by Peake, R. W.
“I think I must be getting soft,” was how I put it to Balbus, deciding that Scribonius was not the man to talk to about Celer’s death. “That didn’t feel nearly as good as I thought it would.”
Balbus only gave a grunt, a sign that he was not really interested in hearing what I had to say, but I plunged on anyway, as much to irritate him as anything.
“It’s not just Celer, either. I'm not looking forward to the coming campaign at all.”
This at last got him interested enough to respond, and he looked at me in surprise. “But this is the end, the end of it all. We’ll have been part of something that started with Caesar’s murder. When Antonius and that bitch Cleopatra are gone, it will all be over. Then we can do some proper soldiering against the Parthians again. Or those Armenian bastards.”
Balbus spat to show his contempt for the Armenian Artavasdes, who had taken advantage of the turmoil between Octavian and Antonius to renounce all ties and treaties to Rome, claiming the title of king of an independent Armenia. The sad fact was that at the moment, there was nothing that could be done about this insult to Rome, but I knew that even after Antonius was subdued, the army would be marching without me.
“You can,” I said quietly, not daring to look at him as I spoke. “But this will be my last campaign.”
We had been walking back to the Legion area, and Balbus stopped suddenly. I felt his eyes boring into my back as I kept walking, yet I refused to look back.
“You can’t be serious,” he said, his voice tight with some emotion I could not identify.
“I'm very serious.”
Seeing that he was still not moving, I stopped, reluctantly turning to face him.
“But why?”
“Because I’m tired, Balbus. I just want to live a quiet and peaceful life, spend the years I have left with Miriam, and perhaps raise a family.”
Balbus snorted, his scarred face twisted in a grimace. “You fell in love,” he said disgustedly. “That’s your problem. There’s no room in a Legionary’s life for love. You should know better.”
“I seem to remember someone who was so much in love that he ruined a friendship over it,” I reminded him, recalling the long-ago feud between he and Torquatus, former Primus Pilus of the 10th and the man I had replaced in that post.
Torquatus had died just a few months before, simply from being worn down and out from a lifetime spent under the standard or with the army, since the last few years he had been Evocatus. As far as I knew, he and Balbus never reconciled, but Balbus’ face told me that the memory I brought up was still painful for him, causing me to regret my words instantly.
“And more fool I,” he shot back bitterly. “Look what I have to show for it. And I learned my lesson, I can tell you that. I haven’t been in love since.”
I walked back to where Balbus was still standing, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She died, Balbus. That wasn’t your fault.”
“What does it matter? She left, and that's all that matters.” He shook his head, as if shaking off the bad memories. “But don’t change the subject. I still don’t believe it.”
“You should,” I replied. “Because I've made my decision. When this enlistment is over, I'm done was well.”
“Who’s going to run the Legion?”
Now I was surprised. “Why, you of course.”
Balbus frowned, looking anything but pleased at the prospect, deepening my confusion. “By the gods, I hope not. I'd rather be a bum boy at the baths than be Primus Pilus.”
I was completely dumbfounded; I had always assumed that Balbus would leap at the opportunity to run the Legion.
“Why not?” I demanded, feeling a little cross with him.
“After seeing all that you’ve been through? Oh, it may have been true at one time, but I've spent the last several years watching you play politics with the generals, butt heads with the other Primi Pili, and try to keep from being killed by queens.” He gave me a grin, forcing a laugh from me as well as he continued. “No, it’s not for me. I like running a Century, and I'd like to run a Cohort. Just not the First one.”
While I admired his honesty, I felt obligated to warn him of a possibility. “Octavian may not give you any choice. You're the logical choice for a Legion that will still have a lot of veterans in it after the full-term boys are out. If it was a raw Legion, starting from scratch, then it's not so important to have someone running the Legion who knows the men, since they’re all new.”
“Then I'll retire too,” Balbus said, prompting me to laugh again.
“You? Retire? What in Hades would you do if you weren’t in the army?”
“That’s what I thought about you,” he grumbled, “and look where that got me.”
I told Scribonius of my decision to retire, but unlike Balbus, he did not seem in the least surprised.
“I’ve seen this coming for some time,” was his only comment.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Oh, I decided to retire when you did. The fact is I’ve been ready for a long time.”
It is true that he had been saying for some time that when I left the Legion, he would as well, but I was still surprised that he was serious.
“Really? And you’re going back to Rome like you planned?”
He nodded, giving me a mischievous smile. “Yes, even if it’s just to see my brother’s face when I show up and claim my inheritance.”
Scribonius had learned a few years before, when his father died, that he had been forgiven for running off to join the army, so much so that he was to inherit the bulk of his father’s estate. His brother had been named manager of the Scribonius affairs in my friend’s absence, and we both knew that his father’s bequest was made as an enticement to Scribonius to leave the army immediately and return to Rome. He resisted the temptation; in fact, he did not act tempted in the least, partially because he had made his own fortune in the army, but more because he had no real interest in wealth and comfort. Over the years, I have observed that those born into a measure of wealth often have no real interest in the source of what provides them the level of comfort in which they live. Money was always there, so they assumed that it always would be, whereas men like me, born into poverty and never having two coins to rub together, thought of little else. I was somewhere in between these two extremes; money was important, but it was a means to an end, and that end was within sight. I decided that should the dinner with Octavian ever materialize, I would use that opportunity to broach the subject of soliciting his patronage for my elevation to the class of equites. With Octavian’s backing and approval, I knew that there would be no resistance to my elevation from any quarter, such was his power and influence. I was also determined to try to make that dinner happen, and the opportunity was approaching, since we were informed that Octavian was to join the army within the week.
The army began preparations for breaking camp and starting the campaign, despite the fact we still did not know whether we would be marching or sailing to Egypt. The rumor was circulating that we would be taking the long, overland route, meaning a long, grinding march, something that I for one was not happy about. For one of the few times in my life, I was willing to risk the dangers of crossing by sea rather than face the prospect of mile after mile of endless marching. I saw this as another sign that I was ready to leave the army, since I had always either looked forward to, or at the worst been indifferent about the prospect of a long march. Once again, I put in the long watches that come from preparing a Legion to march, making for long days of lists and inspections. Then I would go home to Miriam and for the rest of the night I would not think about the Legion, or the upcoming campaign.
Octavian arrived, immediately calling a meeting of the Centurions of the army.
“We're going to finish this business once and for all,” he began. “And we're going to take the overland route to Egypt so that I can arrange matters with the various client kings along the way.”
There was a low chorus of mutte
ring following his announcement, and it was clear that most of the Centurions felt the same way that I did about the prospect of marching thousands of miles.
Ignoring this, Octavian continued. “That's why you are setting out immediately, as soon as you can make preparations. Don’t worry about rations; I’ve made arrangements for stockpiles of supplies to be delivered at points along the way. I'll be joining you in Asia, as I still have matters to settle here on this side of Our Sea.”
With these instructions, we were dismissed to continue our work of getting the men ready to march, then later that day, a messenger arrived.
“Caesar requests the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight,” the Tribune told me, the look on his face relaying his astonishment that Octavian would want to share a dinner with, as Cleopatra had said, a lowborn brute like me.
“May I bring a guest?” I asked, thinking that it would give Miriam a chance to dress up, not thinking that it would send her into a panic on such short notice. Fortunately, the Tribune apparently had been told to anticipate this request and shook his head.
“Caesar was specific that he wants you to come alone.”
The last time he had been that specific was just a few months before, when he ordered Balbinus and me to attend to him by ourselves, and I had disobeyed him then, but I was not going to this time around. Not only was he now my commanding general, I did not think this was a situation where I was in any danger, but I had learned through bitter experience never to take such things for granted, so I would be cautious nonetheless.
“Tell Caesar I would be honored to be his guest.”
The Tribune told me the time that I was to be there, and I hurried to the apartment to make myself presentable. That is when I learned how much trouble I would have been in if I had secured an invitation for Miriam.
Arriving at the appointed time, I was dressed in a freshly laundered tunic, my belt freshly varnished, boots cleaned and polished. I carried my vitus, though I was not sure why I did so. The same Tribune was sitting at the duty desk, and as soon as I entered the Praetorium, he rose to go to the door to the private quarters of the commanding general. When Octavian was absent, Statilius occupied the several rooms, and normally Octavian would have occupied the Praetor’s civil office, but it had not been constructed yet, so he had kicked Statilius out to occupy the space. It was not sumptuous by his standards, I was sure, but it was still richly appointed for a military camp, with several pieces of art, including a bust of Divus Julius by Phidias, or at least so I believed. Octavian himself came to greet me, dressed in a richly embroidered tunic of a deep blue, his golden hair gleaming and brushed. His skin glowed from a good scraping, though unlike his adopted father, he did not have a depilatory slave pluck all the hair from his arms and legs.
“Salve, Titus Pullus! I apologize that it's taken more than ten years, but we're at last able to have our dinner!”
Octavian offered his hand, and I clasped his forearm, noting that his grip was firm and dry. He had given up wearing the elevated boots that he wore in the years immediately following Caesar’s murder so that he would more closely resemble his dead adopted father. I took that as a sign that he had grown secure enough in his own right to do away with such artifice. His smile was still dazzling, and I must admit that every time I saw it, I went a little weak in the knees, it being so reminiscent of Caesar that it almost took me back to the first time I stood before the man. I had been a tiro, a raw youth of 16 years, although I looked much older because of my size and musculature. Now I was feeling the same flush, but I forced myself to remain in the moment and not be transported to that day long ago, knowing that was exactly what Octavian wanted.
“It's my honor that you remembered, Caesar,” I replied. “I've been looking forward to it for as long as you have.”
With those pleasantries out of the way, Octavian led me to a couch, and I saw that we were indeed dining alone. Agrippa was in Italia, while apparently Statilius was not going to be dining with us, meaning there were only the usual slaves hovering about the walls. There was only one couch, and I saw that he was doing me a huge honor of offering to share one couch with him. While I was flattered, it also put me on my guard. Be careful, Titus, he wants something from you and you need to keep your wits about you, I thought, as we both sat, Octavian seated to my left.
For a moment, neither of us spoke, each clearly waiting for the other to begin the conversation.
The awkward silence caused us both to laugh, then Octavian said, “Well, Pullus, it's been a long time, neh?”
“That it has, Caesar,” I agreed, saying no more.
“And so much has happened in that time,” he said, his eyes taking on a faraway look, and for an instant I saw the youth looking back on a life robbed of the untroubled time of the young man.
Octavian never had the opportunity to be carefree; Caesar’s murder had thrust him into a position of huge opportunity, but even more danger, and I wondered if he had any regrets about the path he had taken.
Startling me, since he seemed to read my thoughts, he murmured, “Yet with all that’s happened, I wouldn't change anything.”
Snapping back to the present, he turned to a slave, signaling that wine be brought. It was Chian, though of a vintage that was beyond my means, or at least as much as I was willing to pay, and it was excellent. He ordered his unwatered, then lifted an eyebrow when I told the slave to add water to my portion.
“Trying to keep a clear head, Pullus? Are you that worried that I'm up to something?”
“Not at all, Caesar,” I lied. “I just don't have a head for wine. I never have.”
“Well, you should be,” he smiled, taking a sip, his eyes never leaving my face, watching my reaction.
Rather than answering, I did the same, so that we regarded each other over the rims of our cups. Finally, he set his down, and I thought I detected a hint of irritation in his manner, though it could have been my imagination, since his tone was still light and friendly.
“I wanted to get your thoughts on some changes I'm planning on making to the army and how it works.”
I did not miss how he had put this, and I raised a finger in question.
“Yes?”
“You said you're planning on making changes to the army?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “That's correct.”
“That implies that you've already made the decision. So I must ask, why are you asking me if you have already made up your mind?”
I was sure that this would offend Octavian, but he seemed to have quite the opposite reaction. “You caught me, Pullus. I must say that I’m impressed. Not many men in your position would have picked up on that.”
I had to bite back a tart reply, realizing that Octavian was only displaying the same attitude as most of his peers, and he continued speaking. “But yes, you are correct. These are reforms that must be carried out, or Rome will collapse under its own weight.” He paused, as if expecting a response, but I said nothing, so he continued while the slaves brought the first course of the meal. “No doubt you heard of the trouble that the men of the 8th, and the other discharged Legions caused in Italia.”
I replied that I had, but did not elaborate, which again seemed to cause him some irritation.
“Really, Pullus,” he said crossly. “If I wanted someone to just nod up and down at everything I said, I could find a hundred Senators that would fit the bill. I asked you here because I want to hear what you think about all that I'm saying. I promise you that I'll hold nothing you say against you in any way. I swear it on Jupiter’s Stone.”
Frankly, I was still not convinced, but I recognized that continuing to guard my tongue would end up offending him. The one time I was careful to watch what I said, I thought to myself, I am getting in trouble for it.
Still, I said, “I know that you don't have the money in the Treasury to pay the bonuses to the men, but I can tell you, Caesar, that such realities don't mean much to rankers. All they know is that they were
promised a fat purse after spending the better part of their lives sweating and bleeding for Rome, and they don't give a rotten fig about whether the money is actually there or not.”
He considered this, then nodded. “I understand that, and frankly, it’s not the money that's the real problem. It’s the land. The fact is, we don’t have enough good land that's not already occupied to give every man who retires his 40 acres.”
“What about all the Antonians?” I asked. “Can’t you confiscate their land?”
“Yes, and we've already done so. And the truth is that there will be enough land for the veterans who just retired, and for the next set of Legions, including the 10th. But it’s after that that I'm thinking about. Rome would have to continue to conquer new territory, colonize it, and make it sufficiently peaceful enough, just to give retiring Legionaries their plots of land.”
I stuffed a piece of bread into my mouth, mainly to stall for time while I thought about what he said. Despite seeing the sense in what he was telling me, I also knew how extremely unpopular it would be, since the grant of land on retirement had become as much of a custom and tradition in the army as the eagle standard itself.
