Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra

by Peake, R. W.

  “What is it with you and your fascination with ball sacs?” Scribonius asked in mock annoyance. “You always talk about doing that.”

  Balbus’ scarred face took on a hurt expression, looking incongruous to say the least.

  “I just think it would be a good idea. I know it would scare the cac out of me.”

  I did exactly as Scribonius suggested, inviting Uncle Tiberius to dinner that very night, asking that he come alone, giving the excuse that Miriam was feeling ill and would not be joining us so there was no need for Pompeia to endure the drudgery of men’s talk. When I told Miriam that I needed her to absent herself from the dinner, she started to protest, then quickly stopped when she saw the look on my face. Diocles was back at camp, also on my orders, but Scribonius and Balbus were with me, for after discussing it with my friends, they both insisted that there would be strength in numbers when confronting Uncle Tiberius.

  “He needs to know that if anything were to happen to you that you have friends who will avenge you,” was how Scribonius put it.

  “I can do that myself,” I protested. “I can tell him that without him laying eyes on you. You’re putting yourself in danger for no reason.”

  “It wouldn’t have the same impact,” he said, with a firm shake of his head. “For all Uncle Tiberius knows, you could be just making these friends up.” He shook his head again. “No, it will be a much stronger message if Balbus and I are sitting at the table with you.”

  “Couches,” I interjected. “You won’t be sitting. You’ll be lying on couches.”

  “Gerrae,” Balbus exclaimed, his face alight. “I’ve never had a dinner reclining on a couch like a patrician.”

  “And you’re not going to tonight,” Scribonius snapped, grabbing my arm as he spoke. “Titus, you have to change that arrangement. You’re not exactly your most intimidating if you’re lying on a couch. Have the slaves move the couches and put some chairs about the table.”

  “It’s too low for chairs,” I replied, thinking about it for a moment. “But I'll either have the table brought from the servants’ dining area and covered with something, or I'll figure out a way to elevate the table. Are you sure about this?” I directed this question to both Scribonius and Balbus, still worried about putting my friends in harm’s way, yet they were both adamant that they wanted to come.

  “Besides,” Balbus grinned, “I want to hear you tell that old bastard you’re going to cut off his ball sac and turn it into a purse.”

  I did as Scribonius suggested, ending up having the table raised rather than have the one from the slaves dining area brought in, and the three of us were waiting when Uncle Tiberius was announced. I met him in the oecium alone, forcing myself to be affable as we chatted a moment before I ushered him into the dining area, where Scribonius and Balbus were already seated. The old man immediately stopped short at the sight of my two friends, his wrinkled old face flashing a look of equal parts suspicion and surprise, and I found myself mentally saluting the old bastard for his quick grasp that something was amiss.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I asked two of my oldest friends to eat with us. You haven’t met them, and I thought you'd enjoy their company as much as you seem to have enjoyed mine.”

  I made a signal and both men rose, each of them introducing themselves in turn to Uncle Tiberius, who had managed to recover his equilibrium nicely, I was forced to admit, becoming the jolly old man once again. We all seated ourselves and the first course of the meal arrived, which I had ordered to be ready immediately so we could begin eating without having to fill the space of time with conversation. My goal was to unsettle Uncle Tiberius as much as possible now that I had seen him become suspicious at the presence of my friends. I wanted their presence to rattle around in his head as he tried to think of all the reasons they could be seated next to him. He was also unsettled by the use of chairs, as it completely disrupted the normal way that Romans of his class were used to dining, and he paused, clearly unsure where he was to sit, but I pointed to the spot to my right, the place of honor.

  “You’ll have to forgive us, Uncle Tiberius, but we've been in the army so long that neither Balbus nor I are used to reclining while we eat. I hope you don’t mind.”

  To anyone who did not know him, Scribonius’ smile was genuine and warm, though both Balbus and I saw the cold glint in his eyes. Nonetheless, his soothing words had the desired effect, Uncle Tiberius giving a chuckle and wave of his hand.

  “No apology necessary, young man. I admit that I've gotten lazy by lolling around on a couch. It will be good for my old bones to remember how real men eat their food again.”

  With that, we tucked into our meal, making only desultory conversation about mundane topics like the weather and gossip about the sexual escapades of some of the leading Romans of the region. If it had not been for the real underlying reason we were all sitting there, it would have been pleasant. We ate our way through each of the three courses, pausing as we three Legionaries loosened our belts to accommodate the large amount of food in our bellies. Like all good soldiers, we had learned that when there was plenty of food that was our signal to stuff ourselves. Finally, Uncle Tiberius broke the silence.

  “So, Titus, my boy, I assume there's a reason you invited me to dinner. Aside from the pleasure of my company, I mean.”

  I nodded. “You're right, Uncle Tiberius, there was something I wanted to discuss with you.”

  We had carefully rehearsed what I was going to say, but I was not to be the only one with a part in this play. I leaned forward so that my superior height, even seated, came into play, and I was pleased to see Uncle Tiberius shrink back a bit.

  I paused a moment, just to build the tension more, before I continued. “I've been thinking a great deal about our discussion last night, and I wanted to make sure that you and I understand each other clearly. After all, you were frank with me, so I feel that it's only fair that I be the same with you.”

  Now the old man was clearly nervous, his eyes darting over to Scribonius and Balbus, both of whom had shifted in their seats to face him, their faces set as if made of stone, their eyes equally cold.

  “You threatened me last night, old man.” My tone hardened, letting just a trace of anger show as I pinned him with my gaze.

  “Titus, my boy, you misunderstood. I wasn't threatening you, at least that wasn't my intent.” He held his hands up to me in a placating gesture, but I was having none of it.

  “Silence.” I did not yell. I have been told that when I speak quietly I am even more menacing than when I raise my voice. “We both know that's a lie. You used Octavian’s name because you thought it would intimidate me. What I wanted to tell you tonight is simply this.” Now I leaned even closer so that we were at eye level. “Octavian is far, far away, and while I don't deny that you can do me a great deal of damage with one message, you need to remember that you’re here, and he’s there. Italia is on the other side of the world. By the time whatever happens to me happens because of whatever message you might send, your bones will be white from the sun bleaching them.”

  “I say we just go ahead and kill him now,” growled Balbus, standing up out of his chair, taking a step forward while reaching for his dagger, right on cue.

  Uncle Tiberius gave out a frightened yelp, almost tipping his chair over. Equally on cue, Scribonius reached out to grab Balbus by the arm, seeming to restrain him.

  He turned to Uncle Tiberius, then said soothingly, “Nobody is going to kill anyone. At least, not tonight.”

  He gave Uncle Tiberius a smile to ease his obvious fear further while Balbus sat back down with a great show of reluctance. When we had come up with our plan to confront Uncle Tiberius, it was Scribonius who had assigned the roles, there being little question between the two who would be the snarling Cerberus, if only for Balbus’ scarred visage. Scribonius now began to play his role as the only one sympathetic to Uncle Tiberius, which, speaking honestly, I had not believed would be effective.

&nbs
p; “Not normally, no it wouldn’t,” Scribonius had admitted. “Which is why Balbus needs to scare him out of his wits first. Then he won’t be able to think clearly and he'll reach for whatever kindness comes his way, and I'll be the one to show it. You’ll see it works.”

  Now Scribonius turned towards me, giving me a reproving look.

  “Titus, I think you might be a bit harsh with this dear old man.”

  I almost burst out laughing because I could see how false Scribonius was being, but when I glanced over at Uncle Tiberius, my jaw almost dropped. He was sitting looking at Scribonius with a pathetically grateful gaze, just as a drowning man would at the rope that had just landed within arm’s reach.

  “You’re right, Scribonius, was it? I meant no harm, truly I didn't! Please, tell Titus this so that he believes you, because he clearly doesn't believe me!”

  He turned towards me, clearly checking to see if this was having an effect, which I answered with a shake of my head. Scribonius peered into the rheumy old eyes of Uncle Tiberius as if he could see into the very depths of his soul before looking over at me, shaking his head.

  “Titus, I must say that I truly believe Uncle Tiberius. I think it was all a misunderstanding.”

  I acted as if I was considering this, then shrugged doubtfully.

  “Maybe,” I said finally. “But what about the other thing?”

  Uncle Tiberius’ head was whipping back and forth between Scribonius and me as we talked, his face displaying a range of emotions while trying to keep track of the conversation.

  “Ah, yes. That. The . . . other thing.” Scribonius sounded almost regretful, turning back to Uncle Tiberius. “Unfortunately, Titus is right. There is one other thing that we need to clear up.”

  “What? What other thing are you talking about?”

  It was plain to see that Uncle Tiberius’ confusion was genuine, which was exactly as Scribonius had predicted.

  “It’s just that as we discussed it, well, it's very clear that you serve two masters. Isn’t that right, Uncle?”

  He did try to keep his face from revealing the truth, yet the flash of guilt was plain on his face. “I don’t know what you mean, Centurion Scribonius!”

  “I think you do, Uncle,” Scribonius said, his tone dripping with sympathy. “It must be difficult, as if you were walking on the edge of a sword with a slavering wolf on either side and truly we don't wish you any ill. But what we need you to understand is that what Titus here is saying about Octavian goes for Antonius.”

  Uncle Tiberius’ expression suddenly turned cagy. “While I don't know what you're talking about, I can assure you that I would never speak an ill word to Antonius about Titus here.” To my astonishment, when he looked at me I could see the glint of tears in his eyes. The man was as changeable as the most experienced whore I had ever seen. “He’s like the son I never had, and I couldn't bear to see anything bad happen to him. From either Octavian or Antonius.” There was no mistaking the meaning in his tone as he looked at each of us in turn.

  Nothing more was said for several moments. Finally, when I looked at Scribonius, he gave a faint nod, while Balbus just looked disgusted, I presumed because we had not killed the old man outright.

  “Very well,” I relented. The relief was clear to see on the old man’s face, then it was as if a great breath of air was released from the walls of the room itself. “I think we understand each other now.”

  For some reason, Uncle Tiberius did not seem eager to continue our evening, claiming that his age required him to retire early, and it was true he had been up late the night before, so he was allowed to leave in peace and in one piece, if somewhat shaken. After he left, we retired to the oecium, draping ourselves on the couches to discuss the evening’s events.

  “Overall, I think it went well,” Scribonius opined, and I had to agree.

  “I definitely think he got the message,” I agreed. “Now we’ll see if he forgets.”

  “Oh, I doubt it.” Scribonius shook his head, seeming very sure. “That old man hasn’t survived all these years by forgetting nights like tonight.” He sat up, turning to me, his face intent and serious. “But you still must guard your tongue, Titus. I think we won’t have to worry about Uncle Tiberius overmuch, but there's no sense in taking chances.”

  I agreed that I would in fact heed his advice, telling myself that I was at a point in my life where it was high time to learn discretion. After that was settled, we began talking of other matters, and as the time passed, I could not help noticing that Balbus was sitting silently, not saying a word. I heaved a sigh, knowing the answer before I asked the question.

  “And what has suddenly struck you dumb, Balbus?”

  He looked away from his careful study of the fresco on the wall. “I wanted to tell him I was going to cut off his ball sac, but you cut me off before I could,” he grumbled.

  Both Scribonius and I started roaring with laughter, and soon Balbus was joining in.

  With that matter settled, I was able to turn my full attention back to the Legion and the integration of the new men into the ranks. Unlike my customary practice of allowing each Centurion to train those among the new arrivals that were raw tiros, I took an active role in their training, much to the irritation of the Centurions. I am sure some would have argued that I was doing much more than taking part, that I was taking it over altogether. Looking back, I suppose there is truth in that, but I needed something to infuse me with the enthusiasm and fire that had been such an integral part of my career in the Legions to that point, because I had noticed that it was fading. I was finding it hard to rouse myself from the warmth of my bed with Miriam to make my way to camp in time for the morning formations, and I was quick to find an excuse to go home early if I could. However, when I asked Scribonius what was wrong with me, he just gave me a strange look before he burst out laughing.

  “Why, Titus, you’re in love, that’s all.”

  That caught me by surprise, I can tell you, yet when I opened my mouth to protest, nothing came out. I snapped my mouth shut and shook my head.

  Finally, I said, “I suppose I am.”

  It had not been anything for which I had prepared myself. For more than a year, I told myself that I liked Miriam well enough, it was just that there was no future in a relationship with her, since I would be leaving again at some point, or I would be dead. Now, Scribonius was looking at me with undisguised amusement, irritating me that he had seen something so clearly to which I was blind until he had pointed it out.

  “What about you?” I snapped. “You’ve never been in love, so how would you know?”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted saying them, for Scribonius was my best friend and did not deserve such treatment.

  His face clouded, and I could see that my words had wounded him, but his tone was even as he replied, “That’s not true Titus. I have been in love. In fact, I still am.”

  It was my second surprise in as many moments. Now I turned to examine Scribonius more closely, my friend looking off into the distance. I continued staring at him, and he sighed.

  “Fine, I'll tell you about her.”

  Now, I was expecting to hear him speak of some married woman here in Damascus, for if it had been a maiden I saw no reason for them not to be together, and Scribonius rarely left the camp, always coming to my villa when he did. I was not prepared for what he was about to reveal.

  “Her name is Aurelia. I've loved her for as long as I can remember. She lives in Rome, and the last I heard she is still married.”

  I looked at him in surprise, letting out a low whistle.

  “You’re in love with a married woman? You dog.” I must admit that I was pleased with myself for having guessed that she was married, but Scribonius was looking anything but pleased.

  “It’s not just that she’s married, it’s who she’s married to that makes it difficult.”

  “And? Who's that?”

  He shot me a guilty sidelong glance, refusin
g to meet my eyes.

  Turning his head to stare off into space, he answered, “My brother.”

  The story came out as we sat in my bare quarters in camp. When Scribonius chose to follow his older brother in the Catiline conspiracy, he had been forced to flee when it all went bad. At the time, he was betrothed to Aurelia, the daughter of a close family friend and despite Aurelia being six years younger than Scribonius; they had always been in love with each other, at least for as long as Scribonius could remember. Scribonius said it was the happiest day of his life when his father informed him that his friend had been delighted to give consent to the marriage and they were waiting for Aurelia to become old enough before the marriage was consummated. Then, the Catiline conspiracy boiled over and Scribonius was forced to flee. He was sure that Aurelia would then be promised to the son of a family whose name had not been sullied by the events with Catiline. That was why he had been shocked to learn, albeit several years later, that Aurelia ended up wedding the third brother, Quintus.

  “I thought at first that it would make me feel better,” he said sadly. “You know, that she was still allied with my family, but the truth is, I can’t stand it. I never liked Quintus much; he's always been the slippery one of all of us, always thinking of his own skin before anything else.”

  “Sounds like she made the wrong choice,” I commiserated, but he shook his head.

  “No, she did the right thing. If she had waited for me, what good would that have done? We couldn’t be legally married.”

  Personally, I had never seen what the fuss was about the niceties of a legal marriage, despite knowing that women put much store in the idea that their union with a man is somehow sanctified, not just by the gods, but by whatever authority they live under. I cannot say I understand it, I just know that it is there.

  “Then what are you moping for?” I demanded, mainly because I could think of nothing constructive to say. “If you say she did the right thing, then you should be happy for her and leave it at that.”