by Peake, R. W.
“Turn it over,” Balbus said through gritted teeth, and when I did, I let out a gasp of shock.
It was not the sight of Cleopatra, since I expected that, thinking that whoever had struck this coin was no admirer of the queen, since she looked positively severe and as unfeminine as it was possible to be. It was the script around her head to which I had the reaction, making Balbus’ anger immediately clear.
“Cleopatra, Queen of Queens, Her Son King of Kings” was what was written on the coin.
I looked up at Balbus, whose fists were clenched, angry as I had ever seen him.
“First Antonius says that her brat is Caesar’s son, making him Roman, then declares that he's King of Kings?”
“That doesn't necessarily mean that Antonius plans on helping Caesarion become King of Rome,” I said mildly.
Balbus gave a dismissive snort.
“What else can it mean? Isn’t it clear that Antonius means for Caesarion to inherit Caesar’s estate and that he plans on having Caesarion succeed him as King of Rome?” Without waiting for me to answer, he went on, “And what about that bit about Queen of Queens? If Antonius wins, she won’t suddenly cease being a queen, will she? No, she'll be Queen of both Egypt and Rome! It’s bad enough that we'd have a king, but a queen? That will never stand! I don’t know of a Roman who wouldn't rather die fighting before allowing that to happen. The Republic will be soaked in blood!”
While I did not necessarily agree with Balbus about every Roman being willing to die to keep from being ruled by a queen, thinking of Gaius’ father on his farm and finding it hard to see him worked up enough about something happening so far away, I did agree with Balbus’ overall point. And I had never seen him so worked up, so I could only imagine the level of outrage among the rest of the men.
“How many of these are floating around?” I asked.
He shook his head grimly. “I don’t know, but enough for everyone in the army to know about it by now.”
I put my head in my hands, suddenly developing a headache. If I was not careful, Antonius’ actions would force me to declare myself to stay in front of the men, then once that happened my days would be numbered. I had no doubt that Cleopatra could find someone to slide a knife between my ribs, although from what I knew about her and her Egyptian ways, she would probably favor poison, and in all likelihood would have it put into food that Miriam and I shared. It was becoming a race to see what would happen first, the proper moment to declare myself, or actions that would undoubtedly lead to my death.
Chapter 3- Interlude in Ephesus
The moments that I spent with Miriam proved to be some of the most enjoyable of that time in Ephesus, as I was able to put my worries aside for a short time. Since the apartment I found was nowhere near the size or luxury of the villa, we could not entertain guests as easily or in the style to which she had become accustomed, but that turned out not to be a bad thing. We still would have Scribonius, Balbus, or sometimes Gaius as guests, except they would not be all-night affairs like they were in the past. This was due not only to the accommodations; there was also a good deal of training that had to take place in order to keep the men sharp for whatever was to come, and as sullen as the men were, I knew from bitter experience that keeping them busy was the best way to keep the pot from boiling over before I was ready. I felt as if I were balancing on the edge of a dagger, with the prospect of having the men finally mutiny on one side, or being put in a position where I put myself in danger by declaring that the 10th would not be marching for Antonius on the other. As bad as the situation would have been in Damascus facing eight Legions, the idea of facing up to 19 Legions was even more unappealing. Despite being sure that by this point the 10th would not be alone if we chose to revolt, it was still not a risk I was willing to take if it could be avoided.
Scribonius and I spent many thirds of a watch closeted away in my private quarters in camp discussing the situation, both within the Legion and the rest of the army. A fair number of the Primi Pili were as openly against the idea of following Antonius to Greece, yet both Scribonius and I knew that talking and doing were often two separate things. All we were confident of was that if the 10th declared that we would not follow Antonius was that the Legions led by these men would not immediately fall on us. The larger question facing us was exactly what it would mean when I chose the moment for the 10th not to follow Antonius.
“Does this mean that we're Octavian’s men?”
Scribonius asked this one day, and I froze at the question, since in all honesty I had not thought of that. In my mind, I had gotten as far as the fact that I would choose a moment to either openly disobey Antonius and Cleopatra, or would do so by not acting when the time came. I had not considered what that meant outside of Antonius’ army and his reaction, yet now Scribonius was once again forcing me to consider the deeper aspect of the question.
“I don’t know,” I said slowly.
“You don’t believe that Octavian isn't going to remind you of the debt you owe him, do you?”
“No,” I admitted. “In fact, I'm surprised I haven’t been reminded about it yet.”
“That’s because he knows it’s too early to act. And I'm about as sure as I can be that you’re not the only man who he has a claim on.”
“I know that’s true,” I replied, thinking of Balbinus.
“I wouldn’t worry about Octavian reaching out at some point, but you’re just going to have to accept that it will be at a time of his choosing and not yours.”
Scribonius’ words reminded me of how much I and men like me were pieces to be thrown away at some patrician’s whim, a bitter draught every time I was forced to swallow. It is bad enough that we are at the mercy of the gods, but to have our fates determined by other men, all in order to further their own aims, still makes me angry when I think about it.
Trying my best to avoid both Cleopatra and Antonius, I used Diocles’ contacts in the Praetorium to alert me when they would be absent if I needed to do some business there. It helped me personally that they decided to go off to the island of Samos for some sort of festival, although the stories of the excess and debauching that took place did not help matters with the army at all. Both of them seemed oblivious to the impact their actions had on the men, with morale continuing to sink lower with every passing day. One day shortly after their return from Samos, evidently there was a mix-up from Diocles’ contact in the Praetorium, since I entered the building and ran directly into Cleopatra, who was in the middle of tongue-lashing one of the clerks, using language that made a Centurion envious, all while dressed in her ridiculous suit of armor. I froze for a moment, then thinking to escape unseen, I turned to leave.
“Primus Pilus Pullus!”
The voice seemed to strike me between the shoulder blades like a javelin, and I took a moment to brace myself before turning around, making my face into what I hoped was the mask of a professional soldier. Standing at intente, which Cleopatra could not fault, but it also forced her to come to me, a small victory I know, yet it made me feel a bit better. Walking up to me, her diminutive size was made even more apparent when compared to my massive frame, and I could hear snickers as she approached. She clearly heard them as well, as two bright red spots appeared on her olive cheeks. Despite this, she kept her eyes fixed on me, her gaze reminding me of a predatory bird, the image helped by the great beak of a nose. There was nothing warm or familiar in her gaze as she strutted around me, inspecting my uniform while commenting on some smudge on my leathers and a loose strap. I felt a burning resentment growing as I stood enduring her examination, and I realized that she was paying me back for making her come to me. After completing her inspection, she returned to her original spot facing me, looking up at me, while I refused to look down, choosing a spot on the far wall on which to fix my gaze. Not a word was spoken for what seemed like a full watch, but was no more than the space of a few heartbeats, until she finally broke the silence.
“Well, Primus Pilus, it has been a
while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Still the formidable warrior, I see. The question is, can we count on your bravery and skill in the coming great battle?”
I felt my jaw clench, for the words were spoken in a mocking tone, as if she doubted me. I felt a shiver of fear run through me, the thought hitting me that somehow she knew my innermost thoughts and what I was planning.
“Queen Cleopatra, I will do as I have always done, and that is my duty.”
I was angry, but I had enough self-possession not to say what I normally did in these situations, leaving “to Rome” out of my statement, knowing that someone as clever as Cleopatra would pounce on it. However, she was clearly not impressed.
“So you say,” she sneered. “But words are easy. It is deeds that are more difficult.”
“You're absolutely right, ma’am. Deeds on the battlefield are more difficult. Perhaps you could tell me of those that you've performed in combat?”
As soon as I said it, I knew that I should have bitten my tongue off rather than let it run loose like that. One would have thought I had slapped her from the look on her face, the rest of her body going rigid with shock.
“You . . . insolent, low-born brute!”
She was practically spitting with rage, but I was no less angry.
“Insolent I may be, low-born I certainly am, but you better hope that I'm just as much of a brute as you claim me to be, my lady, if you have any hope of winning a victory over Caesar.”
To my memory, this was the first time I had ever referred to Octavian as Caesar in public, which enraged her as much as I knew it would.
“Don’t you dare refer to that little vermin as Caesar! He is not Caesar’s son, no matter how much he claims to be! My son is Caesar’s only true son, and when he sits in judgment of all those who denied his birthright on your precious Capital, you would do well to remember that, Pullus!”
The instant she said it, she knew she had made a mistake. It was as if the air was sucked out of the room. I felt all eyes turn on her, and none of them were friendly.
“Be careful, my lady.” I said this only loud enough for her to hear. “That sounds dangerously close to saying that he'll be sitting as a king. Perhaps you don't know that it was on the Capitoline Hill where our kings did just as you say Caesarion will, but I'm sure you know what happened to those kings. I wonder how Marcus Antonius would feel to hear you make such pronouncements.”
Oh, any warm feelings she ever had for me were gone, her hatred for me and all that I represented suddenly seeming to ooze from the very pores of her skin. Nonetheless, she also knew that she had gone too far, in front of too many witnesses, and she did not want Antonius involved in this dispute, although she had to know that he would hear her words.
“You are right, Primus Pilus Pullus.” I know she was trying to sound gracious, but it is hard to do so through tightly clenched teeth. “I misspoke. All I meant to say is that when my son Caesarion, Caesar’s legitimate and naturally born son,” she was clear to emphasize the status that Antonius had conferred on Caesarion, though I do not see how he had the right to do so, “inherits what is his due from Caesar’s estate, he will remember who served him well in the restoration of his status.”
I knew that it was the smart thing to do to accept this offering, no matter how weak it was, but I was too angry, all the frustration and pent-up rage threatening to spill over. I had come to see that standing before me in this tiny woman was the cause of all this grief and turmoil, all to further her dream of making her son truly worthy of the title King of Kings. I raised an eyebrow, this time not lowering my voice.
“I must admit I'm confused, my lady. I thought that this fight was to put Marcus Antonius back as First Man, not to make sure your son gets what may be due him from whatever is left of Caesar’s.”
“Of course it is to restore to Marcus Antonius his proper status,” she said, tight-lipped, now clearly aware that all eyes and ears were turned in our direction and trying to limit the damage of her words. “But that doesn't mean that the claims and status due to Caesarion can't be recognized as part of what must be done to help Marcus Antonius.”
“That's completely understandable. I would just hate to think that it was part of your plans to put your son on a throne as King of Rome, for I seriously doubt that Marcus Antonius would agree. And he is, and has been my general.”
“Must I remind you that Antonius and I are co-commanders in this venture? And what my plans are, such as they may be, are only your business as far as it goes to execute those plans, not to question them. However,” she said as she turned, facing the rest of the men in the room so that they could hear her more clearly. “I'm well aware of the customs and traditions of Rome. I was instructed in them and what they mean to you Romans by no less a personage than Gaius Julius Caesar, who your people rightly revere as a god. I can assure you that Caesarion has no wish to be King over Rome any more than you wish him to be.”
She turned to look back at me, her hatred blazing from her eyes, but there was no less in my gaze as I moved my stare from the spot on the wall to look directly into her eyes. I was satisfied when I saw her take an involuntary step backward, flinching as if I had lifted my hand, despite the fact I had not moved a muscle.
As if realizing she had done something that showed weakness, she tilted her chin upward, then said in what I was sure she thought of as a commanding tone, “That will be all, Primus Pilus. I'm glad to know that I can count on you.”
“Every man in the 10th Legion will do their duty, my lady. I can assure you of that.”
Such is the duplicitous language of royalty, I suppose, and as I turned away to make my retreat I wondered if I were any better than Cleopatra, knowing as I did that we were both lying.
Naturally, I had to discuss what happened with Scribonius immediately, walking on wobbly legs back to my quarters as quickly as I could without running. My hope was that Cleopatra was as shaken by our confrontation as I was, while the others who heard it would waste no time in going to Antonius. The thought crossed my mind that Cleopatra might now try to remove me, but I dismissed the thought for a number of reasons, not least among them that I did not want to lie awake at night listening for every creak in the floor, wondering if someone was coming to kill me. Also, I believed that my sudden death, especially after what just transpired, would cause enough of an uproar that it would prove more difficult for Cleopatra to advance her plans. Not lost on me was her declaration that her son had no desire to be king, recognizing it as the kind of mealy-mouthed words that might throw off the more slow-witted among the lower classes. As far as it went, I thought and still think she was telling the truth; nothing I had seen in the few times I was around Caesarion, and nothing I heard about him leads me to believe that he held any desire to be anything other than Pharaoh. His mother, on the other hand, was a different story and it was she who worried me and the rest of the army. She was the serpent that had to be watched, and she had not said a word about her desires.
Immediately on my arrival back at my quarters, I sent Eumenis to fetch Scribonius, while I regret to say that I took my frustrations out on Diocles for unknowingly walking me into an ambush. Thankfully for both of us, Scribonius arrived to cut my diatribe short, since I was still angry and working myself up to a higher pitch of fury. As it was, Diocles was shaking all over, although I can see him smile about it now as he is writing. Scribonius did not say a word, just looked at each one of us, then pulled up a stool to sit as if he were watching a gladiatorial contest, his demeanor perfectly mimicking that of a man avidly waiting for blood to be spilled in the sand. My anger immediately evaporated as I began laughing, and it did not take long before it was out of control. I had seen men act in a similar fashion after a battle, despite it never happening to me, though I suppose that what I had just endured with Cleopatra was similar to a fight. After I finally calmed down, I sat down heavily, my legs just giving way, and I grabbed the pitcher of wine on t
he table, pouring a full cup and not adding any water. I drank a cup straight down, something I rarely did, causing Scribonius’ eyebrows to crawl almost up to his hairline, such as it was.
“I take it something interesting happened.”
“You could say that,” I agreed, then proceeded to tell him everything that had transpired shortly before.
When I was finished, he sat for several moments, then let out a low whistle.
“Well, I'll say this for you. When you decide to put your foot in a pile of cac, you stick it in all the way up to the ankle.”
His tone was one of mild rebuke, but I expected no less.
Turning to more practical matters, he continued, “But I think you did the right thing in forcing her to at least imply that she wants to set Caesarion up as king. There's no way that this isn't going to reach Antonius. The question is, what's he going to do about it? If your, and my, suspicions are correct, and he's under her control in some way, the answer will come with this.”
“It doesn’t really change anything though, does it?”
“Only if he sends her packing, but I doubt that will happen.”
“Not likely,” I agreed, and later that day, we were proven right.
I was not entirely surprised when a runner came from the Praetorium to inform me that Antonius demanded my presence immediately. Since I had only removed my helmet and harness, it took but a moment before I followed the man sent to fetch me. When I entered the Praetorium for the second time that day, I suppose I noticed that most of the clerks who were there earlier seemed to be missing, but I did not think much of it at the time, my mind occupied with other matters. I caught the sympathetic glances thrown my way from some of the Tribunes who were there, so I expected to see Cleopatra with Antonius in his office, or at least Canidius to be there if only to gloat, but the Triumvir was alone, sitting at his desk. He looked exceptionally weary, with dark circles under his eyes. However, he did not have the appearance that he exhibited in the past when he had been drinking heavily. I supposed that was at least one good thing that Cleopatra had done for him, despite it being for her own purposes. Marching to his desk, I came to intente and saluted, but he did not acknowledge the salute for a long moment, until my arm began to ache. He was scribbling in a tablet, then finally looked up, returning my salute before he sat back, chin in his hand with one finger tapping rhythmically against the side of his face as he regarded me.
