by Peake, R. W.
“Well done, nephew.”
His teeth showed in the darkness as he smiled. “Uncle, didn’t you say that the Praetor told you that he was so desperate to stop these killings that he would give clemency to any of the conspirators who testified against the others?”
The Praetor had said no such thing; in fact, I doubted that the Praetor had been fully informed about what was happening. However, I instantly understood what Gaius was doing, and I answered quickly, not wanting to hesitate and make either man suspicious.
“That’s true, Gaius. He did indeed tell Flaminius that very thing. We were about to post a reward for information in the morning as well.”
“It was his idea,” Censorius shouted instantly, and I felt Celer’s body stiffen.
“Shut up, you fool,” he hissed, his face twisted into a mask of hatred and rage. “The Praetor said no such thing. That’s just a trick that this little bastard played, and you fell for it! You're an idiot!”
My fist slammed hard into his stomach, knocking him to his knees. “You just called my sister a whore, Celer,” I told him coolly. “And I don’t like it when my sister is called a whore.”
“Fuck you,” he snarled, all hint of the confusion of the innocent man gone now that his cousin had betrayed him. “You always did think your cac didn’t stink! You should never have been made Pilus Prior! It’s only because you sucked Caesar’s cock . . .”
I don’t know what else he was going to say because by the time I finished, he was in no shape to speak.
Vellusius, Herennius, and Lupus joined us, and we tied Celer and Censorius up while I ordered Vellusius to dispose of the body of the third man. Neither Celer nor Censorius spoke a word after the outburst, although I imagine that they both realized that there was nothing left to say. We bound their hands behind them, during which Censorius did put up a brief struggle, but it ended quickly with the help of Balbus’ fists. We marched back to camp, and when we arrived at the front gates, naturally the duty Centurion was not eager to let us in with two bound men. I had him send for Flaminius, who was evidently asleep and not in a very good mood when he showed up, wearing just his tunic and carrying his vitus.
“Pullus, what by Pluto’s cock are you doing? And who are these men?”
“We just caught these men trying to murder Sergeant Porcinus, in the same manner as the murdered men.”
Flaminius’ surliness evaporated as he gaped at the two men, still covered in mud, their heads hanging, both men refusing to meet his gaze, but I was not finished.
“And we have a confession from that one,” I pointed to Censorius, “that it was this one,” I pointed at Celer, “who was behind the whole thing.”
“I want to speak to the Praetor,” Censorius spoke suddenly. “He's promising clemency to anyone who cooperates, and I want to cooperate.”
He nodded his head in the direction of Celer, who had turned to glare at his cousin. “It was all his idea, I swear it by all the gods!”
Now Flaminius was looking extremely confused, glancing from Censorius to me in hopes of hearing some explanation. “What's he talking about? We’ve kept this from the Praetor until we had it cleared up, which appears to have happened.”
Censorius’ jaw dropped, the realization of the truth hitting him hard. He turned to stare at first Gaius, then me.
“You lied to me,” he bleated, and I could not help laughing at his pathetic state.
“You always were stupid, Censorius. Now you’ve killed us both,” Celer said bitterly.
I explained to Flaminius all that we had planned, along with Gaius’ ruse, and the other Primus Pilus looked at my nephew with marked respect.
“That was very clever of you, Sergeant. And very brave to put yourself in danger that way.”
Gaius shrugged, but I could see that he was pleased. “I wasn't worried, Primus Pilus. I knew that I was as safe as a babe in his mother’s arms.”
“Still, that was very commendable.”
Flaminius turned back to the two prisoners. “You'll be taken to the quaestorium and the holding cells there until you can be turned over to the Praetor.”
He called to the duty Centurion to make arrangements to provide an armed escort. Before Celer was taken away, he turned to me, his eyes blazing with hatred.
“I piss on you and all of your ancestors, Titus Pullus. I curse the day you ever showed up in my life.”
He turned to Gaius, his lips peeled back in a snarl, and in that moment we all saw the true animus of Gaius Domitius Celer. “I should have cut your throat when I had the chance, you miserable little bastard.”
“You’ve never seen the day when you could best him,” I snapped before Gaius could answer. “You were a piss-poor Centurion, and you're a piss-poor excuse for a man, Celer. You always thought you were smarter and better than everyone else, and look where that belief got you. I'll be sure to be there when your head leaves your shoulders, so the last thing you see is my face. I'll piss on your corpse.”
Before he could say anything more, Celer was dragged off, along with Censorius. We watched them disappear in the darkness, and I must say I felt a tremendous amount of satisfaction. I wish I could say that my happiness was due to the knowledge that the murders were at an end, with the men responsible for so many deaths caught, but the truth is that I was happy to be proven right more than anything else.
“Pullus, you were right. Now we can put this matter to rest.” Flaminius came to stand beside me, offering his hand, which I accepted.
“At least the men won’t have to worry about having their throats cut when they go into town.”
“Not by those two anyway.” Flaminius laughed. “But there will always be someone out there waiting to shear the sheep.”
The announcement of the capture of Celer and Censorius, and their subsequent confessions at the hands of the Praetorian torture detachment gave the men of the army a great deal of relief, and allowed things to settle down. The events in Nicopolis and camp had occupied everyone’s minds to the point that we were not paying much attention to what was going on elsewhere.
Octavian had moved to the island of Samos and was making preparations for the invasion of Egypt, which would in all likelihood be the last operation for more than half of the 10th Legion, the men of the second dilectus, their discharge now a little more than a year away. The men added as replacements after the first invasion of Parthia still had more than ten years to go, while men like Albinus were salted through their ranks, making them almost as veteran as the originals. There was another momentous event, at least as far as I and a few others were concerned, and that was the promotion of Gaius Porcinus to Optio. After his performance in the apprehension of Celer and Censorius, which Flaminius was sure to let other Primi Pili know about, there was very little resistance to the idea from any quarter. There was a vacancy in the Century of the Quartus Princeps Posterior, Marcus Didius, whose Optio had died of a fever. I thought briefly of shifting things around so that Gaius would stay with Scribonius, but then decided against it, knowing that it would be seen as an insult to not only Didius, but his Pilus Prior Nigidius as well. I believe I was as proud as I had ever been for any of my own promotions, and I pulled rank to be the man who awarded him his badges of office, reading the warrant with a voice that threatened to choke with emotion. Gaius stood tall and proud, still youthful, but with all of the baby fat chiseled from his face by wind and rain, looking every inch the part of an officer of the Legion. I was most moved by the reactions of his tentmates and the other members of his Century, some of whom openly wept at the idea of his leaving them behind. I knew he was one of the most popular men, not just in the Second Cohort, but in the entire Legion, yet seeing it demonstrated so vividly was quite moving.
Seeing his promotion as an omen, coupled with the more settled nature of Nicopolis now that Celer and Censorius had been exposed, I decided to send for Miriam and the rest of my household. I was also seriously contemplating what was to happen to me when this enlistment of
the 10th was over. I was about to turn 47 years old, and there was now more gray in my hair than the original black, although it did not show much because I kept it so short. Despite the fact that I still exercised vigorously, I could not deny that my waist had grown thicker than I would like. I had lost a tooth, and it felt like there would be another one joining it soon, and I tired more easily, taking longer to recover than even three or four years before. I woke up with aches and pains; most troubling was the old wound I had suffered at Munda, but there were other spots on my body almost as sore. However, more than anything was the mental fatigue I felt, understanding that my war with Cleopatra, the mutiny against Antonius, and just the wearing of time was having a cumulative effect on my desire to stay in the army. My mental outlook was not helped with the news coming from Italia, since it appeared that once again, former Legionaries were threatening to plunge the country back into chaos and murder.
Despite Octavian’s best efforts, most of the men that were recently discharged made their way back to Italia, instead of staying in Greece the way Octavian wanted. While it was understandable, given that most of the men in Octavian’s army that had been discharged were Italian natives, making the peninsula their home, it did not take long for the malcontents among them to start stirring up trouble. They used the fact that they were not paid their discharge bonuses, ignoring the fact that the Treasury of Rome was bankrupt, as an excuse simply to take what they wanted from other citizens, usually wealthy ones. It was true that Octavian disarmed men before letting them go, then had taken the extra step of requiring each man to swear an oath that they would not do the very thing that was happening, but it was a simple matter for a retired Legionary to buy a sword the moment he landed in Italia. As far as the oath went, it was Vellusius who probably summed up the prevailing attitude, and his explanation was a cause for concern on a number of levels.
“What good is an oath if the other man giving it doesn’t make good on his promises?” was how he put it. “I know the boys would never be doing these kinds of things if they had been paid like they were promised.”
I knew better than to point out to Vellusius that the money simply was not there. This was an argument that meant absolutely nothing to men like Vellusius, which by extension meant the majority of the army. All they knew was that they were promised, from the first day of their enlistment, that they would receive a fat sum of money at the end of their 16 years, and that when it did not come, any promises they may have made they then viewed being as empty as those made to them. Complicating matters, at least from their viewpoint, was the fact that men like Octavian and Agrippa continued to live in fabulous wealth, not stinting on anything, spending profligately on whatever struck their fancy. This was a view that I could actually sympathize with to a point; despite my head knowing that as much money as patricians and highly born plebeians spent, it was just a small drop in a vast bucket of money, I had a reaction in my gut whenever I saw the excesses of my betters. At the very least, I think that men like Octavian and Agrippa should have been more aware of appearances, particularly at that moment when the situation was so tense between them and their former Legionaries.
Matters on the mainland became so bad that Agrippa was forced to send a message to Octavian, essentially telling him that Octavian’s most capable man was unable to control the actions of the retired Legionaries. For his part, Octavian knew that the situation must be extremely dire for a man like Agrippa to send such a message. Despite it being the worst time of year to make such a crossing, Octavian boarded a ship for Brundisium. When he landed, an extraordinary thing happened. The entire Senate, minus those holding a Praetorship, or those military Tribunes who were also members of the Senate, but were still with the army, along with several hundred equites and thousands of ordinary citizens, were waiting for Octavian when he landed, hailing him as he walked into the city from the docks. While this is not unusual in itself, what made this so memorable in our history was that this demonstration was not held just outside the gates of Rome, which is customary and has been done for literally dozens of men over the years, but 300 miles away in Brundisium. There had never been a show of such support for the man who was now unquestionably the First Man in Rome, although Scribonius and other cynics claimed that it was merely their recognition that they were in fact ruled by Octavian and lived at his pleasure. Clearly alarmed by this outpouring of acclaim, the veterans that were running rampant, out pillaging farms and villas of wealthy Romans in the countryside, banded together to march to Brundisium themselves, seeking an audience with Octavian. He was, and is, no fool, knowing that as much as they needed to see him, he needed to see them as well. There was a series of meetings, and at the end of them, both sides extracted promises that were acceptable. For the veterans, Octavian was forced to name a specific amount that each man would be paid, based on rank and length of service. He also allocated land in Italia, most of it confiscated from supporters of Antonius, who were in turn relocated to Greece without compensation.
The colony of Forum Julii was founded by the veterans of the 8th Legion, with smaller settlements salted along the coast of Italia. The veterans were forced to accept a promise from Octavian that the bounty, in the amount promised, would be paid against the treasury, not of Rome but of Alexandria. For that was the only place left where sufficient wealth was stored, and Octavian knew that not only would it be enough to pay all the veterans, but to replenish Rome’s own Treasury. Recognizing that he could not afford to wait, Octavian, after settling matters in Italia, returned to Samos to continue planning the invasion of Egypt.
Miriam, Iras, and Agis, escorted by Flavius, arrived in Nicopolis in mid-Februarius, and the change in the slave girl who had originally tried to kill us was startling. Perhaps most striking was the relationship between Miriam and Iras, now acting more like sisters than mistress and slave. Even Agis seemed to have finally been won over by the girl, although she was clearly nervous when she faced me for the first time. The truth is that I only had eyes for Miriam, who looked even more beautiful than I remembered, and I kissed her long and hard, almost crushing the breath out of her. I had rented an apartment, just another in a long series of temporary homes, and strangely, it was this that bothered me more than anything. I realized that at long last, I was ready to settle down, in one place, on a piece of land that belonged to me. I had no real interest in farming, but with what I had saved up, I would not have to perform any labor myself. Truthfully, I was more worried about what I would do with myself without the business and routine of the army, and it was the fear of boredom more than anything else that was the major obstacle in my path to retiring. Then I would look at Miriam, and think of giving her children, seeing her happy with them.
I remember the moment I decided that I would retire from the Legion when our enlistment ended. Nothing special happened; we were eating dinner, just a week after Miriam arrived in Nicopolis, and just Gaius, Iras, and Diocles were present. As Miriam and Iras chattered about something, I remember looking across the table at Miriam’s face, the reflected glow from the fireplace making her brown skin glow with a pinkish tinge. She was laughing at something Iras had said, throwing her head back and baring her throat, suffusing me with a feeling of warmth and comfort that reminded me of my childhood, when my sisters would talk about boys and clothes while I sat listening. Those were some of the happiest days of my life, even though I had found much joy in the army as well. I realized that the last time I felt this way was with another woman, with hair the color of fiery copper and a baby on her hip. I decided then that I would have that feeling again, with and for Miriam this time. Saying nothing at that moment, I just looked on happily as I did with my sisters, mainly because I did not want to get Miriam excited when it was still a year away. This was my frame of mind as we waited at Nicopolis for the start of the campaign season.
The only other event of note was the execution of Celer and Censorius, which was delayed because Celer appealed to Octavian, citing his past service to Rom
e in a plea for mercy. What this meant in real terms is that Celer paid the Praetor a huge bribe, which was supposed to be passed on to Octavian. Instead, the Praetor, one of Octavian’s men by the name of Statilius Taurus, who was also acting as the Legate in overall command of the army in Octavian’s absence, put the money in his purse, letting Celer think that he was waiting for word from Octavian. I do not know why he delayed; he could have very simply just taken the money, then parted Celer’s head from his shoulders the next day, but he did not. So Celer was allowed to linger in false hope for many weeks, rotting in a cell by himself, since he and Censorius had to be kept separate after their falling out the night of their capture.
The only favor I asked of Statilius, through Flaminius, was that I be allowed to be present for the execution. Statilius agreed, but went even further. After learning of the number of men that Celer and Censorius were responsible for murdering, he ordered that the entire army be paraded by to watch. I will say that Censorius at least died well, walking to the punishment square under his own power, although he flinched whenever he was struck by an object thrown at him by someone in the front ranks, angry at losing a friend or relative. Celer, on the other hand, had to be dragged to the square, blubbering like a baby, and even before he was pushed to his knees, he soiled himself. He kept crying out over and over that he had appealed to Octavian, and it was only then that we learned that Statilius had not bothered Octavian with Celer’s plea. Personally, that did not trouble me at all, but it did not set well with Scribonius, and I could see that he was not alone. A fair number of men were muttering about Statilius’ duplicity, but I do not see how any of them could believe that Octavian would spare Celer’s life. As it turned out, the 10th was too far away for Celer to see me clearly. However, I doubt even if he had looked into my eyes he would have recognized me, so gone with fear was he. The life of Gaius Domitius Celer ended with a brutal swipe of the long cavalry sword that the executioners used, except that it took the man three blows before the head came cleanly away. One more enemy of mine had been struck down, yet I did not feel the sense of triumph that I thought I would. I suppose part of it was due to the fact that I had already felt the satisfaction of capturing Celer, while knowing what his fate was beforehand seemed to have been enough to sate my thirst for seeing him vanquished.
