Marching With Caesar-Revolt of the Legions

by R. W. Peake

  He was not; instead, he was simply saying, “No, no, no, no…” over and over, and I felt not the slightest flicker of pity.

  Instead, deep inside me, that beast that I think of as the dark twin of the divine fury that I inherited from my Avus, the one that unleashes a level of cruelty in me that enabled me to essentially torture Caecina the last few moments of his life, roused itself sufficiently that I bent down to speak in Pusio’s ear, just as I had with Galeo, except my message and my intent were quite different.

  “Oh, yes,” I said, just loudly enough so that only he could hear. “You’re about to have your head chopped off. And,” I risked a glance over at Caetronius to ensure he was still out of earshot, “my arm is very tired. It may take me three, oh, maybe four tries before you’re actually dead.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I saw a dark stain blossom on Pusio’s tunic, the smell just a heartbeat behind, and he unleashed what can only be described as a howl of such an inhuman quality that the men nearest the rostrum either recoiled or made the sign against evil spirits.

  “Centurion! What did you say to that man?”

  Caetronius had to raise his voice to be heard, because Pusio continued his wailing, shaking his head wildly as I saw his arms suddenly bulge as he tried to break the bonds of his baltea.

  “Only that I was going to be quick, and it would be over soon. Just like I told the other two of my men, sir,” I lied, not feeling the slightest twinge of guilt.

  Caetronius grimaced, then simply said, “Well, get on with it! This man’s screeching is giving me a headache!”

  Without knowing it, so gone with fear was he, Pusio actually aided me in my effort to make his death as painful as possible, because he would simply not stay still, and there was no way for the Germans to subdue him without putting themselves in the path of my gladius. Consequently, my first blow, which I made a show of using my entire strength but was really with only about half of it, struck him at the base of his neck, except at such an angle that it cut deeply into his body, aided by how much Pusio was leaning. My aim turned out to be true, because there was no spurt of blood from a severed vessel, and not surprisingly, his scream of terror and pain became even louder, making even me wince, not from any sense of pity but because of the volume, making it feel like someone was shoving an awl into both ears. In an unconscious reaction to the blow, he recoiled away from the direction in which it had come, placing him at an even more awkward angle, which suited my private purposes perfectly. Once more, I slashed down, but between his jerking movement, and the fact that I had deliberately aimed high, my blade sliced through the very top of his skull, sending his scalp and part of the bone flying in a spray of blood and what I assume was some brain matter. There was a roar of mingled alarm and disgust as the men in the front ranks were spattered with his gore, while the scalp and part of the skull struck one of the rankers on the shoulder; it would have hit him in the face if he had not dodged aside. Naturally, I followed the arc of the tumbling bit of scalp with my eyes, and Pusio was fortunate, because in doing so, my gaze met that of my Pilus Prior, who was staring directly at me, his mouth once more a bloodless slit. He was not spattered, for which I was thankful, but I saw he was not fooled in the slightest, and while he made no overt sign, I did not need one to understand that I had to finish Pusio earlier than I intended.

  He had inadvertently helped himself because the force of the second blow had knocked him onto his side, and I suspect he was no longer really conscious, although I saw his eyes were open; more importantly, he was no longer moving, and I muttered under my breath, “You have no idea how lucky you are, you cunnus.”

  My blade came down, and it was over, at least for Pusio. The Legate suddenly appeared in my vision, and I tore my attention away from Pusio’s face, his eyes still open, hoping that somehow, he still had a spark of life in him so that he could see me staring down at him.

  “By the gods, Centurion!” Caetronius bellowed this, just inches from my face. “I thought you knew what you were doing!” He pointed down at my gladius, still shouting, “I thought you said that using your own blade would keep this from happening!”

  Snapping to intente, I immediately fell back on the Stupid Legionary, saying, “Yes, sir. I have no excuse. I,” even as I said the words, I felt a twinge of reluctance at admitting weakness, even if it was a lie, “suppose my arm just gave out.”

  He said nothing, just glared up at me for a moment, then turned away, dismissing me with a wave as he addressed one of the Germans. “Get another man up here. The Centurion here is done.”

  Summarily dismissed, I did not hesitate in obeying, turning and striding across the rostrum, descending the stairs and walking to take my place with my Century. Ignoring the reaction of the men, I joined Structus, the only man whose eyes I met, and as I suspected, he gave an almost imperceptible nod, the only communication we have ever had about what I did to Pusio. My Pilus Prior, however, was another story, but while I felt his eyes on me, I avoided looking in his direction, even as we switched places with the Second Century, temporarily placing us next to the First. The rest of the executions of the men of the Fourth were conducted by one of the Germans, then finally, we were through. As the other Cohorts had done, we then marched away from the forum, returning to our area, where we were dismissed by the Pilus Prior. Despite somewhat expecting it, when I heard Macer call my name, I felt a pang of anxiety, wondering how much of an issue he was going to make, and how far I was willing to go to deny that I had intended to do as I did. Following him, we went to his quarters, but when I tried to speak, he held up a hand, shaking his head, though he did not say anything. Only when we were in his private quarters and the flap was closed, did he say anything, after taking his seat behind his desk, not at the table where we normally sat, telling me this was not a personal exchange, so in recognition of that, I chose to stand in front of his desk.

  Sitting silently, he gazed down at it, seeming to frame his thoughts, before he finally looked up at me and said, “Pullus, while I know why you did what you did to Pusio, I won’t lie and say that it doesn’t give me some…concerns.”

  When he did not continue, I took that as a sign I was expected to reply, but all I could think to ask was, “About what, exactly?”

  “About whether you belong in my Cohort,” he answered, and while he spoke quietly, the words rocked me as much as if he had bellowed this at the top of his lungs.

  “What?” I gasped, and it took an effort for me to remain immobile. “Why?”

  “Why?” he echoed, not in an unbelieving manner, but as if he was asking himself the same question. After a moment, he said, “I’ve never seen you behave that way, not even towards the Germans, Pullus.” He gave me a look that seemed more sad than angry. “I thought I knew you, but apparently I don’t.”

  How, I thought, am I supposed to respond to that? Macer and I had become friends, and close ones, but the only man who knew or suspected most of my secrets was Titus Domitius. Although we had never spoken openly about it, I was certain that, while he did not know the specifics, he was at least aware that I had been the one who had removed Caecina and Mela from our Century. Consequently, I was forced to realize in this moment that, no, Marcus Macer did not know me, at least the side of me that was capable of crippling Maxentius my first year, and slaughtering both Caecina and Mela in a manner that, if I am honest, was done with the same malevolent spirit as what I had just done to Pusio. In that instant, I had to decide how forthcoming to be with Macer, and if I was, whether it would help keep me in the Cohort, or whether it would harm my chances.

  “I understand what you’re saying,” I spoke slowly, trying to form my thoughts as I went, “and I’ll confess that I do have a…side of me,” I settled on this way of putting it, “that you’ve never seen. I’m capable of doing things like what I did to Pusio, I won’t deny that. But,” I pointed out, “it takes something extraordinary for it to come out.”

  “Well,” he nodded, “this
certainly qualifies. And, hopefully, it’s over.” Taking a deep breath, I had to respect the fact that he met my gaze without flinching; nevertheless, his next words were like a dagger. “But I have some things to think about. I’ll let you know my decision in the morning.”

  And with that, I was dismissed to walk, or perhaps stagger out of his quarters, my mind whirling with all the thoughts and worries that I had, finally, irreparably damaged my career. Somewhere along the way, perhaps starting at the very beginning with Vergorix, I had become accustomed to the idea that either my deeds, my name, or a combination of the two would shield me from my own actions as they pertained to my career. Needless to say, I was in a somber mood when I returned to my own quarters, and while I had every intention of informing Alex of what had taken place with Macer, I could not bring myself to do it, not wanting to ruin his state of mind. He was not happy, exactly, but he was clearly relieved, believing that the mutiny was finally over. Instead, I pretended that my conversation with Macer was inconsequential, although I could tell he did not fully believe me. Now that order had been restored, I felt safe sending both Alex and Balio out to run some errands that had been neglected, one of them going to Germanicus’ camp and checking on Latobius, while the other went to retrieve rations for the evening meal. The punishment was not over; the 20th Legion had yet to undergo this ordeal, which meant that, every few moments, there would be some sort of noise from the direction of the forum, especially in the beginning, before the toll of seeing men put to death, despite the justification, began to wear on the men, and I include the officers. The execution of the Centurions and Optios came last, which included Philus, Poplicola of the Sixth of the First, and Regillensus of the 20th, but for this, only the Pili Priores were present, along with the group from each Century mentioned earlier, and of course, there was no liberty of the camp that night. Even if there had been, I suspect that only the most foolhardy or, perhaps, desperate to learn of the fate of a friend or relative, would have left their tent. If I had been asked to describe the collective mood of at least my Century that night, I would probably have said that it matched what I saw in Alex, and in Pannonia; a sense of relief that it was over, tempered with caution that there might still be repercussions that reverberated for some time to come.

  After a desultory meal, which I shared with my nephew, I retired for the night, deciding that it was a good time to read one of my Avus’ scrolls, and I do not believe it is surprising that I selected the scroll about Pharsalus. Despite my fatigue from not only the day but the night before spent in tense anticipation of trouble, sleep was long in coming, yet I must have dropped off because I awoke to the bucina call with the scroll, partially open, on my chest. Alex rose from behind the partition in his corner of my quarters, and we began the ritual of another day in the Legions, while I pretended that there was nothing hanging over my head. More than once I caught my nephew, his mouth open, clearly about to ask a question, and I was certain I knew what it would be about, yet something in my face must have quelled his impulse. This meant there was not our usual morning banter, and I think we both pretended our mutual reticence was due to the events from the day before. Then, the cornu sounded the initial assembly, and there was no postponing facing my Pilus Prior any longer. Donning my sagum, the mornings being cold now that it was almost November, I left my quarters, stepping out into the street, and only after I did so, then saw the neat rows of men of my Century, did I realize I had been holding my breath, anticipating that order had not been restored. And, perhaps most fittingly, there was a fresh blanket of snow, the first of the year, obscuring the churned mud of the street and the roofs of the tents. Calling the Century to assembly, we marched the short distance to the intersection of the Cohort street, where we were joined by the rest of the Cohort, the formation creating a fog that hovered just in front and above the men as they inhaled the cold air and expelled it, either in their breath or in their muttered conversations. Macer was in his normal spot, and he did not do anything out of the ordinary, which meant I was kept in suspense for the march to the forum. Naturally, the forum was also covered in a coating of snow, which I thought was oddly appropriate, masking as it did the scene of the violent end of more than seven hundred men. Their bodies had been hauled off by the camp slaves, then burned in a mass cremation the night of the executions, but while we did not know it at this moment, there had been a disagreement between Propraetor and Legate that, depending on which version one heard, either almost came to blows or at the very least resulted in voices raised to the point that the clerks, Tribunes, and both Primi Pili could hear through the canvas walls of Germanicus’ office. Whatever the truth of the matter was, what was known with any certainty was that Caetronius had insisted the heads of the mutineers should be displayed in the forum, as a reminder to the rest of the men the cost of mutiny. Germanicus, wisely in my view, refused to do so, insisting that the executions themselves had been enough of a warning to those disposed to incite another insurrection, also pointing out that they had removed the ringleaders of the mutiny, thereby eliminating the possibility of future trouble. Although I would not have gone quite that far in my certainty there was no likelihood of further trouble, I believe his logic was sound as far as it went. The end result was that, between the snow and Germanicus’ decision, there was no sign of anything that would indicate the day before had ended so violently, and I believe this pristine coat of snow did more to reduce the chances of further trouble than anything else Germanicus could have done. The only unusual note was that it was not Caetronius who made the morning appearance before handing matters over to the Primi Pili, but Germanicus himself. In another sign, he was not wearing armor, and had foregone his paludamentum for a sagum, although its quality was superior to mine and other Centurions, both in the cloth of the cloak and the fur that lined it. Additionally, he made no mention of the day before, simply reciting the words that are essentially a ritual for Legions in the winter, that the duties for the day would be decided by the Primi Pili.

  However, he did surprise us by adding at the end, “I am ordering a meeting of all Centurions at the beginning of the second watch today, in the praetorium.” Then, turning to where Sacrovir and Neratius were standing, he told them, “Primi Pili, carry out your orders for the day.”

  Waiting until Germanicus had returned to the relative warmth of the praetorium, first Neratius, then Sacrovir, mouthed the same words they always did for a day like this, then we were dismissed to begin the day. While some Pili Priores insisted that the men of their Cohort be marched off the forum back to their area, most simply dismissed their men and allowed them to make their way back on their own. Macer was of the latter sort, and once he gave the order, the Cohort, rankers and officers alike, broke up into smaller groups, walking across the forum, which had already lost that pristine, clean look from all the hobnailed soles of the men. I was walking, alone, towards our area when, from behind me, I heard Macer call my name, instantly sending my heart to a galloping rhythm that was more appropriate to breaking into an all-out sprint.

  Of course, I slowed to allow him to reach my side, but rather than stop, he continued walking, and we did so side by side, both of us looking straight ahead, although I certainly kept glancing over out of the corner of my eye, but for several paces, Macer said nothing, until he broke the silence by saying, “I’ve thought about it, and I need you in this Cohort. You’re not going anywhere. And,” I sensed that he turned to look up at me, so I did the same, meeting his gaze, “we’re never going to speak about this again, nor will I have anything entered into your record. Do you agree to this?”

  I assured him that I did, then he turned back to the scene ahead of us of men hurrying to their quarters to prepare for the day. For a moment, I did not think it was wise to say anything, given the circumstances.

  So, of course, I said, “Thank you. I appreciate it and I won’t let you down.”

  “You better not,” Macer said lightly, but I took him seriously.

  “I
won’t,” I assured him, then I changed the subject, asking him, “Any idea what Germanicus wants to tell us?”

  I was encouraged by the manner in which Macer again turned to look at me with a grin, replying, “I was hoping you’d know, since you and Germanicus are so close.”

  This made me laugh, and if it was heartier than perhaps it should have been, I would simply say it was as much from relief as the humor.

  “Now that we’ve put this…unpleasantness behind us, it’s time to settle our business with Arminius once and for all.”

  Germanicus was standing on the desk outside his office, with the remaining Centurions of both Legions standing around him, the Pili Priores arrayed in front, while those of us who were taller moved to the back. Which, of course, meant Volusenus and I were standing side by side on the last row, yet despite the distance, and the relatively dim lighting, it was easy for all to see how haggard Germanicus was, but I believe that I was one of the few who knew him well enough to see how forced his hearty tone sounded.

  “Before I begin,” he said, “I wanted to let you know of the steps I’ve taken to bring the 5th and 21st back under the standard. I sent a message to Caecina, telling him what we did here, and ordering him to read my message to the Primi Pili and Aquiliferi of both Legions. I’m…” he paused as he thought of the correct word, which he uttered with a small smile on his lips that informed us it was anything but, “…suggesting that the Legate and Primi Pili take the same approach that stopped the mutiny here. I haven’t heard back yet, but I’m optimistic that the situation will be resolved in a similar manner as it was here.” When one reads the words, it does not properly express Germanicus’ mood, because he said this in a manner that, knowing him better than any of the other Centurions present, informed me that he was certain of the outcome; only later did we learn that he actually ordered Caecina to read Germanicus’ letter word for word, which essentially was a transcript of his speech to us. He stopped speaking for a moment, presumably to allow us to digest this, before he resumed. “We’re going to be busy this winter,” he continued, “both because there’s much to do to bring the men back to rights, but also because, and I think you will agree, an important factor in what occurred is that we didn’t keep the men busy enough. And,” his mouth turned down into a grimace, “I bear the responsibility for that.”