Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul mwc-1

by R. W. Peake

  Vibius shrugged as he threw his gear in the back before climbing into the back of the wagon. “Good as any, I suppose. Ready when you are, Pilus Prior.”

  I do not know why I was hoping for anything other than what I was getting, yet I was disappointed nonetheless. I only hoped that things would return to a semblance of normality at some point in the near future. Once he was settled in, I slapped the reins, beginning our journey back to the base as I idly wondered whether or not my nemesis Celer had returned and been making trouble for me after arranging his father’s affairs. Suddenly, it did not seem to be so important now.

  The trip back was a misery. Vibius was determined to make me feel as guilty as possible. While in the beginning he at least made a pretense of communicating with me, albeit always in an official tone, he finally dropped even that. By the end of the second day, we were reduced to using Gisela as our medium; I would ask Vibius a question, except it would be asked of Gisela. In turn Vibius would respond to Gisela, who would roll her eyes, but thankfully played along with the game. By the third day I grew tired of this and just stopped talking, at Vibius or to Gisela for that matter, my mood becoming so pervasive that they rarely spoke either. Consequently, it was a silent, sullen lot that traveled the roads back to the base. Our only relief came when we would stop for the night at some inn, where we could freely engage in conversation with strangers, and it was on the road back that we heard the first bits about what was happening in the wider world since we had been gone.

  “Caesar’s a plucked and boiled chicken, that’s what I say,” we overheard an olive oil merchant from Campania telling a younger man dressed as a knight, at an inn still a few days away from Narbo. “Cato has him by the short hairs, that’s for sure,” he continued, and both Vibius and I, our differences temporarily forgotten, exchanged a glance. I raised an eyebrow in a silent signal and Vibius nodded, getting up from our table to walk over to sit next to the merchant. This was something we had long since perfected; Vibius being a much less imposing figure than I was, people warmed up to him more easily.

  “Say you, friend. I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said genially, “what’s this business you speak of? What about Caesar?”

  The merchant looked Vibius up and down, both of us having changed into our only civilian outfits for the journey, but we were still wearing our boots and our belts, telling everyone that we were from the Legions.

  “Soldier, eh?”

  There was no malice in the merchant’s tone like we sometimes ran into, and Vibius, picking up on the lack of hostility, nodded. “Home on leave down to Astigi,” he told the man, “now returning to our base.”

  “What Legion are you with?” the young knight asked.

  “The 10th,” Vibius responded, and even from across the room I could hear the pride in his voice. The effect on the others was palpable; the 10th’s fame was now well-known throughout the Republic and the provinces.

  “Caesar’s favorites,” the merchant's tone was admiring. Then, he turned cautious, “Say, if I tell you what’s happening, you’re not going to take out Caesar’s troubles on us, are you? I mean, we’re just the messengers here.”

  Vibius laughed, “No chance of that, friend. What happens to Caesar is his trouble, not mine. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

  That was not exactly true, but it satisfied the two men at the table, and they filled Vibius in, either not knowing or not caring that there were two other sets of ears listening avidly to the news. The merchant was not exaggerating; Caesar was indeed in a tight spot. His old nemesis Cato had been a constant thorn in Caesar’s side for years, yet now the situation was becoming dangerous. Cato was working tirelessly to see that once Caesar’s term as governor of Gaul expired, he would be tried for a variety of crimes, most of them actions that we were involved in to one degree or another. Most troubling to the Legions was the charge of massacring the Usipetes and Tencteri those years ago, and despite not understanding exactly why we did it, I did not think it just to try to punish Caesar for it. There was a war going on for gods’ sakes, what did the fine gentlemen of the Senate expect? To forestall the prosecution, Caesar decided to run for Consul, and was working the system to ensure his election. The problem lay in the fact that the only way he could run for Consul was to give up command of his army to enter the city, yet the moment he did that he lost his imperium¸ and with it the immunity from prosecution. He attempted to have a measure passed in the Senate exempting him from this rule, but Cato and his allies blocked it. Now, just a few months away from the end of Caesar’s governorship, this was the situation he faced. A complicating factor was Pompey, the old war horse and the man who had been the First Man since Vibius and I were born, but whose primacy was being eclipsed by Caesar. Despite being bound by oath, and by the marriage of Pompey to Caesar’s daughter Julia, her death in childbirth cut the last real tie that bound the two together. Cato was continuously in Pompey’s ear, dripping all sorts of poison about Caesar into it, meaning the rift between the two was ever widening. This was the situation to which we were returning, and needless to say, it gave us a sense of urgency as we increased our pace back to the base the next morning.

  Arriving back at Narbo with a day to spare on our leave I put it to good use by finding a midwife for Gisela, and making other arrangements that she deemed necessary. She tolerated the trip very well, but I could see that she was tired and needed rest by the time we got back to base. The situation with Caesar had one salutary effect; Vibius and I began talking again, albeit only on political matters, but I hoped that it was a start to repairing our relationship. Even better for me was that Celer had only gotten back a couple days before us, giving him no time to make much mischief, and his toady Niger was useless without him. The Cohort ran smoothly under Priscus; I was happy to see that the punishment list was very short, Priscus having given his report in my quarters the moment he knew I had returned.

  “Excellent job, Priscus. Thank you.” He was standing in front of my desk in my quarters in camp.

  He shrugged, yet I could tell he was pleased. “Just doing my job Pilus Prior,” he said modestly.

  “That’s true, but it’s still good to know I don’t have to look over my shoulder when I leave you in charge.” We both laughed; he knew exactly what I meant.

  The Legion was buzzing with activity and gossip and we were assailed on a daily basis with news from Rome. One of the most difficult aspects was trying to separate fact from fiction; one day, the word spread through the camp that Caesar was arrested, and thrown from the Tarpeian Rock, causing a near-riot before the culprit who spread the rumor was found and flogged until he confessed that he made it up out of boredom. Then there was the word that Pompey had gathered his Legions and was marching on Caesar at Ravenna, where he decided to spend the winter, quickly followed by a counter-rumor that it was Caesar who was marching on Rome. That, as it turned out, was the truth. Caesar crossed the Rubicon with the 13th Legion, and was moving on Rome. And Gisela went into labor a week early.

  Chapter 14- Rubicon

  Looking back, it is difficult for me to clearly separate the events that took place over those next weeks. What I remember are bits and pieces of memories, flashes of conversations, so once again I will be relying on the Commentaries to provide a chronological order to the events that had such a huge impact, not only on me but on the fate of Rome itself. Essentially, as I mentioned before, Caesar was on the horns of a dilemma. Despite having managed, through Pompey’s efforts, to have a law enacted that allowed him to stand for a second Consulship in absentia, making it so that he did not have to surrender the imperium that came with his governorship, his enemies were not defeated, staying very busy hatching plots to destroy him. Also, Pompey changed the law concerning the interval between which a candidate could hold a city office such as Consul or Urban Praetor, and the beginning of a governorship of a province. What this meant in effect was that a man other than a Consul of the previous year could hold a governorship. In theory this
could help Caesar, except that two of his bitter opponents, Aemilius Paullus and Claudius Marcellus were elected Consul, whereupon they immediately put forward a motion to recall Caesar immediately, months before he could run for Consul. This would make Caesar a private citizen and strip him of his imperium and immunity, making it clear that his enemies, Cato being principal among them, would use that status to destroy Caesar. However, Caesar was not standing idly by, buying one of the Tribunes of the Plebs, a young rake named Curio who used the Tribunician veto to forestall Caesar’s recall. Meanwhile, negotiations were taking place to attempt a peaceful solution between Pompey and Caesar, with intermediaries coming and going between the two with proposals and counterproposals. Curio, whose alliance with Caesar was a secret at the time, put forward a proposal that garnered a great deal of support with the moderates; namely, that both Pompey and Caesar lay down the command of their respective armies at the same time. As promising as this may have been for a peaceful resolution, there were powerful men who wanted no such thing. Unsurprisingly Cato was the primary force behind those who opposed Curio’s proposal, and I place most of the blame for what happened on his shoulders. Even Vibius was uncomfortable with the developments engineered by Cato, although it was his actions that actually got Vibius and I talking again in a manner that was almost back to normal. I was visiting my old tentmates, where naturally the topic of conversation was the events in Rome, and more importantly to us, when Caesar would be calling us. To that point, only the 13th was with him, but orders had come to begin preparations to march, so I had been inspecting the Cohort’s readiness before stopping by.

  “So Pullus, what’s the latest? When do we move?” Scribonius asked as he worked on polishing his helmet.

  I shrugged. “I haven’t heard anything more than what I’ve already passed on, other than all the crazy rumors.”

  I remembered something. “Oh, I did hear that Pompey has summoned the Legions from Spain.”

  The 6th had been recalled from their service with Caesar some time before, an act that was certainly within Pompey’s rights, but it was also an ominous sign, along with Caesar surrendering the 15th, thereby reducing the forces at his disposal. Both Legions were now sitting in Italy, waiting for orders. Supposedly they were bound for an expedition to Parthia, but nobody believed that.

  “Well, I hope that prick Cato ends up on a cross, that’s all I can say,” declared Vellusius.

  Almost immediately all eyes darted over to Vibius, who was sitting silently in the corner, stuffing items into the pack that would be loaded on the Cohort baggage wagon. He did not answer at first, then seemed to notice the silence, and looking up to see all eyes on him, he shrugged. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I definitely think that he’s put Caesar into a no-win position, and I think he’s brought about the ruin of the Republic, even though I know that was the exact opposite he intended.”

  You could have heard a mouse fart; this was certainly not what we expected to hear from Vibius of all people, who had been a strong Catonian for years.

  “Hopefully a peaceful solution will still win out,” Scribonius said; he was always the peacemaker among my tentmates. He was a fierce fighter, yet he hated to see any kind of conflict between his friends. This time, his attempt was met with open disagreement from all of us.

  “Not likely,” Vibius shook his head. “I think things have gone too far, and honestly, I don’t think those boys in the Senate, Cato leading the way,” with that he glanced meaningfully at me, “want a peaceful solution. Between what Marcellus did in flogging that official from Novum Comum, and them spitting on the proposal for both sides to disarm, I say we’re marching in a month, maybe sooner. What do you say, Titus?”

  This was the first non-official exchange between Vibius and me since I kicked him out of bed back home, and I was smart enough to recognize the peace offering for what it was. I also knew it was no time to quibble about him calling me by my first name in front of others, no matter how old friends they may have been, also recognizing that this was his way of testing the waters. If I corrected him, our friendship would more than likely never be repaired. Still, even knowing that I hesitated for a fraction of a heartbeat, a part of my brain screaming at me to upbraid him for his lapse. I am glad I did not listen.

  “I think you’re right, Vibius,” I said quietly. “I think we’re going to war, sooner rather than later.”

  “I wonder what it’s like fighting our own?” Scribonius asked, and while at that point it was somewhat of a rhetorical question, I know that it was a topic that filled my mind. It comforted me to know that I was not the only one who was thinking such thoughts.

  “We’ll at least know what they’re going to do, not like those fucking Gauls,” Didius spoke for the first time from his spot, lounging on his bed closest to the fire. I still did not like Didius much, and I had my doubts about how reliable he would be in a really hard fight, but like it or not, he was one of us, my longest and best companions, no matter how high up the ranks I climbed. Besides, what he said was true, and there was a chorus of agreement from the rest of us.

  “Still,” Scribonius insisted, “it’s going to be strange looking over the shield and seeing another Roman doing the same thing.”

  “I just hope it’s nobody we know,” Vellusius replied, and that sentiment touched the nub of what was bothering us all. It was bad enough that we would most likely be facing our own kind, but the thought that we might have to fight and kill someone with whom we sweat and bled was what kept us up at night. With that last comment, I excused myself and left their quarters. I had gone only a few paces when I heard Vibius call my name, so I turned and waited for him to come to me, where we stood for a moment, neither of us speaking. I was not sure what was on his mind and did not feel right saying anything first, mainly out of foolish pride, which was probably what kept him rooted there.

  Finally, he blurted, “Look, Titus. I just wanted to thank you for giving me the boot in the ass back home. I was………”

  I stopped him there. “No apology necessary, Vibius. You’d have done the same for me. And,” I added with a grin, “I’d have been mightily pissed at you for probably longer than you’ve been at me.” I gave him a friendly push, and laughed, “Although I would have kicked your ass.”

  “In your dreams,” he snorted. “You’re strong, but you’re slow as an ox. I,” he drew himself up to his full height of five feet four inches, “am lightning. You never know where I'll strike.”

  Now it was my turn to snort in derision. “I seem to remember catching that lightning a time or two.”

  “A blind dog'll find a bone every now and then,” he retorted, and our bickering continued all the way back to my quarters, lasting through a jug of wine.

  Events were gaining momentum; after crossing the Rubicon, Caesar invested Ariminum, Pisarum and a number of other towns, all without any violence. Despite, or perhaps because the Senate was against Caesar, the people were solidly behind him, and it was the citizens of the towns who forced the Senatorial garrisons to surrender. Some of the fine gentlemen commanding the garrisons remained true to the cause of the Senate, but an equally large, if not larger number came over to Caesar’s side at the first opportunity. The 12th was summoned, joining Caesar when he moved into what was supposedly the heart of Pompeian territory, his home province of Picenum. Even there, the people were either solidly behind Caesar, or so half-hearted in their support of Pompey that Caesar encountered no real opposition. It was not until Caesar, with some Cohorts of the 13th, and reinforced by the 12th, reached Corfinium that he met anything that could be called resistance. Domitius Ahenobarbus, one of his bitterest opponents commanded what amounted to three full Legions, 3 °Cohorts of men, but they were all raw tirones, and there was no doubt that our boys would slaughter them. However, Ahenobarbus’ hatred of Caesar blinded him to this military reality, so he made preparations to defend Corfinium. By this time the 8th, along with a total of 22 Cohorts of the levies that Caesar raised
to protect The Province to defend from Lucterius’ thrust during the rebellion of Vercingetorix, also joined Caesar and the army, and with this force he invested Corfinium. Before the encirclement was complete, a final message from Pompey reached Ahenobarbus that let him know that he was on his own, that Pompey considered what he was doing foolish in the extreme and that he had no intention of risking the two veteran Legions closest to hand, the 1st and 3rd in a risky gambit to relieve the town. Ahenobarbus, now that he was forced to face the fact that his cause was futile, apparently began planning for his own escape, despite telling the boys in his army that all was well and help was on the way. His men got wind of the truth, consequently sending their own envoys to Caesar so that just seven days after Caesar arrived, Corfinium fell without a fight. It was at Corfinium that I believe Caesar made one of his greatest errors, although I say this with the unerring accuracy of vision supplied by hindsight. There were more than 50 men of the Senate and equestrian order who were in Corfinium, almost all of them staunch Pompeians, yet Caesar not only let them all go free, he also did nothing to Ahenobarbus, a man who was one of his bitterest enemies for more than ten years. Caesar also returned the pay chest of 6,000,000 sesterces that was there to pay the troops, in a sign that he was not after pursuing wealth but only wanted to assert his rights as a Roman citizen. His clemency certainly helped to win the populace over to his side, although I can tell you that it was not very popular with the Legions, particular his very strict orders against looting, even if I for one could see the sense of that. Caesar might be able to beat the combined forces of the “good men”, but he could not beat both them and the ill-will of the people. There is nothing quite like having all your possessions taken then seeing your wife and daughter raped to give a man a bitter feeling towards someone. Nevertheless, his generosity and clemency was a case of casting pearls before swine, particularly with the likes of Ahenobarbus, who swore an oath that he would not oppose Caesar, but immediately broke it the moment he was a mile down the road. I cannot help but wonder if Caesar had been a little more bloody-minded, particularly with the men like Ahenobarbus, if things would have turned out differently.