Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul mwc-1

by R. W. Peake

  “If that's not the punishment rendered for Gregarius Atilius, then I'll return, and offer myself in his place for whatever punishment you deem fit as a substitute. Will you accept this?”

  In truth, I was asking if the mob would accept this, except it served no purpose to make this fact obvious, because as tenuous a grip as he may have had on the mob, he still could call it down on our heads if I pushed him too far. The look of relief was momentary, but it was enough to tell me that I had given us both a way out of the immediate situation. He nodded, so I offered my hand, which he took solemnly. This quieted the crowd, sensing that something important had just happened. After we shook, he turned to address the crowd in his tongue, of which I knew just enough to determine that he was relaying the essence of our agreement. As he explained, I turned to Vibius and motioned for him to come to me. Quietly I told him what was happening, and I saw the warring emotions cross his face, all at once. We were friends too long for me not to know exactly what he was thinking. He understood that having made such a bargain, I ensured that Atilius would be executed, and that he and his comrades would have to be the ones to do it, beating Atilius to death, but not before breaking every bone in his body.

  I will not describe in any detail the execution of Atilius, except to say that the sentence was carried out and that the men of his Century, including his oldest friends, as well as mine, did their duty. The one incident that I will describe happened the night before the sentence was carried out, when Vibius came to see me.

  “We’re going to bust Atilius out and help him get back to Hispania,” he announced without waiting to finish the cup of wine I had offered.

  Thunderstruck, I sat for a moment, unable to reply. I know why he told me; he was relying on our friendship and the years spent slogging about with Atilius, except Vibius underestimated the pull of my own ambition. When I was younger, I would be dictating to Diocles some high-flown drivel about how once I was promoted to Centurion, I had to become more politically astute since I was directly responsible for carrying out the policies not just of Caesar, but of Rome. But I am old now, and near the end of my string, so I no longer feel the burning passion within to put myself in the best possible light that I once did. The simple truth is that I would not allow this to happen because it would be a probably irreparable blot on my career. It was bad enough that it was one of my men, although sooner or later every Centurion is put in the same position. However, having a condemned man escape is a career killer. The fact that the would-be escapee was a long-time comrade, and was aided and abetted by my closest friend could very well mean that I would be walking the gauntlet in place of Atilius and that was simply not happening. That was not how I put it to Vibius, at least as far as my career was concerned, but I certainly did point out that a possible consequence of their actions was in me replacing Atilius. Once I put it like that the plan was quickly dropped, and we spent the rest of the evening in glum silence, drinking ourselves into a stupor to gird ourselves for the coming day.

  The execution of Atilius did have one positive effect; I no longer found myself plodding into town to pay off townspeople, since my men were on their best behavior from that point forward. There is nothing like witnessing the brutal death of another Legionary at the hands of his own comrades to sober a man up and convince him that good behavior is a wise course. None of my old tentmates were ever really the same after that, at least as far as I was concerned. The laughter around the fire was more muted; despite the fact that the boisterousness and cruel humor that is as much a staple of camp life as the bread we eat was not completely gone, it was not something that happened every day as in the past. The one benefit, if it can be called that, at least to me, was that it distracted Celer from his constant picking at me and I believe it was because the men felt some sympathy for what I was forced to do to Atilius. We had all been together a long time, almost every man in the Legion part of the dilectus now ten years ago, so all knew that Atilius had been a tentmate of mine. Despite thinking that I carried out my duties with a grim detachment, clearly those around me could see through the mask I wore and how much watching one of my oldest friends beaten to death by my other oldest friends tormented me. Celer was a lot of things but he was not stupid, and he evidently saw that his continual attacks on me had a high probability of backfiring at this point. He was patient as well; he would wait until the execution of Atilius was a more distant memory before picking up the offensive once again. For my part, I did not care what the reason was, I was just happy for the respite from having to pay attention to the whispers around the fire.

  Not everything in my life was bad; my professional trials aside, my life off duty became more interesting. It probably will not surprise you gentle reader, when I recount that it was during this period at Narbo that I took a woman, and that woman was Gisela. I could say that it was an accident, that it was just something that happened but that would be a lie, because I had been determined to make her mine a long time before, and I was happy to learn that she was as interested in me as I in her. I am not now, nor was I then, completely blind to the fact that there was a fair amount of self-interest in her receptiveness to my advances; I was climbing rapidly through the ranks, and as one of Caesar’s hand-picked men, I could provide for her comfort in a better manner than Calienus ever had. We never spoke of him, although I do not know why. Perhaps it had to do with the idea of arousing his spirit and not wanting to anger him if he saw that I had taken his woman, but I think that was more in Gisela’s mind than mine; she was always more superstitious than I was, and am. To help woo her, I bought a house that belonged to a Roman merchant that gambled his business away and was forced to return back to Rome, yet when I tried to present her with her very own slave, I thought she was going to scratch my eyes out. She absolutely refused to have any slave in the house, forcing me to hire a freedwoman and her husband, although the extra expense was worth the peace in the house. I spent perhaps three nights a week at the house; I was still too insecure in my control of the Cohort to spend more than that outside the camp. It was apparently enough, however; about four months after Gisela became my woman, she got pregnant, as my life suddenly changed in so many ways it was hard for me to comprehend. I was a Centurion, with a wife in all but name, I was about to be a father, and I was a still month shy of turning 27 years old. Vibius, while happy for the news that he was going to become a quasi-uncle, was clearly stung by the fact that I was now at the place in life that he longed to be, and had longed to be for almost ten years. One evening, sitting in my tent and playing idly at alea, I saw how melancholy he was, so I set down my wine cup and cleared my throat, which I have been told is the sure sign that I am about to broach a subject that I consider to be important, or potentially contentious. Vibius looked up from the board, one eyebrow arched as he clearly perceived something was afoot.

  As I sat trying to compose what I wanted to say, he said impatiently, “By the gods, Titus. Quit chewing on what you want to say like it’s a piece of gristle. I’ve known you too long, so out with it.”

  Very well, I thought. “Have you thought that it might be time to send for Juno, and go ahead and make her your woman?”

  I saw his face darken; this was a topic we had been over so many times that I could not count, and I held my hand up in a placating gesture. “Wait a moment, Vibius. Hear me out.”

  He gave a curt nod, but I could tell by the set of his mouth that I would have to summon an argument worthy of Cicero if I wanted to persuade him of what I was thinking. “I know why you don’t want to do so, Vibius and believe me, I understand and respect it. And you know how much I care for Juno; she’s been a friend of mine nearly as long as you have. But that’s what grieves me, because when you read me her letters, or at least the parts you don’t want to keep to yourself,” I grinned, and I was heartened to see that despite his initial displeasure, he grinned back, “she longs for you just as much as you long for her. What kind of friend would I be if that didn’t hurt me, for both of you
?”

  I could see that he at least was listening, so I plunged ahead.

  “Do you really think that any of your comrades are going to think less of Juno if you bring her here and begin to live like you’ve both always wanted? They know how much you love her, and they know what a good woman she is. She’s waited for you for ten years, Vibius. Her virtue is unquestioned, and all of our friends have the utmost respect for her. The fact that you wouldn’t be legally married isn’t going to diminish their respect for her.”

  Vibius sighed; it was clear that this was a subject that he thought about more than anything else in his life. “Titus,” he replied slowly, “I hear what you say, and in truth, I’ve been considering it more lately than I ever have before. I don’t know why; I think it has something to do with seeing you and Gisela.”

  He was not telling me anything I did not know, and I fought the urge to impatiently assure him that I knew exactly why he was feeling this way. I had to let Vibius go about this in his own way, or nothing would be accomplished. By the gods, I thought to myself, I must be growing up.

  “And I know that our friends wouldn’t look down at her in any way, but it’s not them that I worry about. It’s the men in the other Cohorts, and the officers. You hear how the Tribs and Legates talk about our women, and you know how some of them will go out of their way to take a Gregarius’ woman just to show that he can. If one of those slimy little bastards tried that with Juno, I’d end up just like Atilius.”

  Vibius was right, or at least partially so. The nobles, and indeed even some of the rankers, looked down their noses at women who joined themselves to a Legionary as little better than a whore, and while other Gregarii who might feel that way were wise enough to keep their mouths shut about it, officers had no such compunctions. At least, bad officers did not; I noticed over the years that the Tribunes and Legates who we respected the most returned it back, the one possible exception being Labienus, but he won and much is forgiven with a man like that. Nevertheless, I did not think that this would be the same for Juno, part of the reason being what I relayed to Vibius, but another part of it was because he was my friend. I must admit that it is a mark of my hubris that I believed that my reputation and authority would shield Vibius, but more importantly Juno, from any of the scorn and risk posed by predatory officers.

  Besides, I had formed a half-cooked plan that I was sure would solve more than one problem, and I sat forward, eager to launch my attack. “I understand all that Vibius, but I've got an idea that I think will put your mind at ease. What if,” I paused for a moment, for no other reason than to make him wait, his earlier expression of consternation replaced by an almost pathetic hope “you bring Juno, and she can move in with Gisela? They can live together, and look out for each other.”

  I am not sure what reaction I was expecting, but it was not what I got. Instead of showing any enthusiasm, Vibius’ eyebrow raised again, and I knew this expression intimately. It was the same look I got when I proposed that to save time we cut across a neighbor’s field that we always avoided because of the very large, very angry bull that claimed it as his domain. We were around eleven and twelve, so I felt that we had grown sufficiently strong and fast enough that getting past some tired old bull would not be much of a challenge, a sentiment that Vibius did not share. I only convinced him by taunting him to the point where his anger overruled his caution, and despite the fact we made it across unscathed, it was not without a mad dash and a dive over the stone wall, the bull’s breath literally blasting our heels as we dived over. A fact that he never let me forget, and I was half-expecting that damn bull to be brought up now. Thankfully, he remained back in that field in Hispania.

  “Have you talked to Gisela about this? I mean, is she all right with this idea?”

  Of course I had not talked to Gisela, so while I waved the question off and gave a snort of manly contempt, Vibius’ question ignited a little nagging fire in the back of my brain. “What does she have to do with it?” I demanded, and for a moment I was sure that Vibius’ eyebrow was going to reach new heights that neither of us had ever seen before. His open skepticism stung me, and I continued a bit more hotly than needed, “Gisela will do what I tell her to do. She’s my woman, and she lives in my house. Besides, she’ll love Juno the same way we do. How could she not?”

  I think that idea had more impact than anything else I said. As far as Vibius was concerned, Juno was as close to perfection as a mortal could be, and indeed, who could not grow to love her the way he did?

  “Well,” I could tell he was weakening, and I thought hurriedly for something to tip the scale, as he said slowly, “if she lived with Gisela, I think that’s the only way I could see this working. Still, I just don’t know.”

  It was then I was struck with the inspiration. “What if you could go back home to get her, visit your family and bring her back?”

  I knew I had convinced him, his other eyebrow shooting up to join the first in a look of surprise and joy. “You’d sign me a pass for that long? I mean Titus, it'd take at least a month.” “More like two,” I responded. “But you’ve earned it, and we’re sending men home on leave now anyway. In fact,” I tried to sound casual, “I was thinking that I might take some leave as well.”

  I had been thinking no such thing, and in truth, I was not sure that when it came down to it, I could afford to take the time away from the Cohort, what with Celer lurking around. However, if it convinced Vibius, I would at least consider it. I was pleased to see that my last remark tipped the scale, and Vibius and I spent the rest of the evening, the alea board forgotten, talking excitedly about finally going home.

  I planned on spending the next night at the house in town, except that I found that certain urgent matters suddenly cropped up that demanded my presence in camp, so I sent Zeno to let Gisela know that I would not be coming home that night. She took it well enough, as she did the next night, when other matters came up. On the third night, Zeno came back clearly flustered, apprehensive about relaying the message that Gisela gave him to deliver to me. On the fourth night, he staggered back, the blood barely dried from the cut on his head where a cup bounced off of it. It was then I realized two things; I was putting off talking to Gisela about the whole Juno idea, and that pregnant women are at least temporarily insane. This did not make going home any more attractive a proposition, yet I knew further delay would make things worse, and I will confess right here and now, walking up the street towards the house my heart was hammering in much the same manner as it did before I went smashing into a line of Gauls. The lamp was burning outside the door as always, but it was not the warming, welcoming sight to me that it was meant to be. In my state, it marked the entrance to Hades, and I spent several moments pacing outside the door, working up the nerve to go in.

  “Oh-oh, someone must be in some trouble. What did you do, Centurion?”

  Snapping my head around, I saw an older man, a Roman merchant from the look of him, grinning at me. For a moment, I felt an angry retort rise up, then it disappeared in a wave of sheepishness, and I found myself giving him a rueful grin. “I’ve been staying away a few nights.”

  “Ah, found another bed to warm, did you? Well, that may be a man’s right, but in my experience, women don’t tend to see it that way.” His reference to another woman was the first time it even occurred to me that this was a possibility that Gisela might consider, and if my heart were racing before, it was a mild trot compared to what it was doing now, my stomach now threatening to join in the mad dash. My dismay was plain for him to see, so he wrongly assumed that he had guessed right. “Well, in my experience Centurion, a gift is always the best way to smooth these things over. The shinier the better.”

  “She’s pregnant,” I said miserably, his face instantly changing to one of open sympathy, and even worse, pity.

  “Gerrae! Well, then I’m afraid that you’re in for it, Centurion. At least you wore your sword, but you might want to go back and get into full battle gear for th
is. Good luck.” He turned to continue on his way, but I plainly heard him mutter, “You’re going to need it.”

  It did not go well that night. Not only was I denied the right of the conjugal bed, I was denied the physical bed as well, banished instead to spend the night in the servants’ quarters, making them a bit nervous as you can imagine. I could have simply gone back to camp, yet for some reason, an instinct that I never felt before told me that it was important that I stay the night. I was right; in fact, I sent the freedman back to camp to inform the Primus Pilus and the Centurions of my Cohort that I was delayed by urgent business in town, and that Celer, as the next ranking Centurion, would take command of the Cohort until I returned. Although I was not happy with the idea of Celer running things, I reasoned that the amount of damage he could do in a day would be far less than the damage done to my relationship with the mother of my unborn child if I left the house. My instinct proved to be correct; in fact, the act of staying and not returning to camp had more impact on Gisela than any of my words did, since she knew not only of my devotion to the army, but my ongoing battle with Celer. The fact that I stayed to talk to her smoothed the waters more than any gift, and it was an important lesson for me in how to keep peace in my home. I decided that it was not a good idea to bring up the whole Juno question, given that I just made the peace, so when I did return to camp shortly before midday I now was faced with either avoiding Vibius, who was eagerly waiting to hear how things had gone, or lying to him. Fortunately, Celer did not get a chance to inflict much mischief in my absence, and I took over the Cohort to resume our day.

  My ongoing quandary about taking leave was also weighing on my mind, to the point that I did something that I very rarely did, even before going into battle, and consulted the camp priests, paying for a healthy white kid goat to be sacrificed in order to help me find a way that I could fulfill my promise to Vibius without having to worry about Celer undermining me behind my back. Vibius kept pressuring me to sign the pass; I had already submitted the proper paperwork to both the Primus Pilus and the duty Tribune, and his leave was approved at both levels. All that remained was for me to sign the pass, but Vibius was also expecting that I would be going with him. This was yet another subject I had not brought up with Gisela, so every passing day made me more anxious about the looming talk with my woman, who in my mind grew more and more insane, almost by the day. She was well into her fourth month of pregnancy, and I could not imagine what things would be like in another few months. Physically, she seemed to be thriving; I paid handsomely for the best midwife and practitioners I could find, not wanting the same fate that befell Calienus’ child to happen to mine. I will confess that it was not only concern for the baby; despite the fact I am not very superstitious, it just seemed to be a bad omen if she lost the baby, given Calienus’ fate. I suppose it is a good thing that we were such a veteran Legion at this point that much of the day-to-day routine ran itself, the habits of ten years being so ingrained to the point that the lowest ranking Gregarius knew what needed to be done. Training continued as always, the forced marches being cut to twice a month, although every so often the Primus Pilus would throw in another one on a day’s notice just to keep everyone on their toes. The discipline was the same, except that the pall of Atilius’ execution still hung over at least our Cohort, so the only problem Century I had was that of Longus, but I was beginning to figure out exactly what the real story was with his Century. He was using it as his very own source of income, and the way he exerted pressure on his men to pay him was in the use of punishments. Longus was always careful to send men up for punishment for offenses that only cost money or extra duties and not a flogging or worse, and I suspected that what he was doing was threatening his men with writing them up for a greater offense. Then, in exchange for a few coins, he would instead turn in a report that detailed a crime that was minor enough that we did not have to form up in punishment square to watch someone be flayed. He was smart, I will give him that; he was not flagrant about it. If one were to casually glance at the reports turned in by each Centurion, he was only one or two men above the average per month, but it was consistently so. After being in charge of the Cohort for a year, I was able to actually spot a pattern, yet at that moment it was just a matter of a nagging feeling that something was not right. All in all however, things were running smoothly, which was a good thing since I was very distracted with my personal troubles. With every passing day the worry I felt increased, as of course every day guaranteed that Vibius grew more impatient, while Gisela was likely to throw more than a cup at me.