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

by Peake, R. W.

  “Are you ready for this?”

  I shook my head, not able to find the words. How does one get ready to lead men into mutiny, no matter what the reason?

  “Well, that’s not very reassuring,” Scribonius tried to joke, but it was hollow and we both knew it; I was just too tense to engage in any banter. Changing the subject, he asked, “Have you picked a spot to hold the meeting?”

  “Not yet,” I replied, which caused his frown to deepen even more.

  “You better think of one,” he snapped. “It has to be someplace away from prying eyes and ears.”

  “I know that,” I shot right back. “I just can’t think of a spot that fits our needs. Not in camp anyway.”

  He was silent for a moment then made a suggestion.

  “How about the stables?”

  I thought about it, then replied, “That might work. They’re practically empty now, and they’re not taking many animals with them. Yes, I think that will do.”

  Between the capture and defection of most of the cavalry, the stables were only used to hold the personal animals of the senior officers, meaning they were now holding a fraction of the animals they had originally. All of the pack and draft animals were held in a large pen outside the southern edge of the camp; they were going to be left behind as well, to be used by Canidius’ portion of the army when they made their move. With that determined, the next step was to decide the best time to hold the meeting. Since this was to be the last night in camp, I decided to wait until after dark before I sent Diocles to summon the Centurions and Optios to the stables. Normally, men moving about the camp after dark would be subject to arrest by the provosts, but on a night like this, nobody would be sleeping. Besides, there would be men scurrying about attending to last-minute tasks, so the danger was lessened considerably. Everything had been prepared as much as possible to that point, so I lay down on my cot to get some rest, marshaling my thoughts for what was to come.

  The fleet was ready. Out of the more than 400 ships that were part of the original force, there would be roughly 250 actually sailing, divided into four squadrons, with 60 of the best ships designated to protect Cleopatra. For the rest of the night, the sky was illuminated by the lurid light of the ships that were still burning down to ashes. Sometime in the late evening, the wind shifted, pushing the smoke through the camp, the sounds of men coughing and choking almost drowning out all other noise. Fortunately, the presence of the smoke actually helped mask movement, enabling me to walk through the combination of gloom and smoke without drawing attention to myself. I had waited in my tent for a bit to give the Centurions time to gather in the stable and I specifically instructed Diocles not to divulge any reason for my summons. In short, I was doing everything I could think of to keep Antonius and Cleopatra from learning that something was afoot. Nevertheless, I was still more nervous than I had ever been before battle as I made my way towards the stable. One difficulty was that our area was on the opposite side of the camp from the stables, with the Praetorium in between, meaning that I had to pass by the bustle of activity and confusion that is a headquarters on the eve of a move. Luckily, I was able to pass by without being spotted by a senior officer, or at least nobody called my name.

  Coming to the stables in the darkness, I could see the men gathered, barely illuminated by the light of the torches around the Praetorium and on the ramparts. Despite the choice of the stables being good to avoid attention, it also meant that it was not well lit, so the men would not be able to see my face as well as I would have hoped. That was important on this night; I was about to make a speech that would determine not only my fate, but the fate of the men of the 10th. If I did not have the support of the Centurions then I would be faced with a choice of meekly obeying Antonius, loading my men on the boat, in the hope that he defeated Octavian, or falling on my sword. It was as simple as that; if I was forced to follow the rest of the Centurions that meant that I was spurning Octavian, with my only hope then being that Antonius came out on top, which I believed in my heart could not and would not happen. Refusing to join the Legion would see the same end result; the only difference being that my demise would happen more quickly, since Antonius would promptly have me executed for treason. For the first time, walking towards the stables, I finally understood how Caesar must have felt when he stood on the banks of that muddy creek. Everything; my career, my fortune, and my life came down to one throw of the dice and I knew that I had to give the speech that would salvage it all. Looking back, it is easy now to say that what happened was a foregone conclusion, given how the men felt about Antonius and more importantly, Cleopatra. But that was certainly not how I felt that night, fighting a strong urge to vomit. Fortunately, I was able to avoid the shame of showing such weakness in front of the men, but it took quite an effort. They were a solid mass of darker black, although when I drew within a few paces I could dimly make out some men’s faces enough to recognize them.

  Calling for both Centurions and Optios of the remaining Cohorts as I did meant there were 108 men packed in the stables, which still smelled strongly of horse manure and piss. The remaining animals were stabled in the far corner from where the men gathered, putting them closer to the Praetorium, where they were nickering nervously at the scent of so many men packed together. Hearing the low buzz of the men talking, I knew they were asking each other why they were standing in a dark stable the night before a movement. However, only Scribonius, Balbus, and now Macrianus knew for sure what was happening, and I trusted them not to say anything beforehand. Someone spied me approaching, calling to the men to come to intente, the smacking of heels striking together and hands slapping thighs making me wince at the noise, sure that it would attract attention. Thankfully, the gods were protecting us as I stopped to listen for any sound of alarm, hearing nothing except the shouted commands and curses of men still working to make preparations to leave. Saying a silent prayer asking for the gods' blessing on what I was about to do, I quietly told the men to stand easy as I took a deep breath. Then, I began to speak.

  “First, I want to apologize for the setting. I would have liked to have used Pompey’s Theater.”

  “So would we. That means we wouldn’t be here in this cachole.” The men laughed heartily at Balbus’ remark, which we had rehearsed beforehand.

  I wanted the men relaxed and receptive to what I had to say, and a good leader should never underestimate the value of making men laugh during tense moments.

  “This is a cachole,” I agreed. “And I, like you, would rather be back in Ephesus, or Damascus even. But we're here, and that's what I wanted to talk to you about tonight.” Now that I had their full, undivided attention, I plunged on. “You know that we've been ordered to board the ships bound for Egypt in just a few thirds of a watch. So I suppose that might be considered by some to be cause for celebration, because that means we're leaving Actium and Greece. But I don’t feel that way, and I don’t think any of you do either.”

  Waiting a moment, I saw heads nodding slowly up and down, although most of the men still stood silently, arms crossed looking at me, their faces giving nothing away.

  “In fact,” I continued, “I've reached a decision, but it's one that I can't make alone. You all know me. For most of you, I've been the only Primus Pilus you've ever known. For some of you, you've known me long enough to remember when I was Secundus Pilus Prior. And for a very, very few, you and I were tiros during the first dilectus of the 10th, when Divi Julius was just a Praetor and known simply as Caesar.”

  As I said this, I looked over at Scribonius, remembering the tall, gawky young man who was the next tallest man in our tent section and stood next to me, when my original Primus Pilus, Favonius, punched me in the stomach moments after we met.

  “You've seen my scars, and you've seen me bleed and fight and kill for Rome. I've done this, as each of you have, mostly without complaint, going where we were told and obeying orders without question. Like all of you, I have lost friends, seen them die in front of me
, sometimes in ways so horrible that it can never be spoken of again.”

  The image of Vinicius, covered in boiling pitch, but still climbing the ladder of that town in Hispania leapt into my mind’s eye, a lump forming in my throat that I forced down as I kept speaking. The men were looking at me, fully engaged, with grave expressions, but I still had no sense of where their hearts were at, so I continued on.

  “Now, we're asked to do something yet again, to take ourselves far away, to continue a fight that we all know is lost, and has been for some time.” Pausing to let this sink in, I could see the beginnings of some new emotion forming in the faces of the men, as some of them looked sidelong at the man standing next to them. “That’s right, I'm saying what we've all been thinking, what the men have been saying at the fires every night for the last few months. We have no hope for victory, not as long as we're led by a woman, and a non-Roman woman at that.”

  Now, more heads began to nod as men started muttering to each other, because I had just prodded the boil of the problem with the needle as far as most of the men were concerned; a woman has no business commanding an army, queen or not. It goes against everything that makes us Roman, while the fact that Cleopatra was a foreigner was like rubbing salt into an open wound.

  “It is Cleopatra who's led us to this spot. It is Cleopatra who wants to sacrifice part of the army to save her precious ships. She cares nothing for the men we lead. And don't think that just because we're one of the Legions that have been selected to protect her precious fleet and thereby escape to Egypt that she won't throw us away the first chance she gets.” The muttering was growing louder now, striking me with the fear that we would be overheard before I could finish, so I held my hands up for quiet. “You don't need to speak. I know you agree; I can see it in your faces. So please remain quiet as I finish what I'm saying.” Although I did not want it to sound like a rebuke, I nevertheless needed to impress on the men the need to be quiet, and I could not tell how that was received. They immediately quieted down, however, so I continued, “Brothers, I'm tired of seeing our blood shed in order to further this woman’s ambitions. And I know what those ambitions are, better than almost any man, because I've heard her speak the words myself.”

  If they had been paying partial attention, I now had them listening avidly, and I could see men leaning forward, eager to catch every word out of my mouth. They all sensed that I was about to reveal what had been a source of much speculation and rumor.

  “And it's because I heard her speak those words that she tried to kill me. Not only me, but my woman Miriam as well. You all have heard the talk about the strange happenings several months ago in Ephesus. Well, I'll tell you now that what happened was at her command. You all know that I lost a slave; Eumenis was his name. Slave he might have been, but he died to protect Miriam and me. He was poisoned and it was done by the slave girl, Iras, the girl you heard about attending the banquet that caused such a stir.”

  Despite my plea for silence, I understood that this would be too much for them to bear and I watched as they turned to talk to each other excitedly, although they did try to keep their voices low. Observing and listening for a few moments, I finally raised my hand and I was rewarded with a sudden silence. Clearly, the men wanted to hear me, which I suspected that they would.

  “Yes, I spared the girl’s life, for reasons that I prefer to keep to myself, other than to say this. One reason I kept her alive is because I knew that it would anger and worry Cleopatra, and to show Cleopatra that a Centurion of Rome fears no woman, even if she is a queen.” The men liked this, and I could see the gleam of teeth as they smiled at my defiant words, making me decide that it was time to make the kill, so to speak. “That's why I've decided that I will take the outrage and insults no longer. Cleopatra will command me no more, and make no mistake about it. All of this,” I swept my hand in the direction of the bay, where some boats were still flickering as they burned, “is her doing. The Marcus Antonius we followed to Parthia no longer exists. In that I believe Caesar is correct.”

  There were a few looks of surprise, this being the first time I had referred to Octavian as Caesar in front of these men, but that was also by design. Taking a deep breath, I knew that we were at the moment of truth. In the next few moments, I would know where I stood with the Centurions and Optios of the 10th Legion.

  “But I need your help. Without you, my gesture would be futile, and for me it would be suicidal, but I still have many years left to live, if the gods will it. I've given my life and all that I have to give to the 10th, and I can't let it be destroyed because of the mad ambition of the queen of Egypt. The only way that we can save the Legion is if we work together. I can't do it alone. I've never been able to do it alone.” I took a moment to look into as many man’s eyes as I could, trying to send to them a message of how I felt about the Legion and all that it represented. When I continued, I spoke in a lower tone of voice. “In the morning, when I'm given the order to march the 10th Legion to their designated ships, I intend to refuse that order. But I can only do that if I know that each and every one of you is with me. I know that what I'm asking you to do Antonius will consider mutiny, but I'll tell you that Antonius is not Rome. He may have once been the lawfully appointed Triumvir, and Consul, but that's no longer the case. He's been stripped of his titles. But those are just words. Brothers, you all know that Antonius is no longer Roman. He's Eastern. So while we may be defying our general, or more accurately, his wife,” this elicited some harsh chuckles, “we're not defying Rome. We're being faithful to Rome.” Stopping again, I surveyed the faces hopefully, but I still could not tell how men were feeling. “I'm asking much of each of you. If Antonius is victorious against Octavian, even if he was willing to forgive us, I can assure you that Cleopatra wouldn’t, mainly because of me. But truly, is there a man among you who thinks that Antonius will win? Please, speak freely. I give you my word that I won't hold it against you if you think so.” I waited, but no man spoke, their eyes for the most part studying the dirt in front of them. “That's what I suspected. And it's because of that belief that I'm not willing to throw the lives of the men we lead away. I'm taking this step for them just as much as it is for me, and for each of you. They have less than three years before they can retire, with honor and all that they have coming to them.”

  This was the part of the speech I worried about the most, even more than actually asking them to follow me, and my worry was immediately justified. A subtle change came over the men before me, a low-pitched muttering beginning among many of them, some shaking their heads as they talked. Deciding to wait for someone to speak, what happened instead is common with large groups of men; they were waiting for someone else to voice the concern that many, if not all of them were feeling. Finally, it was Gellius, the Pilus Prior of the Sixth who spoke up.

  “Primus Pilus, how do we know that Octavian will honor the promises made by Antonius to all of us? Or that he'll even allow the men to end their enlistments? Half of the army facing us right now is past their enlistments. Why would Octavian worry about us when he has his own men to provide for?”

  This was the very question I had been worrying about for some time, and it was a valid concern on the part of Gellius and the others. I suppose I could have lied and said that I had received assurances from Octavian. If I were younger, I probably would have done just that, then hoped that I could somehow make good on whatever came out of my mouth. But I was at least older and more experienced, if not wiser, so I told the truth.

  “You're right, Gellius, to ask that question. And the honest answer is that I don’t know for sure. What I do know is what's likely to happen to us if we follow Antonius. Even if we make good our escape or if by some miracle of the gods Antonius is victorious in this battle, he can't win this war, and we all know it. So it becomes a question of whether or not we choose to take a risk today and trust in the gods and Octavian, or trust in Antonius and Cleopatra. I've already told you my choice, but as I said, I can't do it
alone.”

  Gellius nodded thoughtfully, and I saw others doing the same. But I saw just as many men, if not more, who gave no sign that would indicate their thinking, and I felt the knot tightening in my stomach. I was also beginning to feel the desperation threatening to claw its way up and out of me, making me want to shout at them, knowing that to do so would just make things worse. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to remain calm while I waited for the men to digest all that I said. Finally, I knew I could wait no longer to ask the question that would ultimately determine my fate.

  “Are you with me? Will you all,” I emphasized the last word, “and I mean all, stand beside me when I tell Antonius that the 10th Legion has marched its last mile and fought its last battle to help the queen of Egypt bring down Rome? Because it must be unanimous. We must act as one, for our sake and for the men’s sake. And for mine,” I added this last, acknowledging what I knew some men would be thinking anyway.

  The plan at this point was for Scribonius and Balbus to step forward, but they did not move quickly enough.

  First, Macrianus took a step forward, saying just loudly enough to be heard by everyone assembled, “I'll stand with you, Primus Pilus. I'm tired. My men are tired, and we've had enough.”

  Scribonius and Balbus joined Macrianus, followed by Gellius, then one by one the other Pili Priores; Nigidius, then Frontinus, Scaevola, Glaxus and Marcius. Laetus, Celadus, and Vistilia, the remaining Centurions of the First Cohort came next, then finally Trebellius, the last of the Pili Priores. Lutatius, my Optio was next, which seemed to send a signal to other Optios, adding their numbers to the men standing with me. Then, when things seemed to be going well, with perhaps two-thirds of the men standing at my side, the remainder stopped moving. For several very tense moments, we were staring at each other across a few feet. There was nothing more that I could think to say that had not already been said, and suddenly I was assailed by the strangest feeling I had ever experienced. Tremors started in my legs, moving rapidly through my body, my heart suddenly accelerating as if I had broken into a full-out sprint. I could feel cold sweat trickling down my spine and beading my forehead as I recognized that for the first time in my life I was experiencing panic. In all the battles I ever fought, big and small, I had felt excitement along with a certain amount of fear, but never before had I been stricken by the type of all-consuming, mindless dread that I had seen overcome so many of the enemies I had faced. For the first time I understood how it felt to be almost paralyzed by fear, and it was not something I liked at all. Clenching my fists, I forced myself to remain calm and think, which was extremely difficult. Looking over to Scribonius, he seemed as confused and helpless as I felt. Moments dragged by in total silence, the tension growing with each breath before someone in the group of men still to make their decision cleared his throat, causing all of us to jump, eliciting a nervous laugh. Stepping forward a few paces so he could be seen, Numerius Sacrovir, the Optio of the Ninth who had tried to engineer the mutiny in Parthia spoke up.