Caesar Triumphant

by Peake, R. W.

  "I must say that your appearance is a...surprise, to say the least," Dellius told Pullus, then before Pullus could form any kind of response, continued, "which is part of the reason for the delay in meeting with you. Marcus Antonius is a busy man, as I'm sure you know, and you showing up without any warning has thrown his schedule into disarray, I can tell you."

  Pullus wasn't sure, but he thought he detected a trace of rebuke in Dellius' voice, but even if he had wanted to reply, he wasn't given the chance.

  "But your presence is a cause for celebration," Dellius prattled, making it sound as though it was anything but, "and Antonius wants to do you and your men justice. How many did you say you've arrived with?"

  I haven't been allowed to say a word, Pullus thought, but answered, "Just over a thousand."

  "And, where are they now?"

  Despite the fact that Dellius took particular pains to make his voice sound casual, Pullus wasn't fooled, detecting a hint of worry. Which, Pullus allowed, was understandable, especially if matters were anywhere near what Pullus had begun to suspect.

  "Oh, I imagine by this point they're all safe and sound, completely unloaded and waiting," Pullus replied, watching the back of his guide carefully.

  He was disappointed when Dellius showed no overt reaction, but then they had arrived at their destination—a set of double doors—where Dellius stopped.

  "Wait here," he said preemptively, and before Pullus could respond, Dellius disappeared.

  This time Pullus wasn't forced to wait long, as Dellius stuck his head out of the door, motioning to Pullus.

  "The Master of the Horse will see you now."

  Taking a deep, but surreptitious, breath, Pullus squared his shoulders, then followed Dellius into the room. Because he had made mental preparations, he congratulated himself on maintaining an impassive demeanor when he saw that, along with Antonius and Dellius, of course, the room contained another man. Striding to the desk behind which Antonius was seated, Pullus rendered the best salute he could muster, which Antonius returned.

  "Master of the Horse," Pullus' voice was steady, despite the hammering of his heart. Then, after a brief pause, he turned to the other man, who was clearly younger than Antonius. "And Gaius Octavius. I bring greetings, and orders, from Gaius Julius Caesar."

  Despite not being of the same intellectual stripe as his best friend, Titus Pullus was extremely intelligent in his own right, so he wasn't at all surprised at the reception he received at the hands of Marcus Antonius and Gaius Octavian. The latter, it must be said, clearly didn't appreciate the appellation by which Pullus had greeted him, but in this Pullus wouldn't be swayed by any instinct for self-preservation. As far as Octavian, and Roman law, were concerned, the adoption of Caesar's grand-nephew had been done posthumously, but since Caesar wasn't dead, there had been no adoption in Pullus' eyes. However, what he had worked out in the time he had been kept waiting was that this knowledge, along with the orders that he carried with him, weren't likely to be looked on with any favor by either Antonius or Octavian. In fact, Pullus was forced to acknowledge that by making him wait Antonius had done him a favor by allowing him to form his thoughts more fully and to think through what had been a massive amount of information thrust into his consciousness in a short amount of time. Though the first inkling that their reception might not be all that Pullus and the others expected had occurred on the short ride from Ostia, it was only that precious third of a watch, while Pullus waited, that gave him the opportunity to fully think through the kind of problem that his presence presented not just to Antonius, but also to Octavian.

  Truthfully, the threat might have been even greater to Octavian than to Antonius, particularly when coupled with what Pullus had learned in Alexandria. And, Pullus thought, it definitely makes more sense why Cleopatra had been adamant that it had been Octavian behind the murder of Caesar’s and Cleopatra's son, Caesarion. If that was true, what would his reaction be to learn that, from Diana, Caesar had been given another son? Although it was true that Caesar's newest son wasn't truly Roman, because of his mother's origin, this had been the case with Caesarion, as well; but it was also the case that Caesarion had looked remarkably like his father. Pullus had no doubt that, if the people of his own class, contemptuously called the Head Count by the upper classes, had laid eyes on Caesarion, young Octavian would have been cast aside so quickly that his head would have spun. That, in itself, made it understandable why Octavian would have no reason to love Caesarion and would view him as a threat. Yet, Pullus couldn't imagine that, given the physical differences between Cleopatra and Diana, this newest heir to Caesar would provide the same kind of visual menace. The larger danger, both to Octavian and Antonius, was the fact that Caesar, in fact, still lived, so that by the time Pullus had reached that point in front of Antonius' desk, he wasn't surprised that neither man looked at all pleased at this solid piece of evidence of Caesar's existence in the form of the large Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion.

  "Well, I must say that it seems to be an understatement if I were to say that I'm surprised to see you," Antonius was the first to speak, his mouth quirking into a smile, despite his underlying feelings.

  "I can imagine sir," Pullus remarked, dryly. "But here I am, nonetheless."

  "Yes, here you are," Antonius murmured, shooting a glance over at his young counterpart, who was even paler than normal.

  It was said about Gaius Octavian that he was pretty—this wasn't meant as a compliment—and the last time Titus Pullus had laid eyes on the then youngster, when he had been a mere eighteen, he would have agreed with that assessment. Now, standing here at the age of thirty-two, Octavian’s prettiness had gone, replaced by a handsomeness that Pullus was sure would be pleasing to women. But there was something cold about that handsomeness, even if at this moment there was an air of uncertainty hanging about Octavian that, at least to Pullus, was repellent. Octavian was looking at Pullus, his blue eyes giving away nothing as he examined the Primus Pilus, which for some reason Pullus found disquieting. As sure of himself as he was, Titus Pullus still felt as though he was being measured and found wanting by Octavian, but it was a feeling Pullus shook off, reminding himself that he had the force of Caesar behind him, if not his own formidable self. But Caesar was far, far away, Pullus understood, so he forgave himself for the trickle of cold sweat that ran between his shoulder blades at that moment.

  "Yes, here you are," Octavian finally spoke, his voice flat and emotionless.

  "And I bring this," Pullus held the scroll out, the seal still unbroken, offering it to Antonius, who looked at it as if Pullus were holding a coiled serpent, wearing an almost identical expression as Proculus had a short time before.

  As well he might, Pullus thought, because while he knew much of what Caesar was ordering Antonius to do, he knew his general well enough to understand that he hadn't been told everything. It was probable that there was more than one surprise contained in this scroll, which Pullus continued holding out to Antonius, who finally accepted it with such reluctance it almost caused Pullus to mar the moment by laughing. Once Antonius accepted the scroll, Pullus turned to the younger Roman, who was still regarding the Primus Pilus with a gaze that reminded Pullus of a lizard he had seen sometime in the past. Reaching down, he drew the second scroll from his belt, and offered it to Octavian.

  "This is for you, sir," Pullus said politely, but while Antonius seemed reluctant, Octavian acted very much as though he was going to refuse outright.

  Pullus' arm remained outstretched for what he was sure was more than two dozen heartbeats, before Octavian finally leaned forward and took the scroll from his fingers. While this had been going on, Antonius had broken the seal and unrolled his scroll, and had begun to read it. For Pullus, this period of time would be one of the longest of his life, as he waited for both men to read, and, more importantly, absorb, what Caesar had written. As he waited there, Pullus stood at intente, but employing a trick perfected long before by countless men of the ranks preceding
him, he used the extent of his peripheral vision to observe both men. Antonius' face was much easier to read: first his jaw had dropped, then a rush of blood had suffused his face with a glow that was usually a precursor to something terrible happening to anyone luckless enough to have the misfortune to be within reach. Clamping his jaw shut, Antonius only occasionally glanced up at Pullus, but the Primus Pilus kept his gaze locked at a spot above Antonius' head. Although Antonius had no doubt that Pullus was watching him, at the moment he was content to maintain the fiction. Octavian, on the other hand, Pullus was finding impossible to read, his face giving nothing away, and he didn't know the younger man well enough to recognize that Octavian showed his tension by way of a nervous twitching of his foot, which began tapping a rhythm on the floor. Pullus saw that both men had reached the end of their respective scrolls, noting that Octavian had finished his much more quickly than Antonius. Whether that was due to the fact that Octavian simply read more quickly than his counterpart, or that Antonius had more to read, Pullus didn't know, but they were both done now—with the first reading, at least, although Pullus had no doubt that both men would be going over their messages with infinite care over the next several watches, or even days.

  "I must say that, as usual, Caesar has been very thorough," Antonius broke the silence, his voice suddenly hoarse, as if he had been shouting for some time before this.

  "He usually is," Pullus agreed.

  "So he's in good health, then?" Antonius asked, again almost evoking a laugh from the Primus Pilus, if only for the plaintive quality to his voice.

  "Very good health, sir," Pullus replied cheerfully, perversely happy that the news of his general's robust condition caused such obvious distress. "In fact, I'd say that he's going to outlive us all."

  "Well, he is a god," Antonius said ruefully. "I just didn't expect him to take it so literally."

  Now Pullus couldn't avoid letting a chuckle escape, horrifying himself, but Antonius seemed to like the fact that Pullus appreciated his wit.

  "Where are your men now?"

  Octavian's question cut through the air like a knife, and while Pullus wasn't sure whether it was the tone or the question itself, he felt a shiver of dread, while he saluted himself for his own foresight.

  "They're offloaded by now, sir."

  The answer was vague, deliberately so, but Octavian wasn't thrown off.

  "Yes, but where are they, exactly?"

  Pullus considered his answer carefully, at least in the time he was allowed, understanding that Octavian wasn't just being curious. Before he replied, Pullus tilted his head up to look at the light streaming into the high windows, judging the time.

  "I would imagine by this point that they're finishing up making their camp."

  Octavian's lips thinned, and Antonius made a small sound of surprise.

  "Camp? What do you mean, exactly?" Octavian's tone was quiet, but Pullus was sure that he was trying to sound menacing.

  And perhaps in other circumstances, Pullus would be cowed, but while he was worried, he wasn't intimidated in the slightest, not after all he'd been through.

  "I had them make a camp at the first open spot outside the port, between here and there."

  "When you say 'camp', what exactly are you talking about Pullus?" Antonius interjected, and he seemed no less disturbed than Octavian.

  Understanding from the reaction of the two men that he had been right, Pullus tried to sound casual as he replied, "The standard camp. At least," he amended, "the way they've been doing it the last 15 years. Standard stuff, ditches and walls."

  "But why?" Antonius gasped. "They're back safely in Rome! Why would they need to construct such a camp?"

  "Habit, I suppose," Pullus lied. Then, he couldn't resist asking, "If I might ask, sir, what does it matter? You know they'll fill everything in, once we're given proper billets."

  As he did most of the time he was put in an awkward position, Marcus Antonius chose to bluster.

  "That's none of your business, Primus Pilus!" he snapped. "And I must say I take offense that whoever it was that gave this command to construct a camp as if they were in enemy territory, felt the need to do so! I assume that was you?" he demanded.

  Again, Pullus wasn't intimidated, or at least not sufficiently to show it to the Master of the Horse.

  "Yes sir, I did," he said evenly. "But it makes me wonder why it's such an insult. If I were a suspicious man, I'd think that you weren't happy to see us and to know that Caesar not only lives, he thrives."

  Antonius glowered at Pullus, but said nothing, while Pullus didn't shift his gaze from the seated man.

  "I believe it's time that we show Pullus our dice," Octavian broke the silence, although his voice was still pitched softly.

  If Pullus had thought his mind was reeling before, it was nothing compared to the swirl of thoughts and worries that were flashing through his mind as he walked, on unsteady legs, back to the Porta Romana. And if he was being completely honest with himself, Pullus was surprised that he was still walking at all, under his own power and without an armed escort. Of course, that was due to the fact that he was acting as a messenger, going back to the men waiting for him, to relay an offer from the two men currently ruling Rome. Although “offer” was a kind word, he thought bitterly; yet never before was he as anxious to get back to those waiting for him, not only for the security of familiar faces, but to talk to Scribonius. Of all the times he had sought out his counsel, Pullus was sure that it wasn't needed as desperately as it was at this moment, so he used his long legs and bulk to push his way rapidly through the crowd. Reaching the gate, he barely said a word to Proculus, taking the reins of the horse held by one of the members of Proculus' Century, leaping into the saddle and turning the horse in the direction of Ostia in one motion. Immediately kicking the horse into a quick trot, Pullus didn't bother trying to guide the horse in and around the traffic heading into the city, relying on the beast's bulk to carve a path. Just a few stadia from the walls, Pullus could see, off to the left of the road out in an open field that had probably been used for grazing, the bulk of a Roman army camp. He briefly wondered what kind of fuss the owner of the field had put up, but he was sure that one of the others in his group had handled it adequately. Heading for the main gate of the camp, only when he was within hailing distance did Pullus realize, with some chagrin, that he hadn't bothered with issuing a watchword, so by the regulations he wouldn't be allowed in camp. That, he thought, was something he was willing to risk, but he was still relieved when the sentry on duty clearly recognized him and waved him forward. Slowing to a trot, he entered the camp, but before he went more than a dozen paces in the direction of the praetorium, he was met by the other Primi Pili, Scribonius, and some of the other Centurions.

  "Well?" Scribonius asked, by unspoken consent the spokesman for the group.

  "We have a lot to talk about," Pullus replied grimly, as he dismounted. "But not here. Follow me," he called, as he strode in the direction of the headquarter tent, letting one of the members of the guard take care of his horse.

  What Antonius and Octavian proposed was simple, if terrible in its own right. As Pullus had surmised, the knowledge that Caesar lived wasn't something either man viewed with any pleasure. In fact, for the first time they found themselves with a common purpose. Now that both men had gotten a taste of absolute power, neither of them was willing to relinquish it, even if it was back to the man who had originally been the source of that power. That was why those men of Caesar's army who had returned, expecting accolades and reward, were instead being threatened, implicitly and explicitly.

  "Our choices are simple, if limited. At least," Pullus felt compelled to add, "as far as those two bastards are concerned. We agree to get back on the ships, tonight, and sail back across Our Sea, then march at least to Parthia. Once we're there, we can do whatever we want, as long as none of us ever show our face in Roman territory. Not just Rome," Pullus emphasized, "but any Roman province."

 
The silence was profound, if short-lived. Then the burst of voices blared forth, deafening Pullus, who at first held up his hand for silence. When that didn't work, he relied on his more effective method.

  "Tacete!"

  As mighty a blast as it was, it still barely matched the level of noise that was coming from the other Centurions, but, thankfully, it had the desired effect. Once order was restored, Pullus continued.

  "You need to hear the rest. If we refuse, both Antonius and Octavian assured me that, despite their differences, they would combine to crush us, and claim that we are deserters that have been living in Parthia, but were expelled after Caesarion's murder and the Parthian uprising that followed."

  As Pullus feared, this reignited the shouts of anger and indignation, and while Pullus again used his formidable volume to restore order, he shared their anger. Not only was it a lie, it was a slur on the honor of all of the men from every rank. What made it worse, at least as far as Pullus was concerned, was that the uprising in Parthia that unsurprisingly occurred after the assassination of the young king ruling in Caesar's name had, in fact, been caused by one of the very men in the room facing Pullus that day. Pullus was sure that this hadn't been Octavian's intent, but a chain of events had followed, one after the other, that loosened the hold of Rome over the vast lands of the Parthians—a hold put in place by Caesar that gave some of the Parthian noblemen the opportunity for which they had been waiting. They hadn't been entirely successful; indeed, Pullus had been vindicated in his choice of route, because he was sure that he and the rest of the men would still be there, snapped up by a desperate Roman praetor. Still, the Parthian situation wasn't Pullus' or any of these men's concern, but it wasn't lost on Pullus that Octavian had been the man to suggest the punitive action that threatened the returning Romans.

  "Let 'em try!" Pullus recognized the voice of Gnaeus Figulus, the former Primus Pilus of the 14th Legion, and his words were met with roars of approval from the rest of the men, the din lasting for a moment, before Figulus could continue. "We don't have many men, but every one of our boys, even the crippled ones, are more than a match for anything those two cunni can throw together!"