Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  Like with the news of Draxo's body being missing, this seemed to be of secondary importance that night, as Caecina and I left Asinius still seated at his desk.

  All that needs to be said about Asinius' "little birds" was that the notes were truly sung. Before a full week had passed, we were summoned for a morning formation, where the Legate was standing with our Primus Pilus. Because Urso was standing next to the Legate, he was farther away from us than normal, but even from my spot, it was easy to see his ordeal had worn him down. Despite the fact that Urso was old; at least, so I thought of him at the time, something I find amusing now, he was not one of those men who put on weight in their middle years. Even so, it was clear to see he had actually lost weight, while the dark circles under his eyes were so pronounced that one might assume he had been in a brawl a couple of weeks before and the bruises were just healing. However, what was most apparent to me was the suppressed rage radiating from our Primus Pilus as he stood, rigidly at intente next to the man who had essentially made him destitute. As I stood watching, the thought crossed my mind that the fact the money he had lost was from illegal activities probably did not lessen the sense of outrage, and despite knowing it was impossible, I would have sworn that somehow Urso had managed to perfect leaning away from the Legate while maintaining his intente in a clear, physical repudiation of everything taking place. The Legate, on the other hand, appeared to be the happiest he had been in some time. While I cannot remember exactly the first part of what the Legate said, the essence of his pronouncement was that, after pondering the matter at length, he had decided to act in a magnanimous fashion, acknowledging that the Primus Pilus' actions, although against his orders, had stemmed from what he termed an "excess of fighting spirit," and not from any base motive like undermining the Legate's authority. Therefore, he announced, he was dropping the charges against the Primus Pilus, who would retain his command of the Legion. I know he said more than this, except the spontaneous roar of the men of the 8th as they gave their approbation to this decision drowned him out. In order to keep up appearances, I opened my mouth and raised my arms like everyone else, but I did not make a sound. As this was going on I kept my eyes on the Legate and Urso, so that it was impossible to miss the grim smile on the face of the Primus Pilus at this sign of loyalty to him, along with the flicker of alarm on that of the Legate for the same reason. What did you think would happen you fool, I wondered as I watched him cast a suddenly nervous glance at the Primus Pilus. I must admit, however, I did not really understand why the Legate appeared so uncomfortable; he had delivered what I was sure was the most potentially dangerous part of whatever he had to say, and the men had taken it at face value. Once the tumult died down and he resumed speaking, I quickly understood why he was so apprehensive, and these words of his I remember.

  Holding his hands up for silence, he finally got it, and he continued. "However," I saw the men directly across from me in the other Cohorts suddenly exchange uneasy glances, "this…episode has not just stained the honor of your Primus Pilus, but the Legion itself! Your conduct in the last several days has given me great concern about your loyalty to Rome!"

  He was at least smart enough to know that trying to continue after these words would be pointless as we shouted our angry denials of his charge, and this time, my voice was fully part of our demonstration. The Legate stood there, as immobile as a statue, yet he did not seem shaken or surprised. Perhaps this was what caused me to wonder why he did not appear distressed about enraging a Legion of hard-bitten men, but I still cannot really say why I was moved to actually turn my head to look behind me. If I had been in the middle of the formation, of course, what I would have seen were my comrades still shouting angrily, some of them shaking their fists in a further demonstration of their displeasure. Because of my position, however, I could see past the ranks of my Cohort to the far edge of the forum behind us, and what I saw there made me gasp in shock. Flaccus must have caught my movement of turning around because there was no way he could have heard my exclamation, so he followed my lead, also looking the same way. Seeing the same thing, he did something unusual. Breaking ranks, he moved quickly back down our formation, naturally attracting the attention of my comrades. Since this was still isolated to our Century and the rest of the Legion was still shouting, I did not hear Flaccus warning Asinius, stationed in his spot just to the left rear of the Century. Consequently, the noise did not subside all at once, but more in the manner of a runaway horse that is only slowly brought under control. As I could see, this was not just happening in my Century, although it was slightly different in the other Cohorts, where it was the rearmost Centuries who became aware it was no longer just the 8th Legion that was present for the humiliation of our Primus Pilus and the shaming of his men. Nevertheless, it was not the fact that unknown to us, what was clearly both the 13th and 15th Legions had assembled, nor was it the way they were arrayed, effectively surrounding the entire forum on three sides. No, what was both shocking and, frankly, frightening was that, unlike us, they were equipped for battle, in full armor. Tearing my gaze away from the sight behind me, I turned back to face the Legate, at last understanding why he had seemed so unperturbed. What was even more unsettling was seeing Urso standing there, clearly helpless to do anything to stop this naked show of power by the Legate. You did this, I thought bitterly. You brought us to this moment because of your greed and your arrogance. Although it took a few moments more, it finally became quiet again, deathly so this time as, almost against our will, the Legion turned its attention back to the Legate.

  "As I was saying," he continued, this time with a grim smile, "your conduct and behavior is cause for great concern." He paused again, while all the hostility and loathing I had been feeling for our Primus Pilus I started directing towards the Legate as I, and I am sure many of the others, understood he was deliberately tormenting us now. "However, just as I have taken into account the record of service of your Primus Pilus, so must I do the same for you men, if I am to be truly just." Another pause and, despite myself, I had to grudgingly admire how he was managing to rivet our attention to the point that I am reasonably sure most of us were holding our breath. "Therefore, I have decided to give you an opportunity to redeem yourselves and salvage the reputation and honor of this Legion."

  "This won't be good," I heard someone behind me mutter, but I doubt even he was ready for what came next.

  "As you certainly know by now, my justification for considering charges of dereliction against your Primus Pilus is based in the fact that, if he had carried out the orders I had given him, we would have been successful in ending the rebellion of both the Colapiani and the Varciani, who have decided to take advantage of the perfidy of the chieftain Draxo and join forces with him. By acting so precipitously," I admit to feeling a bit of smug amusement as I heard the muttering of men around me who were trying to determine the meaning of the large word he had used, "the Varciani were allowed to escape unpunished. Unfortunately, not just this Legion has failed; the scouts assigned to track the whereabouts of the Varciani have lost their trail, so their exact location is not known at this time. Additionally, I have received information that, while the Colapiani force you engaged was soundly defeated and their numbers vastly reduced, their chieftain Draxo escaped. Shortly before the scouts lost track of the Varciani, I received a report that he had been seen with them, with perhaps five hundred men wearing Colapiani colors." Pausing again, this time, at least, it seemed for the purpose of catching his breath since it did not last long. "Because of all that I have just explained, it is my decision to give the 8th the chance to redeem itself by marching out to find this band of barbarian rebel scum and crush them in a manner that leaves no doubt, to any tribe in Pannonia, the ultimate futility of rebelling against Rome!"

  I cannot say with any certainty, but I got the distinct impression he stopped this time because he expected the men to cheer his magnanimity by offering us this chance to kill for Rome, except what men like the Legate never seem
to grasp is that, in the back of all of our minds, especially with veterans, is the understanding that with the killing comes dying, or if one is fortunate, being wounded, but not so severely as to be crippled. Consequently, the forum remained as silent as it was when we realized we were surrounded by two fully armed Legions. Suddenly, the Legate did not appear as smugly confident, but I suppose he did his best to hide his consternation by resuming.

  "You will all be given the opportunity to redeem yourselves and restore my faith in you! You will march, immediately, into the lands of the Varciani, you will hunt down these rebels, and you will give them no quarter! There will be no prisoners made of combatants, and any civilians you come across are to be rounded up and put into chains! I have not yet decided how I will dispose of these prisoners; I may have them sold into slavery, or I may be merciful and release them, but only after the rebellion is crushed! However, if I do decide to sell them, you will not share in the proceeds as is customary! Consider this the price of your unruly and disobedient behavior of the last week!"

  At least, that time, he did not appear to expect any kind of reaction, and while men muttered and cursed, it was under their breath; I believe that collectively, we understood nothing would be accomplished by showing any more displeasure or outrage. Finished, he turned and said something to Urso, then making the same exaggerated motion I had observed before so that his paludamentum billowed out from behind him, he turned and marched back to the Praetorium.

  As he did so, I saw Urso take a deep breath, then announce, "You will receive your marching orders within the watch! You are dismissed! Centurions and Optios, attend to me in the Legion headquarters!"

  He did not wait to see if his orders were obeyed, instead turning and stalking off in the same direction as the Legate, presumably to undergo some more humiliation. It is hard to describe my feelings at this moment; I had wanted to see Urso brought down and humiliated, yet as it was happening before my eyes, I felt a tremendous sense of guilt, not least because of the overwhelming reaction of anger and grief shown on the behalf of our Primus Pilus by the rest of the men. At that moment, I forced myself to face a hard truth about my comrades. Although, just from the talk I heard around the streets, most of the men of the 8th were aware the Primus Pilus was involved in some sort of illicit activities, few of them knew the true extent of them. But, more importantly, and as I saw demonstrated in the forum over the last few days, even fewer men cared about what they did know. For the vast majority of the rankers of the 8th Legion, it was a simple proposition; their Primus Pilus was in many cases the only one they had ever known, and even I was forced to admit that, his personal business aside, he was worthy of the title of Primus Pilus. He pushed us, hard, yet no harder than he pushed himself and the Centurions, while in every way that mattered, he was devoted to us in the ranks. I cannot say this marked the moment when I decided to make peace within myself about my desire to see Urso brought down, but it certainly was the first time I considered accepting my situation as it was, and quit worrying about how it should have been. As I reminded myself, even Urso had acknowledged that my father, and by extension my Avus, were extraordinary men. And while he had never openly said as much, the times when the subject of my father had come up with Urso, he had seemed to understand that in most ways that count, my father was a better man than he was. Of course, I also realize I could be coloring this memory in shades the most pleasing to me. Nevertheless, this marked something of a turning point for me as it pertained to Urso, as I decided to accept things as they were. And, being frank, I quickly realized I had more pressing matters of a practical and immediate nature, like preparing to march. While I did not think it would be the next day – too much needed to be done in the way of drawing rations, and ensuring that each man was properly equipped, with his gear in proper working condition – I decided to act is if that was the case so that I would be ready. This gave me a lot of things to do and not much time in which to do it, making me so busy I could not dwell on the state of affairs. With that as a plan, I hurried to my hut, and my comrades were right beside me.

  "We march in two days' time," Asinius announced to us when he came to our hut after his meeting with the Primus Pilus. "But we'll be marching in light order, with no heavy baggage."

  Although this was not unexpected, it did present a practical problem that had to be faced, and that was in trying to protect those valuables that would be left behind. When a Legion travels in full campaign order, each Cohort has a wagon, in which the strongboxes of each man is carried; without the wagons, naturally, the strongboxes stay behind. However, the whole Legion was marching, meaning our area of the camp would be practically deserted, with only the provosts patrolling the streets. Consequently, this was the first question raised, but it turned out this had been anticipated.

  "The Primus Pilus checked, and this section is getting back Domitius and Didius tomorrow from the hospital, along with about another half-dozen men from the rest of the Century. The butcher told him that all but a handful will be out before another week passes. They'll be left behind to watch over our area."

  That appeased the men who were worried about this; I was not one of them, and I believe my lack of concern had to do with the fact that, even if the fifty gold denarii in my strongbox was stolen, I only had to go to a man in town who was holding some of the money from my Avus for me, and it would be replaced. Accordingly, the other items of value consisted of my small collection of books, and while I would be upset by the loss of them, they were replaceable. As I have gotten older and more aware of the world around me and how others live their lives, it is not lost on me how fortunate I am. Truthfully, the only irreplaceable item in my possession at that time was hanging around my neck and would be going with me: my Avus' identity disk that I had come to view as a powerful talisman; in fact, I still do.

  "We're carrying a week's rations, but that's all since it'll just be the mules coming with us," Asinius was continuing. "If we're out longer than that, we'll either forage for ourselves, or depending on where we are, have supplies brought to us from here. Which means you need to bring your sickles and baskets."

  I suspect he was not surprised at the muttered curses around the table, but he was unmoved by our grousing.

  "Last thing," he finished. "Be sure and grease your sagum, and the Primus Pilus has authorized the wearing of our bracae. I'm sure you've noticed the nights are getting colder now that we're near the end of the season."

  Pausing for a moment, he scanned his notes before snapping the tablet shut.

  "You know what to do," he finished, then immediately left us to continue passing the word.

  And we did, although I, for one, was thankful we had an extra day, especially on learning that Domitius would be out of the hospital the next day. We made ourselves busy, but there was not much conversation, at least then; I think we were still reeling from the sudden turn of events.

  Both Domitius and Didius returned the next day as Asinius had said, and we greeted both of them in our normal manner, teasing them for living the soft life and not having any duties. As one might expect, they were both pale, while Didius in particular moved very carefully, as if the slightest sudden motion caused him pain, which it probably did. Domitius, his upper chest bandaged heavily so the outline of it could be seen under his tunic, tried to be his normal cheerful self, but it was easy to tell he had been shaken by the experience of almost dying. Which, as I well knew, was completely understandable, especially when it is one's first serious wound. Quickly filling him in on all that he had missed, I could see that although he had exhibited much the same disgust I had concerning Urso's activities, he was as angry as the rest of the men about the shameful treatment of our Primus Pilus, and of us.

  "I hope the bastard chokes on that money," he said balefully. "Or," he brightened, "maybe he'll offer Livinius the money, Livinius will take it, and still make a stink about the Legate fucking his wife."

  "That," I had to agree with a laugh, "is a happy thought.
"

  "Bah," Lutatius, who was sitting on his bunk next to Domitius', "you know that won't happen. No," he finished scornfully, "the Legate will come out of this smelling as sweet as a rose. Those patricians always do."

  "Because they watch out for each other," Domitius pointed out. "And Livinius may be rich, but he's not really one of the upper class. So, when it comes down to it, who do you think the Princeps is going to believe, even if Livinius does take the money and then make a fuss? Or," without thinking, he tried to shrug, wrenching a hiss of pain from his lips, although he managed to finish, "even if Livinius refuses the money and still complains to Augustus."

  Lutatius did not reply, although I sensed him nodding his head, but I kept my eyes on Domitius, noticing the sudden sheen of sweat on his brow.

  "Still hurts?" I asked him, and he shot me a glance that seemed equal parts amused and scornful.

  "What do you think?" he muttered. He tried to raise his arm out from his side, but it only got about halfway up before he exhaled and let it drop back down. "That's as far as I can lift it." He turned to look up at where I was standing, and even if I had not known him well, it was easy to see the haunted look on his face. "What if that's as far as I can ever lift it again, Titus?"

  Sensing that he was looking for some sort of reassurance, I sat next to him on his bunk so I could look him in the eye more easily.

  "It's still early," I told him, "and your mobility is limited by that bandage more than you realize." But, although I wanted to give him hope, I did not feel right making light of it, so I warned him, "Titus, this is going to be more painful than the wound was. Getting your strength and movement back, I mean."

  I saw his throat suddenly bob up and down as he swallowed hard, considering what I had said.

  "But," he pointed to my own left arm, where the scabs were just beginning to slough off and the pink scar tissue reappearing, "you were able to do it, right? I mean, that happened at the ambush, and you were already holding a shield three weeks later!"