by Peake, R. W.
Without waiting for me to ask him, he blurted out, “I just heard that we're going to have an important visitor from Rome to oversee the payout of the Legion.”
“Not Caesar, surely.”
I could not imagine him taking the time to attend to such a matter, expecting that it would be a Senator of some sort. I was not prepared to hear Diocles’ answer.
“Not Caesar,” he acknowledged. “But close enough. Marcus Agrippa is coming. He's supposed to be here in two or three days.”
It took Agrippa four days to show up, arriving late in the day in his usual style, which is to say with just a handful of men, some of them bodyguards, some military Tribunes, and a pair of scribes. He wasted no time sending a runner to find me with an invitation to dine with him that evening. Arriving at the Praetorium, I found Agrippa busy with Balbinus. Once he was through, he beckoned me to follow him into his private quarters, and I was surprised to see that Balbinus did not follow, since I expected that he would also be joining us, but he just gave a wave to me while he headed out the door. Whenever I was alone with a member of the upper classes, particularly someone as powerful as Marcus Agrippa, I got very nervous. However, there was nothing devious in Agrippa’s nature, although I had no doubt that if Octavian had sent him to do some dirty work he would not hesitate. Agrippa was renowned not only for his military abilities, but for his absolute unswerving devotion and loyalty to Octavian. Agrippa was reported to have been the first to call Octavian “Caesar,” rather than by his given name, and what was inarguably true was that Agrippa’s rise was due as much to his relationship with Octavian as it was to his abilities, which were prodigious. He was waiting for me in the room that served as both triclinium and meeting room, but I was happy to see that instead of couches, there was a plain table with chairs.
Before we took our seats, he offered me his hand, and I clasped his arm. “Congratulations on your promotion to Camp Prefect, Pullus.”
“Thank you, sir,” was all I could think to say.
“It's well deserved,” he added, then motioned to a chair, which I took.
Seating himself across the table from me, we made small talk, mostly about the anticipation of the men for what was coming. Wine arrived, and we were silent, both of us sipping from our cups, while I waited for him to bring up his purpose for this meeting. Food arrived; very simple fare of bread, chickpeas, and pork, which I appreciated, and somewhat to my surprise, he indicated we would eat first.
Only after we were finished did he begin. “There are two or three things that Caesar has asked me to discuss with you and the other new Camp Prefects about the changes being made to the Legions.”
“That suits me, sir. I have some questions of my own.”
He lifted an eyebrow at this. “Questions?”
“Er,” I stumbled, “to be more accurate, they're more requests than questions.”
He sat back in his chair, face unreadable. “Why don’t we start with what’s on your mind first, then.”
“First,” I began, “I wanted to ask if Caesar would authorize the use of a bodyguard for me.”
Like I expected, Agrippa’s expression was a combination of amusement and puzzlement. “I must say that you surprised me. I wasn't expecting Titus Pullus of the 10th Legion to feel the need for a bodyguard.”
“I don’t,” I replied, probably a bit too sharply.
Ignoring his look of irritation, I explained the situation with Vellusius.
“He's one of the only men left from my original tent section,” I finished. “And although I don’t need help in protecting myself, I trust him with my life.”
He said nothing for a moment, then gave a shrug. “I don’t see that it will be a problem. I'll check with Caesar, but actually, I think it’s a good idea for every Camp Prefect to have one. What else?”
This request I was more comfortable with asking, since I assumed it would be little more than a formality. “I wanted to make an endorsement for Primus Pilus Posterior Balbus and Secundus Pilus Prior Scribonius as Evocati.” I was very happy that Scribonius had decided to join the ranks of the Evocati, and before he could say anything, I added what was essentially the meat of the request. “And that they be part of the Evocati that are with whatever part of the army that I'm with.”
Agrippa suddenly looked down, and I thought that he was going to tell me that putting us together would be a problem. When he spoke, he seemed to confirm my fears.
“Actually, it's the Evocati I wanted to talk to you about. Among some other things.” He seemed to gather his thoughts before he continued. “Caesar has decided to do away with the Evocati.”
I looked at him in shock, and it took me a moment to speak. “But the Evocati have been part of the army since even before the Marian reforms!”
“And Caesar believes they've outlived their usefulness,” Agrippa replied, making me wonder at his choice of words. Did that mean that he personally disapproved of their disbandment? “He believes that they're a drain on the resources of the treasury in return for little value,” he continued. “Being frank, during the civil war, they turned out to be more trouble than they were worth.”
That I could not argue. In more than one case, some of the Evocati had been the most vocal among the troublemakers, not only for Caesar but for Antonius as well.
“True,” I granted. “But now that Antonius is dead, Caesar has no other rivals for the foreseeable future.” I fought a sense of desperation at the thought of Balbus and Scribonius not being at my side in some way. “And you can promise Caesar that the Evocati who are with my part of the army will stay loyal to him, especially with Balbus and Scribonius there.”
“That's something you can promise, but no mortal can tell the future, not even Caesar, and he's not one to take a chance like that.”
I struggled to keep my composure, deciding to drop the matter for the moment. “What other changes is Caesar making?”
Visibly relieved that this was going no further, Agrippa said, “To start with, the size of the Legions. We're going back to the traditional Century and Cohort size, except for the First Cohort.”
It had been Divus Julius who started the practice of hundred man Centuries, notably enough with my Legion with the first dilectus in Hispania. Every one of the Legions he personally enlisted after that had that number, but Pompey had stayed with the traditional number of eighty-man Centuries.
“What's going to happen to the First?” I asked.
“Well, since it’s the First Cohort in every Legion that sees the most fighting, it traditionally takes the most casualties. The number of the First Cohort is going to be doubled, to 160 men.”
“Will it have the same number of Centuries?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “But that’s not all. We're going to put the best men in the First Cohort, the cream of the Legion. With the reduction of the size of the army, as we consolidate we'll be able to find enough men to fill the ranks of a new Legion with experienced men.”
What he was describing, other than the numbers, was already taking place, except that it was more by happenstance than design. I had thought about this in the past, and my conclusion was that the reason that the First Cohort of almost every Legion I had seen was the best in that Legion, except for some of those conscripted during the civil war that were filled with either raw youths or foreigners, was because of the situation that Agrippa had described. He was absolutely right that the First Cohort saw more action, and because of that, got more experience, which naturally increased their proficiency. While the Cohorts were rotated in the line of battle in the second and third lines, or the Second, Third, or Fourth was sometimes switched out, I had never seen a First Cohort not be in the front ranks. It was also true that the First usually took more casualties, except in the case of catastrophes like what had happened with the Tenth in Parthia or the Third on Leukas Island.
“That makes sense,” I said, if a little grudgingly, still smarting from the rebuff on the Evocati, though an idea was slowl
y forming in my head. “What else?”
“We're going to make it standard practice that when losses get to a certain level that those men will be replaced. No more of a Legion marching into battle at half-strength because they’ve been whittled down over the years.”
That was not much of a surprise, and in my mind was long overdue, having already been done by generals like Antonius, after the disaster of the first Parthian campaign.
“You already know from Caesar that land will no longer be part of a man’s retirement, correct?”
“Yes, he already told me.”
Agrippa took a deep breath, seeming to gather himself and when he uttered his next words, I could understand why. “Finally, the term of enlistment is being raised to 20 years.”
For the second time in the conversation, I found myself almost too shocked to speak. “Twenty years?” I gasped, but before I could say anything more, he put up a hand.
“Pullus, think about it. The truth is that most of the men ended up serving more than 16 years because their generals could not spare them. Caesar is just recognizing that as a reality,” he said, to my ears sounding a trifle defensive.
“And look at the trouble it caused those generals, even Divus Julius,” I pointed out.
“Be that as it may, Caesar has decided, and on this point he's made up his mind.”
I took that as a sign that perhaps there was still hope for the Evocati yet.
I spoke slowly, my mind racing as I tried to form the argument that I would use to change his mind. “Enlistments used to last for just a campaign season,” I began. “Then when Gaius Marius made his reforms, that was changed, first to four years, then to six. Then it was ten, and Divus Julius made it sixteen. Starting with the 10th,” I felt compelled to add. Agrippa nodded but said nothing, which I took as a sign to continue. “Now, in my lifetime, this will be double what it used to be. I understand the need for changes in the army, and for the most part, I agree with what Caesar has decided. However, Marcus Agrippa, you and I both know that the class of men who fill the ranks of the Legions are almost as afraid of change as the patricians. And you also know as well as I do that the way the lower classes express their discontent will make the streets run red with blood. I’m not saying it will happen,” I held up my hand to stop whatever Agrippa was about to say, “but you can't deny that it’s a strong possibility. The people love their traditions, and the men of the ranks are no different. Thrust too much change too quickly on them, and there's no telling what will happen.”
“I know,” Agrippa said quietly, which I was not expecting at all. “I told Caesar that myself, but he's determined to make these reforms.”
“Which is why I think doing away with the Evocati at this point is a mistake.”
That is when the idea hit me, and I suddenly leaned forward. “Why not keep the Evocati as they are, but don't add to their ranks and just let it die a natural death?”
He studied me for a moment, pursing his lips thoughtfully. “That might work.”
“There are two exceptions that I'd ask for, and you know who they are already.”
He gave a small smile, tilting his head as he did. “I was expecting that. And what do you have to offer in exchange?”
Is he asking for money, I wondered? I dismissed the thought immediately. Marcus Agrippa had become one of the wealthiest men in Rome, and whatever I could pay was a pittance when compared to his fortune.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked cautiously.
“Your service as Camp Prefect for ten years instead of five,” he answered instantly.
It was then I knew that I had walked right into a trap.
I swallowed hard, but I answered as quickly as he had. “Fine, as long as Balbus and Scribonius serve with me, for however long they care to.”
His brow furrowed, not the reaction I was hoping for. “Not the whole time you're Camp Prefect?” he asked sharply, shaking his head, clearly not liking the condition.
“I'm not going to bind them in that way, and that's my final condition. And it's nonnegotiable.”
“Very well,” he said crossly, folding his arms.
I reached across the table to offer my hand to seal the bargain, and for a moment, I thought he was having second thoughts and would not accept, but then he extended his own.
With that matter settled, I assumed that we had concluded our business, and it was more out of curiosity than anything else that led me to ask him, “Where will the dilectus for the new men of the 10th be held? In Hispania, I assume.”
His hesitation caused me to look up from my plate, where I had been finishing up the candied figs provided as a dessert. One glance at his face told me that something was afoot, and I sat back to listen, not sure that I was going to like what I heard.
“Actually, there's not going to be a dilectus.”
“I don’t understand.” A thrill of alarm shot through me. “The 10th isn't going to be disbanded, surely?” I gasped, and my relief was intense when he shook his head. It was equally short-lived.
“No, it's not going to be disbanded,” he allowed, then seemed to search for words. “You're aware that when the 10th chose to march with Antonius, Caesar was forced to raise another 10th Legion?”
“We chose to march with Antonius?” I was incredulous, this being the first I had heard that choice of words used to describe what had happened to the 10th. “We had no choice in the matter. He was the legally appointed Triumvir, and we were ordered to go with him. How is that choosing?”
“In the beginning, that's true,” he replied evenly. “But when the . . . difficulties began, the 10th chose to remain loyal to Antonius.”
“We were on the other side of Our Sea, with a dozen other Legions, and we were in Parthia,” I shot back. “Caesar didn't truly expect us to suddenly declare for him in the middle of a campaign, did he? How long do you think it would have taken Marcus Antonius to give the other Legions the order to fall on us and wipe us out? There would be no 10th Legion left if that had happened.”
I was getting very angry, which Agrippa could see in my face, but he did not back down. While I did not like it, it only raised my respect for him.
“You had other opportunities after that,” he shot back. “But you chose to stay with Antonius, and because of that Caesar has decided to combine the men of his 10th Legion with yours.”
I was about to continue the argument by asking Agrippa exactly how we could have done as he clearly believed we should have, then decided to let it drop, recognizing that I was wasting my breath. Octavian had obviously made up his mind on the matter and arguing with Agrippa about it would solve nothing, but I resolved to bring it up with the man himself the next opportunity I got.
As if reading my mind, Agrippa warned, “And, Pullus, this isn't a subject I would bring up with Caesar. He's made up his mind on this, and his feelings about what happened with your 10th aren’t going to change. In fact, it's a very sore subject and you'd make him very angry.”
“Well, that at least explains why he was the way he was the day after Actium.” I remembered how abrupt and unwelcoming he had been when I had shown up with the First Cohort, contrary to his instructions. If he truly suspected the 10th of being disloyal, I could see why he was so adamant that I come alone. Turning back to the original topic, I asked Agrippa to continue.
“Your men,” he corrected himself, “your former men will be sent to Syria to join the rest of the 10th, where they're on garrison duty.”
I considered this for a moment, then a thought struck me that was so horrible I could barely stand asking about it. “The 10th will still be the 10th Equestris, won’t it?”
For the first time, Agrippa looked genuinely regretful. He slowly shook his head. “No, Pullus. Caesar has decided that since we're combining the two Legions, the 10th will be known as the 10th Gemina, the Twins.”
“The Twins?” I could not hide my scorn. “What kind of name is that? Men aren’t going to want to fight for a Legion
named for the Twins, and neither are our enemies going to be afraid of them. The 10th Equestris is known throughout the world, and the very name strikes fear in our enemies’ hearts. How can Caesar throw that away?”
“If it makes you feel any better, the men of the other 10th aren't any happier. They were the 10th Veneria, because of Caesar’s descent from Venus, and they're just as proud of their name as you are of the Equestrians.”
“Perhaps, but who ever heard of them? How many battles have they won? Did they conquer Gaul? Were they at Pharsalus? They were guarding the baggage at Philippi if I remember.”
“They were a raw Legion then, and they were guarding the camp,” Agrippa said stiffly, clearly offended, but I did not care.
Of all the insults done to the 10th, this was the worst. I sat back, fuming, Agrippa no less disturbed than I was as we sat staring at each other.
