Marching With Caesar-Rebellion

by R. W. Peake

  Understanding that he had lost the honors in the exchange, Volusenus chose to remain silent by taking a deep swallow from his own cup.

  Taking that as a tacit submission and seeing that the others were still looking in his direction, Porcinus continued, "As I was saying, I started out as his Optio, and next to my father," Porcinus couldn't resist adding this subtle jab at Volusenus, "and my first Pilus Prior Scribonius, he taught me more about the Legions than anyone else."

  "I remember that," the Pilus Prior of the Third, Gnaeus Fronto spoke up. "I was his Hastatus Posterior then, and when I saw you show up, I was sure that you wouldn't last more than a month as his Optio."

  Fronto chuckled at the memory, and while that might have been taken as an offense, Porcinus knew that it wasn't meant that way, so despite the circumstances, he found himself sharing Fronto's amusement.

  "Too soft," Porcinus supplied the unspoken criticism, knowing how often it had been uttered, by many, including Vettus. At first, anyway.

  "Too soft," Fronto agreed, then lifted his cup in Porcinus' direction. "But you had a good teacher to drive that out of you. Vettus was a hard man. A fair man, but a hard one."

  "That he was." This came from Frontinus, his eyes still puffy from the grief that he was feeling, although it was something none of the assembled Centurions would make any comment about. "As hard as the sword he was carrying. And," he finished with a quiet chuckle of his own, "his tongue was about as sharp as well."

  This brought the first real laughter from the assembled men, each of them dipping into his own well of memories as individually they recalled a moment that fit Frontinus' description. None of them had thought their respective moment was amusing at the time, and if forced to tell the truth, they would admit that many of them were carried from the site of the tongue-lashing by a pair of wobbly legs. Porcinus, with his unique perspective, wouldn't have placed Vettus in the same class as his father in terms of not only sheer volume, but intimidation, although much of Pullus' ability was due to his immense and muscular size, since he liked to tower over the recipient, with barely the width of a hand between him and his victim. However, no man rose to the rank of Primus Pilus without having the ability to cow other men, particularly other Centurions, all of them hard men in their own way.

  "So, how do we go about this? And are we going to use money from the burial fund for the entire Legion, or just the First Cohort?"

  Volusenus' question could have been considered rude because it jerked the attention and focus of the Centurions from their moment of honoring Sextus Vettus, privately and in their own way. Yet, neither could it be argued that this was what they were there for, all the Pili Priores and the Centurions of the First Cohort, gathered in the Primus Pilus' tent in the dusk after a battle that none of them would ever forget. Reluctantly, the Centurions turned their attention back to their purpose, and the next third of a watch was spent discussing the manner and style in which they would send their Primus Pilus to the afterlife. Finally, it was decided that each Cohort would add funds to that of the First, not only to pay for a tomb and inscription of the appropriate size and ornateness fitting for Vettus, but to pay for the most expensive sacrifice available, one of the sacred white bulls from the small herd that traveled with the army. Normally, they were reserved for holy days, or extraordinarily propitious events, and not surprisingly, at least to most of the Centurions, this was the most contentious issue. The only thing that wasn't unexpected, at least to Porcinus, was the reason behind the group of Centurions who argued against it. Expense wasn't actually what they took issue with; it was the idea of proportion, and as arguments went, it was one that was familiar, not just to Porcinus, but to every man. This was because it was a topic that, especially in the aftermath of battle, was always the subject of debate and, in essence, it was a simple question. What honored a man more; a larger sacrifice, or a more elaborate headstone? Sacrifices to the gods were all well and good, some of the Centurions argued, but they were temporary symbols of the regard in which a man like Vettus was held. Whereas the grander the tombstone, the greater the honor being done to the deceased. While on the surface this was true, Porcinus was experienced enough; some would use the word “cynical,” to understand that at least part of the reason these men who felt this way argued so strongly was that, as was the custom, there would be an inscription included where all could see who had provided the memorial. In this way, their own names would be immortalized in stone, and would serve as what some might call an ostentatious display of their regard for and loyalty to the deceased. Only a Roman could make something political out of a headstone, Porcinus thought with equal parts amusement and mild disgust. Fortunately, at least as far as Porcinus was concerned, those who wished to pay for the bull held sway, the losers of the debate surrendering the point with varying degrees of grace.

  Once the details for Vettus' funeral rites were settled, it was ostensibly time for the Centurions to disperse and make their own preparations to honor their Primus Pilus. Yet, nobody moved, but Porcinus was not only unsurprised, he was mentally counting the heartbeats before one of his counterpart's nerve finally broke, and they uttered what was really on everyone's mind, at least as far as most of them were concerned.

  He didn't get past ten before Maxentius, who looked not only as if he was grieving, but on the edge of exhaustion after pushing his men up the steep slopes after their quarry, blurted out, "So who's going to be named Primus Pilus, do you think? I mean, permanently." His eyes darted an apology over to Frontinus who, according to the regulations, was now the acting Primus Pilus.

  While Porcinus was on the younger side of the Centurions, he had still been in the army long enough that he had been able to watch what he knew was one of the most disturbing elements of the reforms wrought by Augustus, at least as far as his father and the Centurions of his generation were concerned. Before the reforms, promotions were more a matter of custom than regulation, but despite there being nothing written down, to Romans, what had been practiced by their ancestors in these matters carried more weight than some words scribbled on parchment or wax tablet. And the tradition had been that Frontinus would not only step into the shoes of his former Primus Pilus temporarily, it was almost always ratified and made permanent. But then, the great civil wars had come, and while only a couple of the men there had been in the ranks for the first civil war, pitting Divus Julius against Pompey, none of them had been in the Centurionate. However, all of them had been at least in the ranks for the second civil war that lasted for more than a decade, and they had witnessed how potent a political weapon the Legions had become. It had been about the only thing that then-Octavian and Antonius had agreed upon; whoever controlled the loyalty of the Legions controlled the greater prize of Rome. And while most of the men in the ranks who carried the most influence among their comrades marched for the contender for the title of First Man in whom they believed the most, or at least believed would win, there were Centurions who saw an opportunity for personal gain. These were the men who sold their respective Legions to the highest bidder, and while it was true that, at some point in the titanic struggle between Augustus and Antonius, almost every Primus Pilus and Legion had either chosen or been forced by circumstance to switch sides, most of the time it was for considerations other than money. But Porcinus supposed that it only took one Primus Pilus who was, as his father liked to say, crooked as a warped vitus, to make Augustus suspicious of all Primi Pili and their motives. That attitude was what had led to the disbandment and merging of the 10th, when Augustus had accused the men of Caesar's greatest Legion of disloyalty for "choosing" Antonius over his own cause. Because of his relationship with the Primus Pilus of that Legion, Porcinus had seen firsthand how angry and hurt it had made his father, who argued, unsuccessfully, that in the aftermath of Philippi, when the two victors had split the army into two parts, neither he nor any of the men, of any Legion, had been asked which side they preferred. No, Pullus argued, almost to the point where it cost him his
career, they had followed orders, and ended up on the other side of Our Sea, marching into Parthia. Even then, at the decisive battle of Actium, when the 10th had been designated as one of the Legions that would accompany the fleeing couple of Antonius and Cleopatra, the 10th had refused to board ship, and had marched for Augustus ever since. Titus Pullus had never really forgiven Augustus for what he viewed as this unwarranted punishment, but as Porcinus had since discovered, neither had Augustus forgiven Pullus. Which was why Porcinus was still sitting in the tent of the Primus Pilus and not with his family, enjoying his father's villa in Arelate. At least, that was the conclusion that Porcinus, with Diocles' help, had reached.

  But now, Augustus had taken very careful and painstaking steps to reduce the chances of any surprises wrought by a greedy Primus Pilus. At least, that was the assumption, because what had been a tradition in the Roman army was no longer observed. Promotions to the rank of Primus Pilus of a Legion were determined by one man, and one man only, and that was the Princeps, the first among “equals,” which was a term that a man only laughed at when he was alone and out of earshot of anyone else that might betray him. Now Maxentius had prodded the boil of the problem with the needle by raising the question that Porcinus suspected was foremost in every man's mind. Frontinus, shifting uncomfortably on his stool, just looked down at the floor, mumbling something that nobody could hear, but Porcinus assumed was some sort of words to the effect that Augustus' will would be done. Which was true enough, and there was a part of Porcinus that held out hope that it would be Frontinus who would receive the confirmation that his temporary assumption of the post would be permanent, because he was as suitable a candidate as anyone that Porcinus could think of. First and foremost, he was respected; although Porcinus didn't like to admit it, there had been some truth in the charge that, in the beginning anyway, he was too soft. That was due to the fact that Porcinus, like many young and inexperienced leaders, confused being liked with being respected. It was a lesson he learned quickly, but it was with some chagrin whenever he thought back to some of the early mistakes he made as Vettus' Optio, when the hard-bitten men of the First Century had seen him for what he truly was, a green-as-grass Optio who barely knew which end of the vitus to hold, and taken advantage of him, without any mercy. Frontinus was a striper, but not excessively so, and he was as tough as old boot leather. Because he commanded a Century of the First Cohort, he had twice the men of a normal Century, yet managed to keep his men in line, despite the fact that his Optio was considered one of the weakest, not just in his Cohort, but in the Legion. Porcinus had little to do with the man, but from his observation, it seemed that he suffered from the same malady that had afflicted Porcinus when he first assumed the role of second-in-command of the Century. He was earnest, and hard-working, and...soft. That, Porcinus mused, might be a mark against Frontinus, because he hadn't corrected the situation, despite the fact that the Optio had been in his post for more than six months. That was long enough to correct the issue, either by strengthening the spine of the Optio or replacing him. Although that seemed on the surface to be a detail that would hardly be likely to reach the ears of Augustus, Porcinus knew otherwise. Again, through his relationship with Pullus, he had learned that, as the saying went, when a sparrow fell in the Forum, Augustus knew about it before it had actually hit the ground. A detail like a weak Optio was exactly the kind of thing Augustus would know about, and was likely to use as a disqualification of Frontinus. Because, although he wouldn't say it aloud, Porcinus suspected that it was unlikely that the new Primus Pilus of the 8th Legion was even in the tent at this moment.

  No matter who dies in the armies of Rome, the Legions continue their work, and this death was no exception. Normally, with casualties so light, the army wouldn't have bothered to pause a day like they did after a larger battle where they suffered heavier losses. But because of Vettus, they spent the next day in place, and the funeral rites that sent Vettus, along with the half-dozen other unfortunates who had fallen to the afterlife, were carried out perfectly. The white bull, drugged to just the right amount so that it was docile, but could be led to the altar for sacrifice, gave itself to the gods with what the priests said was a willing spirit. Smoke from the seven pyres rose into the air, the sacred words intoned, and the ashes allowed to cool before being scooped up and placed in their urns. Vettus' remains went into a temporary urn, since the one that would be his permanent repository had yet to be created, then reverently deposited in a spot on the wagon belonging to the First Cohort. Meanwhile, the mounted scouts continued their aggressive patrolling, moving westward, deeper into Rhaetia, bringing back reports of armed bands whose tracks had been found, although they all seemed to be retreating back to the northwest, into Rhaetia itself. In reality, this meant that their rebellion was over, at least as far as any active attempt to seize more territory in their name. Despite this, none of the men, at least of Centurion rank, were under any illusion that this battle would be punishment enough, so when the orders were given to break camp, and to continue marching westward, nobody was surprised. Only slightly more of a surprise was that no word had come from the praetorium concerning the status of Frontinus and his role as Primus Pilus. Another of the long-standing traditions in the Roman army was that all leadership positions be filled before they resumed the march, after a battle. But this was a slightly different matter than deciding who would lead the Sixth Century of one of the Cohorts of the third line, so little mention was made of it.

  As far as Frontinus went, he performed the duties of the Primus Pilus, and relied on his Optio to run the Second Century. Unfortunately, especially for the men of the Second Century, the Optio's performance proved that the opinion held about him by most of the Pili Priores was justified, it very quickly becoming clear that keeping the men of the Second under control was beyond his capacities. As any experienced Centurion, or Optio, for that matter, could attest, whenever there was a sudden vacuum of leadership in the hierarchy of something like a Roman Legion Century, there would be men who sought to take advantage of that absence. The names of some of these men would be well known, not just to the Centurion and Optio in command of the Century, but their respective Pili Priores. These were the troublemakers, the malcontents, the shirkers and malingerers, of which every Century, Cohort, and Legion had a portion, some more than others. The one small saving grace was that, since these were men of the First Cohort, the relative scale of their particular perfidies was lesser than what might be found with the men of, for example, the Tenth Cohort. What negated that one small advantage was that these men were more competent in every way, and that included their ability to take advantage of a weak Optio. In the first three or four days on the march after Sebatum, the transgressions were minor; lagging a bit when summoned back on the march after a rest break, a hesitation when the Optio told one of these men to do something. But since the Optio was either unwilling or unable to take sterner measures, it wasn't long before these men decided to push the boundaries of acceptable behavior even farther. Normally, this was something that only faintly interested Porcinus; he had men like that in his own Cohort, and he understood the effort it took to keep these men under control.

  But as he pointed out to the other Pili Priores one evening in camp, when they had gathered in Fronto's tent, "Unless Frontinus gets a handle on his old Century, his chances of being confirmed as the permanent Primus Pilus will be seriously damaged."

  It was either in Fronto’s, or Porcinus' own tent that had become the informal meeting spot for the Pili Priores of the 8th, as it seemed every day brought new rumors or fresh speculation based on what a clerk attached to one of their Centuries had overheard when dropping off his daily report at the praetorium. Porcinus supposed that going strictly by hierarchy, it should be Volusenus' tent where they met, but he was such a disagreeable sort, and was famously stingy with his hospitality that it had devolved onto Fronto and Porcinus. Fairly soon, it just worked out that the meetings alternated between the two men's tents, whic
h neither of them minded, if for different reasons. For Fronto, it meant that his resources wouldn't be stretched by hosting the gathering every single night, because Centurions were nothing if not thirsty creatures. Not only did he have a wife and family to support, over the years and thanks to the largesse of all the bonuses and bounties paid to the men of the Legions, his wife had developed very expensive tastes. That meant anything he could do to reduce expenses was welcome. For Porcinus, it was based more in his ambivalence towards this political side to the Centurionate. Not only was he not normally inclined towards meddling with such things, he had observed enough of the sometimes horribly dangerous path that his father had to tread, in order to fulfill his ambition to become an equestrian. It certainly wasn't the expense; he was still coming to terms with the idea that he was an extremely wealthy man, and if he had known Fronto's situation and worries about money, he would have instantly offered to absorb the costs for every night's refreshment.

  "I told Frontinus that," Marcus Sabinus, the Quintus Pilus Prior spoke up. "But he said he was too busy with everything else to worry about whatever mess Paetinas is making."

  Servius Paetinas was the hapless Optio, and while Porcinus knew that Sabinus and Frontinus were friends, having come up through the ranks; he seemed to remember that it was in the 20th, one of Caesar's Legions, Porcinus didn't get any sense that Sabinus had gotten through to his friend. His belief was confirmed with what Sabinus said next.