by Peake, R. W.
“Primus Pilus, we were wondering your thoughts about this current situation.”
I furrowed my brow as I pretended not to understand.
“My thoughts?” I rubbed my chin, determined to make this as difficult on the Centurions as possible, since I was angry at the interruption, among other things. “I think that we only made 25 miles today, and that my Centurions need to put their boots up the men’s asses if we're going to make 30 tomorrow, as I expect a veteran Legion to do.”
Oh, they did not like that one bit, even Scribonius stiffening at the rebuke. He seemed about to argue the point before catching himself, turning back to the topic.
“Yes, sir. Of course, we'll do our best and make sure that we'll do as you direct. But what I,” he turned to indicate the other men, “what we were referring to is the current situation with General Antonius. Most specifically, the men want to know what we're going to do.”
“Do? What we're going to do?” I looked at the assembled men coldly, making sure that my gaze fell on each one of them before I spoke again. “What we're going to do is our duty to Rome, as we've always done.”
It was a vague answer, and while I hoped it would be enough I was not surprised when Metellus raised his hand then asked, “Excuse me, Primus Pilus, what exactly does that mean, that we'll do our duty to Rome? Are we going to follow Antonius, or are we going to . . . do something else?” He finished, his voice trailing off, clearly realizing how weak that sounded.
“Something else? What are you suggesting, Metellus? What is the . . . ‘something else’ you're proposing?”
Metellus’ face took on a look of panic as he put his hands up in protest.
“I’m not proposing anything, Primus Pilus, honestly I'm not! I was just asking for your thoughts on the matter.”
I heaved a large sigh, making a show of trying to be patient.
“I think I just expressed my thoughts, Metellus. Marcus Antonius is our legally appointed general, and has been for many years, has he not?”
I waited for the men to nod or answer, which they all did, however grudgingly.
“So any order he gives is a legal and binding order, according to the laws and customs of Rome. I think that answers the question.”
“But what if it’s the wrong order?”
The question came from somewhere in the back, but I recognized the voice of my old Optio and the Pilus Prior of the Ninth, Glaxus.
“When has that ever stopped us from carrying it out?”
I surveyed the faces again, knowing that there was no real answer to that question, since over the years, particularly in the army of Antonius, we had followed more than our share of questionable orders. I knew that this was at the heart of this meeting; the men did not believe in Marcus Antonius, and to a man, they were all convinced now that he was nothing more than a puppet of Cleopatra. This was unacceptable, even to me, although I was not yet ready to reveal that truth to these men. I could see that they were disappointed that they had not gotten what they obviously came for, but I had no more to say on the matter, and to make that clear, I resumed my exercises, cursing the fact that I had cooled off and would have to start over. The men took the hint, dispersing in smaller groups, muttering to themselves. I was just happy that darkness had descended and they could not see my smile.
That evening, Scribonius came to the tent, where I was in an expansive mood.
“I think we have our answer,” I told him as we sipped our evening unwatered wine. “It seems clear to me that the men don’t want to follow Antonius any more than we do.”
Scribonius set down his cup to give me a long look before shaking his head.
“Don't be so sure about that, Titus. I admit that it’s a good sign, but I don’t think this is a strong enough sign that all of the Centurions are going to follow your lead.”
I knew better than to argue the point, instead just asking him why he thought this.
“Because it wasn’t unanimous to come to talk to you in the first place. There were at least two Pili Priores that didn't want to approach you. The only reason they did was because they were afraid that if they didn’t, you'd start to question their loyalty.”
I had not realized this, nor had I even given it any thought.
“Who were the two?”
Scribonius looked away, clearly reluctant to tell me, then said finally, “If I tell you, I'm afraid you won’t be able to hide it from them that you know.”
Swallowing my irritation, I was forced to recognize that he was right. Hiding my feelings has always been hard for me, but I tried to assure him.
“I know what’s at stake,” I said. “And I swear to you on Jupiter’s Stone that they won't have any idea that I know. After all,” I joked, “I can’t stand you, and I’ve been able to hide it pretty well, haven’t I?”
This made him laugh, so he relented.
“Nigidius and Gellius,” he said. “Neither of them were keen to come, though I can't honestly say why. I don’t think it’s because they want to follow Antonius, but everyone is being very tight-lipped about this whole thing.”
I could only shake my head, thinking that when the climate of fear and suspicion had trickled down so far in the ranks it was as clear a sign as any that it was time for action.
Scribonius seemed to read my thoughts, adding, “I don’t think it’s ever been this bad, Titus, even in the early days of this current fight between Antonius and Octavian. Even the rankers are watching each other and guarding their words with men outside their own fires.”
“Do you think it’s time for me to announce my intentions?”
He shook his head.
“It’s still too soon. Nothing is going to happen of any note this year, at least I don’t think it will. Antonius and Cleopatra aren’t going to move until the fleet is ready, and I suspect that we’re going to do whatever Cleopatra decides to do and not Antonius.”
I looked at him in some surprise, since he had not talked much about Cleopatra and her role in all that was taking place.
“Not you too? You think that Cleopatra is truly making all the decisions?”
He looked slightly uncomfortable, but he held his ground.
“Titus, I know you have a soft spot in your heart for Cleopatra, but I think that this matter of the will proves that whatever was left of Marcus Antonius the Roman is gone.”
I had not thought of Scribonius as being a superstitious type, but when I said as much, he shook his head.
“It has nothing to do with superstition, or even my belief that a woman isn't fit to make military decisions. It has everything to do with how out of touch Antonius has obviously become with how Romans think. The fact that he even put such thoughts down on paper, and that he didn't realize that even men such as Titius and Plancus who've been as loyal as they've been couldn't stomach his pandering to Cleopatra, that's what has me convinced that he's now Cleopatra’s to command. Putting it simply, it’s clear to me that he fears Cleopatra more than he fears the laws and traditions of Rome.”
When put that way, it was impossible to argue.
“So when do I move?” I knew I had asked this question before, but I was still as much in the dark as when I first asked, and Scribonius’ answer was not much help.
“Not now. You’ll know it when the moment comes.”
We arrived in Ephesus to a city bursting at the seams, learning that Antonius had summoned every single Legion from the East, not just those of his that marched into Armenia the year before. Instead of 16 Legions, there would be 30, meaning that even with the army split into three separate camps around Ephesus, the strain on the city was enormous. Consider that the standard ration in camp is a modius of grain per man per week, supplemented by three Attic quarts of chickpeas along with a side of bacon. With 30 Legions, most of them near full strength, that is around 150,000 men eating the corresponding amount of food each and every day, which does not take into account the food required for the auxiliaries. There were perhaps 25,000 in t
heir own camp, along with the forage for the livestock, both in draft animals and in cavalry mounts. There were 12,000 cavalry gathered in Ephesus as well, mostly Galatians, although there were still some Gauls that had not gone back home.
Diocles managed to find quarters for Miriam, but it was nowhere near the luxury of the villa, and it cost me a great deal to secure, since the area was crawling with Tribunes and other high-ranking Centurions, each of whom seemed to have a woman they wanted to keep happy.
Antonius called a meeting of all the Primi Pili as soon as the army was assembled, and thanks to Diocles and his network, I was not caught by surprise at the sight of Cleopatra, sitting next to Antonius. What did surprise me was her garb, for she had chosen to dress in her suit of cut-down armor gilt with silver and gold, complete with an Attic helmet, which she placed on the table in front of her. I do not know what reaction she was hoping to elicit, but I doubt it was the open scorn and mocking laughter at the sight of a woman attired for war. The 30 Primi Pili assembled in that room were some of the most hard-bitten soldiers who ever marched for Rome, and none of them were impressed at Cleopatra’s display of martial ardor. For her part, she did not take it well. Perhaps this was the cause of what followed, as she turned to whisper something in Antonius’ ear. He clearly did not like what she said, a furious argument taking place, though they spoke in low tones so that we could not hear. Making emphatic gestures then stabbing one finger at Antonius, Cleopatra clearly won her point; what it was became clear when she stood to face us, while Antonius sat next to her, looking thoroughly miserable. Looking at us, her head was held high, defiance and anger radiating from her tiny armor-clad body, and I had to stifle a laugh at how ridiculous she looked. I had no doubt she believed that she looked absolutely warlike, and perhaps if she had been a bigger-sized woman it might have worked, but she seemed oblivious to the incongruity she was embodying.
“Marcus Antonius and I called this meeting today,” she announced in a surprisingly loud and clear voice. “Both to inform you of our plans for victory and to make it known to each of you that Antonius and I are co-commanders of this venture, equal in every way.”
The last of her words were drowned out by the cries of outrage as men jumped to their feet, completely forgetting all military discipline, the Primi Pili calling to Antonius.
“Is this true, Marcus Antonius?”
“A woman? You expect us to obey the commands of a woman?”
“She’s a foreigner! A queen! She’s not Roman! What right does she have to command a Roman army?”
I had come to my feet with the rest, although I was not yelling, since unlike the others I was not surprised by this, thanks to my warning from Diocles. Spotting Ahenobarbus sitting behind the pair, he was looking grimly amused at what was taking place, while Canidius looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. To her credit, Cleopatra did not wilt under the verbal assault, standing her ground.
“What right? What right?” Her lips curled up, and I was struck by how with her beakish nose at that moment she looked very much like a bird of prey. “I will tell you by what right! It's my silver that you're putting in your purse every payday! It's my gold that's buying the wheat that fills your bellies! It's the wealth of Egypt that has built the greatest fleet ever to float on the seas! That is by what right I claim co-command!”
Oh, that shut them up quickly enough. Nothing will end an argument more quickly than the sound of purse strings drawing shut, despite the fact that clearly not one of the Primi Pili was convinced. All eyes turned to Antonius in mute appeal, but he was as defeated as every other Roman in the room, instead giving a weary wave at her to continue. Her eyes gleamed with the triumph of her victory, but I was sure that it would be short-lived, since I did not see any man willing to capitulate in the long run.
“Now that this question is settled, let me inform you of our general plan of action. We,” she deigned to turn to acknowledge Antonius, “have decided that the best course of action is to transfer the army to Greece. The ground there is more favorable, and more importantly, the problem of supply will be solved by access to the grain in Thessaly.”
So far, this was hard to argue with, but glancing at the set of men’s jaws and their rigid posture, I was sure that there would be objections.
“The fleet is not yet ready, but the last of the transports should be completed by the end of the summer, so we'll be here in Ephesus for two more months. We have sent out ships to Cyprus and to the Euxine Sea to acquire more supplies, but as you all know an army of this size is quite demanding to feed.”
“What would she know about feeding anyone but herself?” I heard someone mutter, followed by a low growl that I took to be agreement, though if she heard she ignored it.
“Our other reason for choosing Greece is that after the usurper Octavian is defeated, Greece will serve as our base of operations for the next logical step in liberating Italia.”
The effect on all of us was as if Jupiter had hurled a bolt of lightning into our midst, with even Antonius sitting upright in apparent shock, hissing something to Cleopatra that I could not hear. I expected another outcry, but I think the Primi Pili were too shocked to speak. Again all eyes turned to Antonius, who now stood.
“That's premature,” he said as much to Cleopatra as to us, her face reddening with the rebuke, her lips pulling back again. Before she could speak, he held up a hand in a clear command of silence. He continued, “That's only one possibility. My hope is that with the defeat of Octavian, the people of Italia will welcome my return and the bloodshed will end. That's the primary aim of this campaign, to settle the question about whose version and vision of Rome should prevail. Once that's decided, we'll put down our swords and not raise them against another Roman.” He turned to face Cleopatra directly, adding in a firm tone, “Ever again.”
Again moving before she could mount an open challenge to his authority, Antonius dismissed us, and we filed out, an angry buzzing filling the room as we left. Even before we were all out of the room, the sounds of the two voices, one male and one female, arguing ferociously replaced our muttering. If I was wavering before, my mind was now irrevocably set on keeping the 10th out of harm.
While we waited, the men were paid. Normally this is not a noteworthy event, except that for the occasion Antonius had ordered coins struck for each Legion. Ours had the Legion number along the edge, with the original symbol of the bull, but also a figure of a horse directly beneath, on the obverse side, in tribute to that day so long ago when Caesar had a group of us ride horses. I was only one of two men left from that original group, the others either being killed or retiring long before, which men like Vellusius did not let anyone forget. I am not ashamed to say that this enhanced my status as a legend of the Legion, helping me enormously in my leadership of the 10th. There were now less than 200 men of all ranks left from the original dilectus held when Caesar was Praetor 29 years before, and there was a bond among these men, regardless of rank, that we did not have with our younger comrades. So when the men received their pay, and they were reminded of why the horse was on their coins, I found myself circulating from one hut to the next reliving that day when we went to face Ariovistus and his bodyguard. I made the men laugh by recounting how I had never ridden a horse before that day, how my legs had hung down almost to the ground. And as most stories go, it was slightly different with each retelling, as I added color to what was already a memorable event, not only in my life but in the Legion history.
However, it seemed that for every positive step Antonius took with the army, he took at least one step back, if not more with another action. The problem was the reverse side of the coin, upon which was emblazoned a picture of a trireme, a symbol of Cleopatra’s navy, which she had taken great pains to remind everyone she was paying for. We Romans are not seafaring people, and to a man, the rank and file believed that it was the Legions of Rome that would prove to be the difference in the coming struggle. Having this pictorial reminder of the Egyptian inf
luence over our general, and the army in general, guaranteed that there was much furor on payday. As unpopular as the Legion coins were, there was another one that only heightened the hostility, and that was the coin that Antonius used to pay for supplies. I am sure that he did not intend for these coins to be put in circulation among the men. However, it was a futile hope to think that men buying and paying for services in Ephesus would not receive these coins back. As much as men bought things, they also sold them, most commonly items of plunder they had taken on one campaign or another, the civilians always eager to get their hands on something taken off a dead enemy soldier, or so whoever was selling it would claim anyway. Most commonly, it was the men who elected to bring their families that would find themselves in need of cash, prices in the city now exorbitant because of the demand. I was sure that as men ate through their savings they were regretting the decision to bring them along. Nevertheless, I could see how hard a decision it was, making me thankful that I had sufficient funds to allow Miriam to stay nearby. Now these men were returning from trips to the city carrying these new coins, which began circulating among the men, causing much consternation.
It was Balbus who brought it to my attention, bringing one for me to examine one day.
“Have you seen these?” he demanded, tossing the coin onto my desk.
It was a gold denarius. I picked it up, hefting its weight in my hand, thinking that was the source of his obvious anger. Shaking his head irritably at my upraised eyebrow, he pointed to it sitting in my palm.
“Read it.”
I was afraid he was going to say that, and I cursed my eyes when I squinted at the gleaming coin. It was still new, the edges not worn down as commonly happens with gold coins, meaning the script was plainly visible, even if it was hard for my old eyes to read. The visage of Marcus Antonius stared up at me, his one eye in a fixed stare, his chin lifted, and a garland on his head. Around the edges was the abbreviations of his name and title of Marcus Antonius, Imperator. All in all, it was completely unremarkable, and I said as much.
