by R. W. Peake
“Actually,” he spoke in a contemplative tone, his eyes narrowed as he examined me sitting across the desk, “you’re in a unique position, Pullus. You saw the men down in Pannonia and their mood, and you’ll have the chance to observe them here. You,” he pointed a blunt finger, “can be very valuable, both to me and to the Propraetor.”
All I could think to say was that I was happy to do whatever was asked of me, and then I was dismissed. Before either of us could speak again, there was a knock on the door, and the clerk announced that the call to return to the praetorium had sounded.
“I’d normally spend the night here, but we still have things to discuss.”
We both got up and exited Sacrovir’s private quarters, just in time to see my Pilus Prior, who had heard I was back, entering with a broad smile on his face, while he was greeted by the same on my own, and we clasped arms. Sacrovir informed him of his decision to go to the praetorium for the night, and while he did not order Macer to accompany us, he immediately turned around and the three of us walked back to the praetorium. We were far from alone; Sacrovir told me that about a third of the Centurions and Optios in both Legions did not feel safe staying in their own tents at night, and made the nightly pilgrimage to the praetorium, but what struck me was how relatively calm it was. When I remarked on this, however, I saw Macer and Sacrovir exchange a glance, but it was the Primus Pilus who said, “Don’t worry. That will change once the sun goes down and the wine starts flowing.”
By then, we had reached the praetorium, entered and gone to the spot Sacrovir had appropriated as his own whenever he was in the tent, using his status as one of the two Primi Pili to claim a larger space than everyone else. The office and the private quarters for the commander was currently being occupied by the Legate for the 1st and 20th, Gaius Caetronius, who, unlike Blaesus, had not ventured outside of his office for anything other than calls of nature, and only then, with an escort, at least according to what Sacrovir had told me. With Germanicus’ arrival, he had essentially been banished to the Propraetor’s tent in the other camp, which, despite its small dimensions, still sported a headquarters tent even larger than normal, which was natural since Germanicus was both governor and commander. Not, I would add, that I ever heard even a whisper that Caetronius fought being essentially sent out of harm’s way. We sat down on stools, and after a brief toast to my return, we all took a sip, then Sacrovir finally uttered the first words about the mutiny here.
“It is a fucking mess,” Macer immediately echoed Sacrovir, when I instinctively glanced over at my Pilus Prior for confirmation, which I saw did not please the Primus Pilus, though he said nothing about it.
“How so?” I asked, somewhat puzzled, which I explained, telling them what I had heard in Mogontiacum, which prompted Sacrovir and Macer to exchange an amused glance.
“Well, it’s good to see that the money the Propraetor spent to spread that tale appears to have been well spent,” Sacrovir commented. Then, after another sip, he collected his thoughts, and began, “I’m not saying this as a criticism of Germanicus, Pullus, I want to make that clear.” I thought this was an odd thing for a Primus Pilus to say to a subordinate, until I thought about it later and recognized that Sacrovir understood I had a relationship with Germanicus. He went on, “I think his reasoning was sound, that the respect the men held for him under normal circumstances would stand him in good stead, but not this time.”
Essentially, the tale Sacrovir told of Germanicus’ ordeal paralleled what I saw with Drusus, in that just his appearance, as a sign of good faith on the part of our new Imperator, was not enough to assuage the mutineers, which also aligned with what Germanicus had told me the day before. What I learned from Sacrovir, that Germanicus had not mentioned, was that he first visited the 5th and 21st, who were in a marching camp a short distance across the river from Mogontiacum, whereupon the mutinying men surrounded him as he entered. And, in a manner similar to what Drusus endured, he was accosted by men who were intent on showing the physical symbols of all that they had endured during their time under the standard. While Drusus had been unable to impose any sense of order on the mutineers, Germanicus was at least able to convince the men to assemble in the forum, in their proper spots in the formation, whereupon he made his plea for the men not to continue with this action. Rather than settling the men down, his words only inflamed them further, and the formation dissolved into an angry mob, surrounding the rostrum from which Germanicus was speaking. Another difference was that, unlike Drusus, who was not physically touched by any of the men, some rankers actually grabbed Germanicus by the hand and thrust it into their mouths so that he could feel their teeth, or more accurately, the absence of them, while others confronted him with their scars, pulling up their tunics to display them. For once, Germanicus’ ability to connect with all ranks was used against him, as he was surrounded by men who were demanding that he should declare himself Imperator, promising that they would march on Rome if necessary to raise him to the purple. That Germanicus recoiled at this suggestion did not surprise me in the slightest, but men who had only viewed him from afar and had never been directly involved with the Propraetor, were certain that his protestations were simply a matter of form and not sincere. Consequently, when Germanicus declared that he would rather end himself than be part of this usurpation of power, not only were the mutineers unmoved, according to Sacrovir, who had been in communication with the Primus Pilus of the 21st, one of them actually produced his own gladius, declaring that it was sharper than Germanicus’ own, identifying this man as one Calusidius, from the 5th Legion. As I sat there listening, I was assailed by so many different thoughts and emotions that it made my stomach churn, realizing that, in some ways, matters with the Rhenus Legions had been direr than with the Pannonian. Thankfully, the actions of this Calusidius were so startling that it shook enough men from their madness that, forming an impromptu bodyguard that protected the Propraetor, they enabled him to escape to the praetorium tent, which in an identical manner to Pannonia and to our own camp, had been declared a sanctuary for those who refused to participate in the mutiny.
Hearing this part prompted me to ask, “Where were Germanicus’ personal bodyguards?”
Sacrovir gave a snort of disgust, replying, “Outside the camp.”
Seeing my face, I suppose, Macer broke in, the first time he spoke. “The Propraetor refused to let them accompany him into the camp, Pullus. Apparently,” he hesitated, then continued, “he was certain that the men wouldn’t do him any harm.”
“Well,” Sacrovir broke in, “he learned differently.” Once more, my face must have betrayed my alarm, because he assured me, “No, in the end, he wasn’t hurt. But supposedly it was a close-run thing. And,” he added with some grim humor, “I suppose that in one way, he can thank that bastard Calusidius for waking up some of the men that Germanicus was in real danger.”
“What happened then?” I asked.
Sacrovir continued, emphasizing that this was all secondhand, but from a source he trusted, the man being a fellow Primus Pilus, and I understood why he would feel that way. According to the Primus Pilus, when Germanicus was relatively safe inside the praetorium, therein a debate raged for more than three watches, with one faction insisting that to give any concessions at all would set a dangerous precedent, and would only invite further trouble. This, in essence, was the same argument I had heard in Pannonia, which I mentioned. Finally, Germanicus decided to make what, in hindsight, was a desperate and foolish move, and when Sacrovir described what took place, I was reminded that, of the few flaws that Germanicus possessed, one that I had observed during my time with him, and was a common one among the upper classes of Rome, was his belief that because the vast majority of Head Counters were uneducated, it also meant that they were stupid. That this is not the case Germanicus learned the hard way, when his solution was to forge documents that he claimed to have carried from Tiberius, essentially granting all of the mutineers’ demands. Specifically, those men who
had already served their twenty years, instead of being extended for another five, would be released immediately and unconditionally, while those men who had at least sixteen years of service would be released as well, with the only condition being they be available to serve in the event the Germans finally did invade across the Rhenus, for a period of four years. Finally, all the donatives that had been promised in the last years of the Princeps’ reign and in the aftermath of his death were promised to be paid to the men. If Germanicus had led with this, instead of trying to prevail upon the men’s sense of duty, honor, and loyalty to Rome, perhaps this might have worked…for a period of time, until Tiberius became aware of his adopted son’s deception. Of course, it was entirely within the realm of possibility that the new Imperator would feel he had no choice but to go along with Germanicus’ fiction; for the safety of my family and myself, I will not divulge any more than to say that this was certainly a possibility. What transpired, and caught Germanicus by surprise, was the mutineers immediately seeing through this fiction, for the simple reason that, if he had been in possession of these documents when he arrived, he would have presented them immediately, instead of prevaricating and trying to essentially shame the men into ending their revolt. Not surprisingly, Germanicus’ attempt to deceive the men served to exacerbate the tensions rather than reduce them, creating an atmosphere that was so volatile that the Propraetor had asked the mutineers for another chance to address them, and when they assembled in the forum, he promised that, out of his own personal funds, he would pay all of the donatives demanded by the men. As for the issue of the length of enlistment terms, he informed them that, while he did not have the authority to make that concession, he begged the mutineers to be patient, because a delegation from Rome was heading for Germania. While this quelled the worst of the violence, it quickly became clear to Germanicus that the situation was still extremely volatile, so under the cover of night, he left the camp and returned first to Mogontiacum to retrieve his family, then went to Ubiorum. That his wife and youngest child accompanied him into such a potentially dangerous situation requires some explanation, particularly as it pertains to his young son.
Germanicus Julius Caesar is devoted to his family, something that I knew was not exaggerated for effect; the man truly loves both his wife and his children. However, it was his youngest son Gaius who was adored by the hard-bitten men of the Legions. He had been given the nickname Caligula, both because Germanicus’ wife Agrippina had had a small but completely accurate Legionary’s uniform made for the boy as soon as he could walk, down to his caliga, and also to differentiate him from Germanicus’ oldest son, who was named Gaius as well, yet another consequence of the peculiarly Roman habit of only having about a dozen names to choose from, and our fixation for using the same names within a family. His wife, Agrippina, was also popular with the men, held up as a model of what a Roman woman, wife, and mother should be, and she was certainly fertile, having several children, although some of them died young. However, while the older children had been left back in Rome, Germanicus had Agrippina and his youngest, the toddling boy Gaius who had been informally adopted by us as something of a good luck charm, remain with him in Germania, although there was a fair amount of gossip that our Propraetor’s strong-willed wife made it clear he had no real choice in the matter.
Absorbing everything Sacrovir told me took a few moments, then I asked, “What about here?” Suddenly, the Primus Pilus did not seem disposed to continue, and I saw him glance over at Macer, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he peered down into his cup, which prompted me to say, only half-jokingly, “That bad?”
This at least served to elicit a response from the Primus Pilus, who echoed, “Bad?” He considered for a moment, then shook his head, “I wouldn’t say that it’s bad, exactly. It’s just that some things took place that I would have preferred hadn’t happened.”
He lapsed into silence then, prompting Macer to explain, “Some of the troublemakers managed to slip out of camp and make their way to where the 5th and 21st were camped, and told the leaders of the mutiny there that both the 1st and the 20th had made plans to return to Ubiorum and burn it to the ground, then head for Gaul.” He paused for a heartbeat, then finished, “Where we were going to march from one settlement and town to another, burning everything down until Tiberius gave in.”
Perhaps the only good thing is that I did not have a mouthful of wine, because I would have spewed it all over my Pilus Prior; instead, I simply felt my jaw drop open as I stared at him incredulously, although I knew from his expression he was not joking.
All I could think to say was, “Germanicus didn’t mention any of that to me when I reported to him.”
It was Sacrovir who gave a short bark of a laugh, saying with bitter amusement, “If you were him, would you?”
“So,” I realized that there was still so much I did not know, and I had grown tired from what was an eventful day, “where do things stand now?”
“The real violence and unrest is over for the most part, although there’s certainly still a lot discontent.” Sacrovir answered. Then, he added, “Thanks to a handful of men. But as of this moment, we’re waiting for that delegation from Rome to arrive.”
With that, I asked to be excused, which Sacrovir granted, along with Macer, whereupon we walked into the quaestorium, where space had been cleared for the cots belonging to those of us who had chosen to take shelter there, and I asked him about Structus, who had been with the mutineers when I left.
“Actually,” Macer informed me, “there’s some good news on that front. In fact,” he turned and pointed to the section of the large tent where all the Optios were staying, “you can see for yourself.”
Following his finger, I saw my Optio, who had not seen me, perhaps because he was involved in a dice game with about a half-dozen other Optios and a couple Centurions, and I looked back at Macer with a raised eyebrow, though I said nothing.
“He showed up outside the praetorium the day after you left. He wanted to explain why he seemed to be siding with the mutineers.”
“And?” I asked coldly. “He must have convinced you.”
“He convinced me, and he convinced the Primus Pilus,” Macer said quietly, “and he’s the one that matters when all is said and done.” This was something I could not argue, but neither did I like it, although I suspect that I am not alone in feeling that it should be the Centurion who is the direct superior of an Optio whose opinion counts the most. Macer continued, “He’s like a lot of us, Titus. He agrees that there should be a redress of these grievances, and his goal was to try and keep the men of your Century out of the worst part of all the troublemaking. And,” he allowed, “for the most part, he was successful.” However, there was something in his voice that caused me to look over at him, which he caught. Giving me an awkward shrug, he added, “I do wish he had been a bit…stricter with a couple of your men. Or,” he amended, “one in particular.”
“Pusio.” I confess it was not as much a guess as a confirmation of what I had assumed, and Macer nodded.
“Pusio,” he agreed. “Pullus, he was one of the men who left the camp to go to the 5th and 21st.”
This was something I had suspected the moment Macer had informed me of this, but hearing it confirmed was still like a stab in the gut, and I renewed my inner oath to rid my Century, Cohort, and Legion of Pusio. However, despite being somewhat disappointed in Structus, I understood how he felt about the situation, as well as his hesitance in dealing with Pusio, because that would have been a bold move by an Optio, even when acting Centurion, to either handle himself or arrange the removal of a ranker through unofficial means, no matter how justified or needed the act might have been. Otherwise, Macer assured me that the Third Century was in good shape, in a relative sense, and no more or less disaffected and angry than the rest of the Legion.
“I just worry about what happens if Tiberius refuses to agree with Germanicus’ concessions,” Macer commented, echoing the same co
ncern Domitius and his comrades had voiced.
“When do you think we’ll hear?” I asked, since I did not know the specific chronology of events as far as the Rhenus Legions sending their demands to Tiberius.
“The Primus Pilus thinks it will be any day now,” Macer replied. “No more than another week anyway.”
We parted then, and I went to find something to eat in a thoughtful, pensive mood, wondering why Germanicus had not been more forthcoming about what had taken place here. Not, I acknowledged to myself, that he owed me anything of the kind, but I did find it troubling that matters were far more volatile here than he had led me to believe.
