you need, Caesar?" Balbinus, now partially recovered from his own wounds, was finally the man who voiced the question to which everyone else wanted an answer.
"I need you to help train the warriors of Wa into being Legionaries worthy of marching for Rome."
The reaction was immediate and intense, as men jumped to their feet, shouting their protest at this idea. Again, Caesar was unmoved, and from Pullus' vantage point, a little closer to Caesar than the others, he noticed a singular lack of expression on his general's face. Normally at this point, he would either be amused or irritated, but now he seemed to feel nothing from this outburst. Perhaps he really thinks he is a god, Pullus mused. Over the babel of voices, one man shouted a word that at last elicited a reaction, and that word was "impossible".
"Impossible?" Caesar pounced on this word the same way a cat did a rat intent on escape. "You say that it's impossible? Will you never learn? You've been training new men in our ways for the last several years, starting with the Parthians," Caesar expressing scorn was a dish for which Pullus knew he had no taste, and he was secretly relieved to see his peers felt the same way.
Suddenly looking down at the ground, or at each other—anywhere but Caesar—what had been a riot of noise became more muted as men continued protesting, but just in a quieter tone. It was one of his generals, Asinius Pollio who had the courage to bring up the unspoken.
"Yes, Caesar. You're right that the Primi Pili and other Centurions have become very experienced at training barbarians from a variety of lands to meet our standards. But this? This is different! Because you're not just talking about training a handful of men that answered the call for volunteers, but an entire army, full of men who, at the very best, aren't happy about their lot. At the worst?"
Pollio gave an extravagant shrug, but the point wasn't lost on Caesar.
"I didn't say it wouldn't be difficult, Pollio," Caesar acknowledged. "But not impossible. As I'm sure you have observed as well, one aspect of these Wa is their absolute, unquestioning obedience to orders. Need I remind anyone what they used to fill the ditch, instead of the bundles of wood we use?"
In fact, Caesar didn't: of all the memories this campaign would be responsible for creating in the minds of the men of the Roman army, for those who saw it firsthand, the sight of men willingly leaping into the ditch fronting the camp wall was one that would live with them forever.
Continuing, Caesar said, "The key to success lies in their belief that this dramatic change has been foreordained by their gods, and their conviction that I am one of those gods."
For Pullus, there was a feeling of unreality, listening to Caesar discussing the subject of his divinity in the same tone as he would discuss the watchword for the day. It also aroused in him a sense of disquiet that he could tell, by the expressions of the other men, was shared by them. While Pullus understood Caesar's rationale, what was becoming a growing sense of worry was the extent to which Caesar believed in his own divinity. Oblivious to the thoughts that occupied his Primus Pilus' mind, Caesar carried on explaining his plans.
"But of course, there are practical problems that must be overcome, and the most immediate is the language barrier. I know that most of you don't have my facility for languages, but I believe that for our purposes none of you needs to carry on much of a conversation with any of the Wa. To that end, allow me to introduce to you the person that will be instructing you in what you will need to know, in order to issue commands and ensure that they are understood."
Caesar nodded to one of the guards posted at a door behind him, the one from which he had entered this meeting room. The German turned, opened the door and beckoned to someon
e outside of Pullus' view. Although Pullus knew what to expect, the sight of the beautiful young barbarian girl was still something of a shock, and for a man who hadn't seen a woman who wasn't quaking in fear or dressed in the filthy rags the peasants of this island wore, it was a welcome jolt to the system. Pullus stared at the girl, whose own eyes were downcast, not moving them from the floor immediately in front of her as she entered, her anxiety clear for all to see. Nevertheless, she obediently came to Caesar's side, who spoke a few quiet words to her that—while Pullus couldn't hear them distinctly, he could tell by the cadence and rhythm—were in her own tongue. Clearly soothed by his words, only then did she lift her head, her oval face without blemish, and despite the fact that Pullus had seen her up close once before, he still felt his breath taken away at her beauty. From where he was sitting, her almond-shaped eyes seemed to be as black as obsidian, yet for some reason, this only added to her exotic beauty.
"This is Ko," Caesar announced, "which, as far as I can tell, means 'girl', and is what every female of the Wa is called. I wasn't pleased with that name, so she now answers to ‘Diana’."
Pullus, for one, didn't see anything to indicate that this beautiful creature was a huntress, but neither was he inclined to argue the point.
"Also, while I have learned her tongue, in return I have taught her ours, and I will admit that I'm not a little surprised to find out she has a facility for languages that, while it's not equal to mine," Caesar would only bend so far, especially for a woman, "is very impressive."
Turning to the girl, he gave a nod to her. In return, she gave Caesar a slight bow, then turned to face the assembled Romans. If Caesar had demanded it, the room couldn't have been more silent, as every man in the room found he was holding his breath, waiting to hear a feminine voice, each of them as hungry as Pullus for any touch of the opposite sex.
"My...name...is...Diana," the girl's voice was low-pitched and made even softer by her nerves. "As...my master," with every word, the voice of the girl known as Diana grew stronger, "has said, I have learned your words and he has commanded me to teach you the words you will need to know, so that you can train the warriors of Wa."
And with this seemingly simple introduction, Diana began the first of the steps that would cement Caesar's status as a god among the Wa.
Naturally, while the overall goal was straightforward, the details of what was required to achieve Caesar's aim were anything but—something that Pullus and the other Primi Pili had thought about on multiple occasions. There were tense moments, starting when the 25th Legion and Asinius Pollio, along with the Wa palace officials who accompanied them, met the northern army some 25 miles north of the capital. Over two days of tense negotiations, the generals leading the force from the north finally recognized what the eunuchs, members of the royal guard, and residents of the capital had already accepted, but not before the evidence in the form of the young emperor's blood were displayed to them. Only after this evidence of mortality was almost literally shoved into the face of the generals did they acquiesce. With a watchful 25th Legion following behind them, the northern army continued southward to the capital, where they were halted a mile from the outskirts and ordered to make camp. It was no coincidence that the Wa's camp was less than a half mile from where two Legions were encamped, but the Legionaries were under strict orders not to interact or interfere with the Wa, only to watch them. Meanwhile, the Legions assigned to keep order within the limits of the capital had been put to work making repairs to all damaged structures, burying the bodies of the slain Wa, and restoring order.
Truthfully, their task was made easier by the remaining civilians, motivated by the fact that word of the demonstration of the emperor's mortality had flashed through the streets and houses of the capital. Nobody still remaining was unaware that a great cataclysm had occurred in their society and that a new deity was overseeing their lives, a fact that naturally was the cause of a great deal of apprehension. Tensions were extremely high, not helped by the obvious differences, such as in language. But putting even more strain on the situation were those differences that ran even deeper than the words spoken by each side; indeed, the very way they looked at the world around them was markedly different in a number of ways. However, where it mattered, at least for Caesar's purposes, there were distinct similarities: obedience to authority, a stoic acceptance of fate as ordained by the gods, and a very rigid class system. So, despite the language barrier, the tone used by the Legionaries when barking orders to the civilians, along with the pointed gestures and occasional shoves, was clearly understood by the terrified townspeople. There was trouble in only a handful of streets, as the Legionaries conducted a thorough search that was part census and part search for weapons, or more importantly, a search for warriors who had refused to submit. To nobody's surprise, at least on the part of the Romans, there were a fair number of men such as these, but unlike the band of disgraced nobles, they hadn't managed to band together in anything more than bunches of two's and three's, and so were easily cut down when flushed out of hiding.
This wasn't accomplished without loss, and more than one man of the Legions was left to ponder the bitter irony of seeing a close friend struck down now, when supposedly all the fighting was over. While the men of the Legions were busy with their tasks around the city, in the large meeting room of the palace, quite different work was taking place, and although Pullus was still given leave to recline on a couch, propped up on pillows, he nevertheless felt like he was in school. Of course, he had never been in a school setting before, but men like Scribonius had, so he had some idea of what it was like. Regardless, Pullus was sure that nobody from his world had ever had a teacher like the one standing before this small, select group of men, all of them but Pullus sitting uncomfortably on stools. In each man's lap was a wax tablet, and standing in front of all of them was Diana, who was teaching them a series of simple commands. The method by which Caesar had learned the Wa tongue was simple, but effective, and it was in this same way that the Centurions were now being taught. Caesar had quickly determined that there was absolutely no commonality in the symbols used by either Latins or Greeks and the people of this island. That hadn't surprised him; he had assumed that if there were similarities they would be to the written language used by the Han, but soon after the girl had come into Caesar's possession, he had Zhang look at some of the symbols that she knew, few as they were, and had been told by the Han emissary that the similarities weren't enough for him to decipher. Caesar had his suspicions that Zhang wasn't telling the truth, but he had operated as if the emissary had been honest, at least on this topic. Consequently, as Caesar learned the words for objects and actions, he had written them phonetically, using the Roman alphabet.
This was what the Centurions were doing now, as Diana started with a simple series of objects that would be used by a member of the Legions, pointing to each one, saying the word as the Centurion wrote it down and repeated it. While the Centurions were in the process of learning what they would need to know to communicate with the Wa, Caesar was closeted away with the members of the palace staff. This audience required Caesar to don the red paint again, along with the oak crown, but instead of his armor, this time he wore his Senatorial toga, with the broad purple stripe. And in direct contradiction of the customs of Rome, Caesar also wore his scarlet paludamentum, which normally would never be worn with a toga, but with armor. The Wa didn't know that, however, and he was using every trick he knew to create a sense of majesty that bespoke his celestial heritage. At this moment, Caesar knew that the Wa feared him and his army, but he also understood that this wasn't a viable long-term strategy. He also recognized that his days of appearing in this guise were numbered, if only because he was going to run out of red paint at some point. Though Caesar was conversant in the Wa tongue, he wasn't fluent, and some of the topics that he wanted to discuss were very complex and required him to call for Diana on more than one occasion to translate, at least to the best of her ability. Slowly, ver
y slowly, Caesar was beginning to grasp the true scope and enormity of the task he had set for himself, but his old confidence had been restored, and he had no doubt that he would succeed—provided, of course, that there were no more nasty surprises in store.
By the time a week had passed, a number of things had happened. Most importantly, the Centurions had learned enough of the Wa tongue to at least begin the training of the members of the royal guard. Additionally, Zhang, Nero, and those Legionaries left behind to recuperate on the ships of the fleet had arrived in the capital, along with wagons of supplies. Caesar had also dispatched orders to send a ship back to the first island the Romans had captured in this campaign, off the Gayan Peninsula, where the Roman supply base was located. The Cohorts that had been left behind were recalled, with instructions to bring everything with them. Zhang's arrival had precipitated the first crisis for Caesar, for the Han had been given no forewarning of what had transpired in the capital. This Caesar had done on purpose, because he was sure the Han's reaction, when faced with this surprising development, would give him more of an idea of the true purpose for the Han emperor's insistence that Zhang accompany the campaign. As it happened, Nero, Zhang and a number of other officers came riding in ahead of the men returning from the fleet, arriving just as the daily tutoring session with Diana was ending. All of the other Centurions had returned to their quarters, the plan being that the training of the Wa would start in earnest the next day. Pullus, still confined to a litter, was waiting for the slaves to arrive, grumbling to himself that Caesar was still watching him like a hawk, or he would just walk the short distance to his own house. Later he was extremely happy that the litter-bearers were late, because he would have missed something that was both entertaining and instructive.
Alerted that they had arrived and were outside the palace, Caesar ordered the sentry at the door to hold them there, until such time as he could don his regalia to meet the newly arrived men. If it had just been Nero, he wouldn't have bothered, but he wanted to make an impression on Zhang that the Han would never forget. By the time they were allowed entry, both men were an equal mix of angry and bewildered, especially Nero, for whom Pullus had little regard, happy to see the nobleman so discomfited. With Zhang, it was almost impossible to tell, his smooth, flat features seemingly perfectly made for containing any emotion within, but Pullus thought he detected a hint of agitation in the way the Han's hands clenched and unclenched. But if the pair were surprised at their initial reception, what happened next had to flabbergast them, because when they were ushered into the large meeting room, they were greeted only by the presence of Pullus, still reclining on his couch, along with the palace official standing in front of what had once been the throne of the Wa emperor, currently empty. The chief official, whose name Pullus had learned was Kiyama, was waiting for the two men at the foot of the raised dais on which the throne sat, his face as flat and emotionless as that of Zhang. Caesar had mentioned to Pullus that this Kiyama spoke Zhang's Han tongue, and Pullus could tell by the more sing-song lilt that this was what Kiyama was speaking to the Han. Whereas Zhang had managed to suppress any agitation to that point, whatever Kiyama said eroded his hold over himself, because there was no mistaking the rush of color that came to the Han's face. He immediately shot back a reply, his tone informing Pullus that Zhang wasn't just surprised, he was clearly enraged. Obviously Kiyama had dealt with moments such as this, because the eunuch appeared completely unruffled by Zhang's outburst, and although he couldn't understand the words, Pullus could pick up the same rhythms and understood that Kiyama was repeating what he had uttered a moment before. Zhang didn't reply to this, and the silence grew as both men stared at each other, while Nero stood next to Zhang, looking completely befuddled. Finally Zhang, while not breaking the silence, at least dispelled the tension somewhat by exhaling a breath, then dropping to his knees. Glaring at Kiyama for a moment, he finished the movement by leaning forward and placing his head on the wooden floor of the room, and that was when Pullus understood what Kiyama had said. Nero, staring down at the kneeling Han, made a move as if to follow suit.