Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "Asinius?" Domitius' brow furrowed as he tried to place the name. "Isn't that the name of your old Sergeant?"

  "It's not only the same name, it's the same man," I replied.

  I am not sure why I expected it, but Domitius' reaction was not the same as mine had been, although I refrained from making an issue of his lack of enthusiasm, realizing to him that it was just a name and not a man whose qualities he knew. From the hospital, I returned to my area, my heart thudding heavily, wondering what awaited me. When I turned onto our Century street, I saw my old Sergeant, already wearing the tunic with the white stripe of an Optio, standing in the middle of the street, surrounded by what looked like at least half the Century. I approached slowly, not only because Asinius was busy answering questions and renewing acquaintances with those men who had once been in the Fourth like me, although in all of their cases, they had arrived long before I did. Once I reached what was the back of the small crowd, my height helped Asinius notice me, except when he turned to face me, he only gave a brief nod while he continued talking. I did not expect any more than that and was content to wait, but as I stood there, I surreptitiously examined the facial expressions and, more importantly, the postures of those who seemed the most enthusiastic in their welcome. Out of the corner of my eye, something attracted my attention, and when I glanced over, I saw that Caecina had sidled up to the knot of men on the opposite side from where I was standing, but unlike most of the others, he was not smiling at all. I was struck by the realization that I had seen Caecina frowning more in the last day than I had in my entire time in the First, and, I cannot lie; that made me feel better. Finally, the men seemed to be satisfied and began to disperse, while I stayed put. Caecina seemed intent on staying behind as well, but then, for the first time, he seemed to notice me standing there as the others melted away, which seemed to change his mind. Turning abruptly, he stalked off in the direction of our section tents, and once I saw him leaving, I turned to face Asinius. Suddenly, I was unsure how to behave; the thought we were out in the open prompted me to act formally, coming to intente and rendering a salute as he approached, which he returned as he eyed me up and down. I saw his gaze drop to my arm and the scabs, and he shook his head sadly.

  "It looks like I got here not a moment too soon." He did not crack a smile, and I sensed that, while his tone was light, he was also truly concerned. "Obviously, you can't manage to look after yourself."

  "I'm glad you're here," I said quietly, and I was being completely honest. "I need a friend."

  "I hope," he kept his bantering tone, yet I knew he was serious, "you don't think that means you're going to get out of the cac details."

  "I don't," I assured him, and I meant it. "I'd never ask you for special treatment."

  "I know," he granted, making me feel better. "And," he hesitated, "I'm glad I'm here as well. I know the Pilus Prior has been worried about you."

  "Because my father wrote to him," I burst out, the bitterness finally out in the open.

  "That's part of it," Asinius granted, then he added, "but Pilus Prior Corvinus isn't stupid. He's got eyes and ears, and he's here. He knows what's going on."

  This was a statement so loaded with meaning that I quickly understood that I could not possibly peel away all the layers at that moment.

  "Is Galens' promotion part of the deal?" I asked Asinius.

  He shrugged and admitted, "That I don't know for sure, but I suspect so. Although if anyone is ready to handle a First Cohort mob, it's Galens."

  That, I knew full well, was nothing but the truth. Then there was nothing more to say, and he dismissed me as an Optio would once he is finished talking to a ranker, and I departed the area, returning to my tent. The only small blessing, I thought at the time, was that Caecina was not in my tent.

  Before dawn the next day, the 8th Legion pulled up stakes and marched back to Siscia, arriving at the end of the day. Naturally, word of our return traveled ahead of us, and while the road between Siscia and the camp was not lined with people, there were still a fair number of family members. Because of my spot in the front rank, I got to see the unofficial wives and children of men when they were still hopeful, the faces of the children beaming with happiness at the thought of the return of their fathers. However, while the women looked hopeful, the anxiety of the moment as they waited to see the face of their loved one was clear to read. Frankly, I do not know which was worse; seeing their expressions or hearing the shrieks of anguish when they looked in the familiar spot of the formation and did not see a familiar face. Despite not having a family myself, I think my own experience as a child, and particularly that day when my father was not at the head of his Cohort on their return to Siscia, made me more sensitive to what these families were forced to endure. Because no man is allowed to marry, the army does not recognize widows, or orphans, for that matter; consequently, no provisions are made by Rome to care for the families of the fallen. That is completely up to the Legionary, and as I well knew, while most men felt a responsibility to their children, not as much to their women perhaps, not all of them were so disposed. The other wives do what they can to help out those whose man has fallen but who spent more of his earnings on whores, drinking and gambling than his own family, but there is only so much that can be done. Over the years, when I was growing up, I witnessed more than my share of small tragedies like this, where children I thought of as friends were suddenly forced out of their apartments because the rent had stopped coming from their father's pay. From there, it was usually not very long before they were begging in the streets of Siscia. Those were the nature of my thoughts as I heard the wailing and laments of women who had just discovered their men were possibly no longer alive. I tried to console myself with the idea that, with so many wounded, it was more likely the woman's man was just in one of the Legion wagons, or for the less seriously wounded, slung between a pair of mules.

  Unlike other occasions, we did not arrive with any of the normal fanfare and pomp to tell all who saw us about our victory, which was just another unusual aspect of this campaign. But what was the most unusual was the fact that, riding with us were the Tribunes, except that one of them had his hands bound in front of him, while his horse was being led by one of the others. My one regret about being at the front of this procession was that I was unable to see the reaction of the people when they saw a man they knew little about except that he was of the upper classes, being treated in this way. And seeing one of their betters bound and obviously under guard provides a rare opportunity that most of those of my class would not pass up. The fact that Paullus was brought back to Siscia in this manner was, as one might suspect, the talk of the ranks from the moment we assembled on what had been the forum of the camp, once we had pulled up our stakes and filled in the ditches and were preparing to march. As we neared home, I consoled myself with the fact I had at least gotten to see the haughty Tribune humiliated in this way, and if I am any judge of expressions, neither Claudius nor Sempronius was upset at one of their own being treated in this manner. Best of all, at least from my point of view, was the prominent black eye sported by the broad striper, although I did wonder what kind of consequences Claudius would suffer, especially if Paullus' father was as well connected as he claimed. And, I must admit as well that I was not sure how I felt about the ramifications of all that had transpired for Urso; while I believed that if he was punished, and harshly, it made my prospects easier, I also confess that despite wanting the Primus Pilus to fall in some way, I did not want it to be because he had fallen afoul of a Roman nobleman; I suppose that hit a little too closely to home. After all, the whole reason I was marching in the ranks was because of all that had transpired with my Avus who was punished, albeit posthumously, because he drew the attention and ire of our upper class. Make no mistake; I have no regrets over the circumstances that put me under the standard as a lowly Gregarius so that I could work my way up through the ranks and earn the post of Centurion the traditional way instead of buying it. Neverthele
ss, the thought of Urso suffering a similar fate left a bad taste in my mouth, at least in this case. However, as it turned out, the enmity of a Tribune was the least of his problems.

  Settling back in to our permanent quarters meant that, once more, our section would be under one roof, but the fact that we had more room for a period of time as our wounded recovered and before the dead men could be replaced did not ease the tension. Bestia had almost quit speaking altogether, sunk into a depression about Dentulus' death, only answering questions with short, one-word answers if possible, or even grunts and hand motions. Frankly, while I understood his feeling of sadness, I was mystified at its depths; from my viewpoint, Dentulus was a surly, taciturn man who rarely had a good word for anything or anyone, and was one of our section's doomsayers. In many ways, he reminded me of my former comrade Tubero, but I will say that Dentulus was a much better Legionary than Tubero, in every aspect of what that entails. Now, as I have matured, I can understand his grief better, but at the time, I was like most young men, I suppose; quick to recover physically and mentally from a tragic loss, and even faster to judge others when they did not behave in the same way I did. From a practical standpoint, it did make matters more difficult; because his spot was two bunks away from the door, and he sat at our table at that end, I did not feel comfortable escaping from my spot next to Caecina to go down to the opposite side of the hut. As far as our Sergeant went, he was certainly not his usual smiling self, part of which I put down to Mela's absence, although from what I observed, Geta had stepped in to fill the role of toady to Caecina, hanging on what he said, laughing at his jokes – all the things Mela had done previously. Thankfully, at least as far as I was concerned, Lutatius was fairly nearby, being in the third tier of bunks down from my new spot, so I could at least sit with him.

  Matters were further complicated when, our first full day back, at the morning formation, the Legate actually was present, looking anything but pleased at the sight of us back home. The suspicion of his unhappiness was confirmed when, after the formalities of the roll call were performed, he curtly announced there would be no training or work detail for us that day. This caused a spontaneous cheer to erupt as men began talking about how quickly they could get into town, which drowned out the other part of the Legate's message. Being forced to repeat himself made him even angrier, although our mood quickly matched his upon his announcement that we were confined to our Century areas for the entire day, nor given liberty of the town. Actually, the way he worded it, saying our restriction was "until further notice" made it even more severe. The scramble to find out the cause for this punishment began the instant we were dismissed to return to our area. The punishment, although relatively mild, was completely unexpected, especially considering we had just won a victory. Men who moved the quickest were those who had sources of information throughout the camp; for one man it was a clerk in the Praetorium who he bribed, for another, it was an old friend who was a Centurion and would likely know more. In my case, I felt confident that, because of my position in the First, I would be finding out soon enough without making an effort. Trudging back to the hut with Lutatius, I briefly thought about running to the hospital at least to let Domitius and the others know not to expect visitors, but dismissed it, thinking it would provide Caecina with an opportunity that he was not likely to pass up. And being caught outside of our area, after an authority no less than the Legate had issued the order, was the kind of offense that earns a man a striped back. Consoling myself with the thought they would hear soon enough why the hospital contained only patients and medici, I stayed with Lutatius as we made our way back to our hut. It was as we came to the intersection of the Via Praetoria and our Cohort street, taking us past the quarters of the Primus Pilus where we saw something not only unusual, but alarming.

  "Are those provosts?" Lutatius gasped, pointing to the pair of men standing outside the building.

  A small knot of our comrades who had been walking ahead of us were now standing on the other side of the street, and we could hear their muttered conversation when we were still a few paces away. Despite the fact that Caecina was one of them, I decided to stop and listen to what these men were saying. It was not until I examined the faces of the other men constituting this group that I experienced a stab of uneasiness; almost all of them were faces I recognized as being part of the group Urso had led to Topulcava. Consequently, once I heard that their whispered conversation was composed of only questions and speculation, I started to move along, but before I could get away cleanly, Caecina reached out and grabbed my arm. Unfortunately for both of us, it was the wrong one, and his hand clamped around the part of my forearm that was still the most tender, causing me to give a yelp of pain that was completely undignified. Inadvertently, I made matters worse by instinctively yanking my arm out of his grasp, meaning the volume of my voice raised to a level that reflected the bolt of agony.

  "Pluto's cock," Caecina gasped. "I'm sorry, Pullus! I didn't mean to grab your bad arm!"

  I glared at the man, sure that he had, in fact, meant to do that very thing, but when I saw his good eye dart over my shoulder to where the provosts were standing, I grudgingly realized he was being sincere, if only because my reaction had drawn the attention of the men standing guard outside Urso's quarters.

  "That's all right," I muttered, my teeth grinding together, although it was due as much to the pain as my anger. "What is it?"

  Caecina lowered his voice, but now I was aware that the attention of the other dozen men who had been huddled together was fixed on me, waiting to hear my answer as he asked, "What do you know about this? What's going on?"

  Although I suspected this was the reason he had stopped me, I was still somewhat bewildered that he would think I possessed some sort of knowledge, and I answered, "How should I know?"

  "Because we know you're cozy with our new Optio," Ausello, the man who had lost his comrade when we were assailed by the rock-throwing Colapiani, spoke up, his tone anything but friendly banter.

  "So?" I demanded, turning to look at Ausello right in the eye, happy to see that, like the other time we had clashed, he suddenly did not look quite as angry. "What does that have to do with anything? Asinius just got here," I pointed out.

  "But he comes from the Fourth," Caecina retorted, yet while the tone of his voice suggested this would have some sort of meaning to me, I did not see the connection, and I said as much. The instant after I responded, I noticed men exchanging uneasy glances, as even Caecina's manner suddenly became more uncertain. However, instead of continuing the questioning, he muttered, "This isn't the place for this. Everyone needs to get back home. You and I," he turned to me, "will finish this there."

  Caecina pointed to a spot on the bench, but when I refused to sit, his face reddened, and he snapped, "That's an order, Gregarius. Sit down!"

  "Or what?" I responded, trying very hard to sound as if this was a casual moment. "Are you going to tell the Optio? You know," I could not resist adding, "my first Sergeant and a man I trust with my life and the man you suspect me of being in some sort of conspiracy with? Is that who you're going to report me to?"

  I do not remember thinking it through, but somehow, I had decided to use Caecina's suspicion that there was some deeper connection to all that was happening with Asinius' arrival to my advantage.

  However, as I had been warned by Domitius on my first day, Caecina was dangerous because he was smart, and he demonstrated this fact by smiling at me as he said, "Who said anything about reporting you? You have to sleep sometime. And being forced to sleep with one eye open all the time is an exhausting business. After all," he joked grimly as he pointed to his milky eye, "I haven't gotten a good night's sleep since this happened."

  I swallowed the hard lump that had materialized in my throat, but I forced myself to sit down, thinking that he had just won this battle, yet I was determined to win the war.

  "Now, where were we?" he began, as if it was such a trivial matter that either of us could have
forgotten. Like an actor in a bad mummer show, he snapped his fingers in an exaggerated manner and exclaimed, "Ah, yes! We were talking about what you knew about why there are provosts outside the Primus Pilus' quarters."

  Even as I opened my mouth, I knew what I was about to say was a bad idea, but I was still stung by him outmaneuvering me and getting me to sit down while he stood over me in an unsubtle message.

  "No, we weren't," I countered. "Actually, you were blabbering something about the fact that our Optio came from the Fourth Cohort, as if that's the answer to the question you asked about what I knew."

  Caecina's smile, which had briefly returned, vanished as if it had never been there, and once more, I saw the true man emerge, his mouth twisting into an angry sneer as he glowered at me with a hatred no less potent because it only came from one eye.

  "All right," he snarled. "You're clearly the clever one. So, let's start there. You obviously think I'm so fucking stupid that I don't know that your precious Sergeant being made Optio is connected with what's going on with the Primus Pilus!" He bent down so that his face was inches from mine as he finished, "You think you're smarter than me, boy?"

  "No," I admitted.

  Startled, he jerked back upright; clearly, he had expected something other than that answer, which was why I had said it. I was determined not to give him responses that he expected, in order to keep him off-balance and uncertain, at least as much as I was able, although being completely honest, I was telling the truth; I did not think I was smarter than he was. But I did think I was his equal when it came to thinking quickly.

  "But, here's what I do know," I continued. "As clever as you are, ultimately, you're destined to fail. And I don't mean right now," I gestured at the both of us, "with this. But with everything."

  "Oh?" He laughed, but I could tell that it was forced. "Why do you think that is?"