Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  To that point, I had never enjoyed being the butt of a joke as much as I did then, if only because it got my comrades talking about other things and allowed me to escape further questions. Even so, I was acutely aware that, for once, Caecina was the only one not laughing.

  Thanks to traditions that dated back for gods know how many decades or centuries, I was able to move freely about the camp that day, as men visited friends in other Centuries and Cohorts, swapping stories and just enjoying being among the living. Nevertheless, I announced to the others I was going to the hospital, and actually walked in that direction. Except, instead of entering the tent where Domitius and the others were, I ducked behind it, but only after checking to see if Caecina, or anyone else, for that matter, were following. I did not see any signs, but the street around the forum, Praetorium, and Quaestorium almost looked like market day in Siscia, so I was not completely sure I was not being observed. Still, I moved quickly, circling back around on the opposite side of the Praetorium, heading to the Fourth's area. I was hoping to find Asinius first, but I did not see him; I assume that even then, he was either at the Quaestorium, drawing the necessary items that are part of an Optio's kit, or perhaps even meeting with Urso. My next hope was to see Optio Galens, but he was not around either. I did run into Metellus, and we greeted each other with a hug, both of us happy to see the other, although he frowned at my arm.

  "Last time I saw you, that was healing," he said accusingly, as if I had scraped it on purpose. "So what stupid thing did you go and do now?"

  I had to laugh; his chastisement came from concern, and it actually made me feel good to know that I still had men who cared about my well-being.

  "The usual," I admitted, prompting a snort from Metellus, but I changed the subject, asking, "Is the Pilus Prior around?"

  Metellus shrugged, saying, "I saw him go into his tent after morning formation, but not since, so he's probably there. Why?"

  "Oh, no reason," I lied, then taking the same approach of using a partial truth, I said, "We ran into each other last night, but that was before you boys got involved in the excitement."

  Metellus snorted again, reminding me this was a characteristic of his, and he replied, "I know you did! Remember I was there?" In fact, I had forgotten, but before I could say anything, he continued, "And 'excitement' is an understatement. Last night was the biggest mess I've ever seen." He shook his head, finishing, "I mean, Pullus, those bastards were everywhere."

  That confused me a bit, and I asked, "Are you talking about when you got to us? The First Century?"

  He shook his head. "No, that was nothing. We hit those bastards from the flank right enough, but they were already about to crack. Then, when Plancus came from behind, they ran. Or," he smiled grimly, "they tried to run. No, I'm talking about when we pushed on to help the rest of your Cohort and the others."

  That made more sense, although I did feel compelled to offer up a defense of my Cohort, telling him, "Well, the reason it was such a mess is because…"

  "I know," he interrupted. "I heard. That fucking Tribune." He suddenly gave me a speculative look. "What have you heard about that? Is that bastard going to be punished?"

  "How should I know?" I asked.

  "Because you're in the First of the First," he retorted, "and in the First Section, as I recall. That means you're standing right next to the Primus Pilus all the time."

  Suddenly, I was reminded that, of all the good qualities Servius Metellus possessed that made him a good Gregarius, he was not particularly gifted when it came to matters requiring a level of deep thinking. Still, I had no desire to seem mean-spirited with a man I considered a friend, especially at a time when I felt so isolated and with so few of them.

  "I've barely seen the Primus Pilus at all since yesterday," I told him honestly, "and I haven't heard much at all about that part of the fight."

  I could see he was disappointed, but he also clearly understood. We parted then, with one more hug and kisses on each cheek, then I resumed walking to the quarters of the Pilus Prior. Rapping against the board that is always hung outside the tents of our officers, instead of waiting for Lysander to answer, I pushed my way through the flap. The secretary was seated there, head bent over as he tallied something in a wax tablet, and when he looked up in irritation at the interruption, I saw the dark circles under his eyes, reminding me that every clerk in the Legion does double duty. Lysander worked in the hospital at night, then returned to his normal duties. When we are in garrison, either during the winter or when we are not out in the field, this was not a burden, but at times like this, these men, despite their lowly station, are vital to those of us who do the fighting. My ignoring normal procedure was based in the fact that, not only had I been a member of this Cohort just the year before, Lysander had been the Cohort clerk for as long as I could remember. Seeing me now, he sat back and sighed, frowning, but with the air of an indulgent uncle who was accustomed to the actions of an unruly nephew.

  "Titus," he shook his head, "I suppose I should have known that you would be the only one undisciplined enough to not wait for permission."

  I grinned at him, the same way I did when I was a child and had been caught trying to sneak past him to get into my father's office. And, as I suspected, he could not stay irritated.

  "Is he in?" I asked, but although he nodded, he held up a hand.

  "Titus," he warned, "he's not in a good mood. He's lost three men to promotion today, and now he's trying to decide who should go in their spots."

  "Well," I answered smugly, happy to show off that I possessed inside knowledge, "I know about Asinius. Who are the others?"

  His look of surprise made me feel very proud of myself, but Lysander had his own disclosure that I knew nothing about.

  "Well, one of them is Optio Galens," he told me.

  I do not know why that shocked me, but it did, and I asked him, "Where is he going?"

  "To the Sixth Century," he paused, clearly building the suspense as a form of revenge, "of the First Cohort."

  For the second time, I felt my mouth drop open, although this time, I managed to stand still and not stagger about.

  "That's," I thought carefully before finding the right word, "unusual, isn't it?"

  Lysander did not answer verbally, just shrugging as he looked up at me.

  Finally, he evidently realized I was not going anywhere because he sighed again, standing up as he said, "Wait here. I'll see if the Pilus Prior has time for you."

  The fact that Pilus Prior Corvinus not only agreed to see me, but waved to me to sit down instead of what would be normal behavior for a Gregarius seeking an audience with a Centurion, made me even more nervous.

  "Let me guess," he began the conversation. "You've heard who your new Optio is."

  "I have," I agreed, but when I opened my mouth to ask the question I had rehearsed, nothing came out. Finally, I just said, "It's…interesting."

  That actually caused Corvinus' mouth to turn upward slightly, and he granted, "That's certainly one way to put it. But that doesn't explain why you felt the need to come see me, does it?"

  "No," I admitted. Somewhere along the way, the question I had thought was so carefully crafted and planned on asking suddenly to capitalize on surprise seemed not only awkward, but one that would put Corvinus in a bad position. Consequently, I just asked, "Why?"

  "Why what?" he replied, one eyebrow raised, then he apparently decided to take pity on me, because instead of forcing me to articulate the reason, he continued, "Why does a new Optio who'd normally go into one of the junior Cohorts be assigned to the First of the First instead?"

  "Yes, that," I mumbled.

  Corvinus shrugged, looking down at the stylus he was spinning about in one hand, something unusual in itself; he was the type of man who usually looked others in the eye, no matter the circumstances.

  "Maybe," he broke the short silence, "Appius Asinius' record and reputation is so exemplary that our Primus Pilus saw he was the most qualifie
d."

  That, as I fully knew, was certainly the case, at least as far as it went. Appius Asinius was my first Sergeant, but more than anything, he was still one of the men who molded me into the Legionary I was then, and even more so, am now. Unlike the other men in the First Section in the Fourth, he had not participated in any of the normal games veterans play with tiros, although he never stopped the others from having their fun. Frankly, I am glad that he did not; as I learned very quickly, I was already working at a disadvantage with some men, simply because of to whom I was related. Not so much my father, who had been many of my comrades' Pilus Prior when they were tiros, but my Avus. As I had come to discover, having a legend as your grandfather creates a set of expectations, along with some biases and belief by some men that the accolades and praise I had received in my short time under the standard were a result of who I was related to, not what I had done. Sitting there with Corvinus, these thoughts were going through my mind, and I felt a slight sense of, if not shame, then discomfort that I had not simply accepted that Appius Asinius was the best man for the job of Optio of the First of the First. Corvinus seemed occupied with performing his trick with his stylus, spinning it about rapidly as it moved, seemingly on its own, across his fingers then back again towards his thumb. Taking that as my sign to leave, I stood up, and was about to thank him for his time and apologize for imposing on him while he was involved in such weighty matters, when his mouth opened.

  "Of course," he said casually, still looking down at the stylus, "there might be more to it than that."

  Which, naturally, made me sit back down, leaning forward as I studied his face. But Gnaeus Corvinus had a well-earned reputation as a gambler, and part of his success came from the fact that one could never determine his emotions or thoughts by his facial expressions.

  "Maybe," he continued, "Asinius being put in the First of the First is part of a deal I made with our Primus Pilus."

  Rather than enlightening me, I was more puzzled and asked him, "Deal? What kind of deal would you make with…?" That was when a horrible thought came to mind, my heart suddenly squeezed by the dread I felt as I gasped, "You're not going to start working for him, are you?"

  It was not until later that I felt any sense of achievement that I had not only clearly surprised my former Pilus Prior, it was enough of a shock that his stylus suddenly went spinning off his fingers to go skittering across his desk as he stared at me with an open mouth.

  "What?" he gasped, then a dark flush spread over his features, which I knew was a sign of his anger. "You think I'd make a deal like that with…him? You really don't know me that well?"

  I held my hands up in a placating gesture, the words tumbling out as I tried to assure him, "That's why I was so shocked! No! I know you wouldn't! It's just…" My voice trailed off, hoping that was enough to assuage him.

  He still looked disturbed, but he nodded, sending a surge of relief through me.

  "No." He shook his head, although his expression was still sour. "That's not the deal I made. But, it's…related to his other activities." He paused, as if he was considering something, then he asked me, "Did you notice anything…unusual about those Colapiani bastards we fought last night?"

  "A lot of them were wearing Roman armor," I replied, instantly understanding the question; it had been much on my mind since Domitius and I first noticed it.

  "Yes," he agreed. "And, how do you think that happened?"

  Frankly, I had no idea; despite thinking about it, I had not come up with anything that I thought was remotely likely. Now, because of the subject we were discussing, I felt a knot in my stomach that appeared so suddenly and was so strong the gasp wrenched from me was as much about the stab of pain in my gut as it was surprise.

  "Are you saying that Urso has been supplying the Colapiani?"

  "No." He shook his head. "Not supplying. Selling to them."

  "But," joining along with my stomach, my head began to ache as I struggled to make sense, "how? And, why?"

  "How? What happens to those hamata that the immunes have been exchanging for the segmentata over the last three years?"

  The truth was that it had never occurred to me to ask, but as I considered it, I replied, "I thought that they were just melted down to use for the segmentata."

  "So did I," Corvinus admitted. "But then, I got a visit from someone. Someone you know, actually. You remember Lucius Manius?"

  Indeed I did; he was an armorer Immune who had tried to gouge me when I needed a plate of my segmentata replaced, which had to be specially forged because of my larger size, back when I had been wounded the year before. But then Asinius had informed Manius of my identity, prompting the grizzled old bastard to refuse taking my money. As Asinius explained later, my father had managed to save Manius from retaliation from the brother of a man whose woman Manius had stolen. During the ensuing fight over the woman, Manius had not only defeated his rival for her affections, he had gelded the man in the process, forcing him to be cashiered from the Legion. Manius was marching in the Fourth at the time, and my father arranged for his transfer to serve as part of the contingent of Immunes that are permanently attached to the Quaestorium instead of the Legion. And, although this had happened before my time under the standard, it still had a direct impact on me because the brother of the gelded man turned out to be Gaius Maxentius. Maxentius had been making my life a misery from the day I showed up, yet I had no idea why he hated me so much until I learned the story. And since my father was retired, living in Arelate, I suppose Maxentius thought the next best thing was to torment me. Things, however, did not quite work out the way I am sure he intended.

  "Well, Manius' conscience started bothering him," Corvinus explained, "except he was on Urso's payroll, so he kept quiet about it."

  "But wait," I interjected. "I saw a couple hundred hamata, and probably as many helmets. And if they didn't get melted down, surely the fact we're still requisitioning so many iron sows would come to someone's attention, if not with the Legate's staff, then back in Rome once the reports are tallied."

  Corvinus seemed pleased, and he replied, "See, I knew there was a brain in there somewhere! But," he leaned his elbows on his desk, shaking his head in what seemed to be grudging admiration, "our Primus Pilus isn't stupid either. In fact, I have to say that he's quite brilliant in a lot of ways. It's just too bad that he's as crooked as a warped vitus." He paused for a moment, then posed a question. "Do you happen to know one of the sources of Colapiani wealth?"

  "Iron ore," I answered, instantly making the connection, then as I thought about it, one problem occurred to me. "But the iron still has to be extracted from it. I didn't think they could do that on their own."

  "Neither did I," Corvinus admitted. "And, apparently, a few years ago, they couldn't. But being exposed to us has paid off for them, at least in that way. I don't know any more than that, other than Manius assured me they can produce refined iron that's of acceptable quality."

  "So they're just trading Urso iron for the armor?" I asked, still puzzled.

  "Of course not." Corvinus laughed. "He's trading them armor for iron…and gold."

  That, I realized, explained why Draxo handed over a bag of gold coins that day, which had baffled me at the time, considering we were also dragging off some of their young men to join the auxiliaries, or at least had planned on it before we were assailed by a barrage of rocks. At the time, it seemed a bit much to think the Colapiani chieftain would be paying our Primus Pilus for the "privilege" of losing men who could become warriors under his command rather than for Rome. This information, I quickly realized, explained things.

  "Anyway, Manius had been in on it, but then when word came about the Colapiani rising up, he felt too guilty at the thought that all that armor was going to be protecting men who were going to be trying to kill us."

  While I found this all very enlightening, I still had more questions than answers, like how the mail shirts and helmets were transferred to the Colapiani; we had not carri
ed anything with us when we went to meet Draxo. However, that was not the most pressing issue on my mind.

  "That still doesn't explain how Asinius is my new Optio," I told Corvinus.

  "No, but it will explain why he is," Corvinus countered. "Because I approached the Primus Pilus with what I knew, but made it clear that my silence could be assured, provided a couple of conditions were met."

  That, I thought, was a very dangerous game to play with a man like Urso, yet I also recognized that, if anyone could take care of himself, it was my former Pilus Prior. However, I was still not satisfied about one thing.

  "Actually, that doesn't really explain why," I pointed out. "That's more 'how' it happened."

  For the first time, Corvinus looked acutely uncomfortable, shifting in his chair as he broke his gaze away.

  Finally, he said, "I made a promise," then fell silent again.

  "A promise?" I shook my head; this was making no sense. "I know that. You promised Urso to remain silent."

  "Not to him," Corvinus replied immediately. "To someone else."

  I think that was when it started to make sense, and I leaned back in my chair, taking a deep breath as my mind raced, although I felt certain I had my answer.

  "My father," I finally managed.

  Chapter 5

  Instead of returning immediately back to my area, I went instead back to the hospital, this time to actually visit. I longed to tell Domitius what was on my mind, but I was not willing to say anything when Mela was only two beds away. He had been wounded in the leg, but there was nothing wrong with his ears or mouth, and I just did not want to take the risk of being overheard. I cannot say I was good company, but Domitius and Avitus seemed to appreciate my presence. Nevertheless, I made my excuses as soon as I could, although I made sure to inform them of the change to our Century.