Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "You've got your hands full, eh, Fibulus?" Lutatius laughed, but the other man had not yet gained his breath, and just glared at us.

  Before we reached the corner, he called out, his voice hoarser than I remember it being normally, "Oy, boys! Come give me a hand with this bitch! If you do, I'll let you have a ride!"

  Lutatius stopped and seemed to be considering it, but when I reminded him of why we were heading in that direction, he shook his head and responded, "No, sorry! You're on your own." Suddenly, he grinned again and shouted, "Hey! Over here! Fibulus found a woman who's too much to handle! He needs help!"

  We both were laughing as we rounded the corner, leaving him cursing us and every one of our ancestors.

  The fire was not contained, quickly spreading to a whole row of houses along one side of a street that led to the path that ringed the entire wall, but on the western side. Also, the wind that had been blowing steadily from the north had either died down, or more likely, we were more protected from it because of the surrounding hills. Why the wind was barely blowing does not really matter; what does is that, rather than disperse the smoke created by the now half-dozen burning houses, instead it seemed to just hang over the area, not moving. That was how I noticed the fire was actually in danger of getting out of control, because we still had not reached the common area that gave us a clear view to that end of the town. Instead, what I noticed was what, in the moment, I swore was a low-hanging cloud, except rather than being white or gray like a rain cloud, it was a glowing, lurid orange as it reflected the flames immediately beneath it. Lutatius noticed at roughly the same time, letting out a low whistle.

  "That looks like it's becoming a problem."

  This made us speed up and we began trotting, navigating the last three or four turns before reaching the southern end of the common ground, emerging from the cluster of houses in time to see men running in the direction of the fire. Between us and the blaze were the prisoners, now under guard by a full Century; only as I got closer did I see that it was in fact my former Century, the First of the Fourth. As far as the captives went, they were huddled in a huge cluster, seated on the ground, although they had not yet been chained. Despite the fact that we were marching in light order, without the tools or material needed to forge chains, I had already heard that the ironworking immunes were using the forges in the town, of which there were three, including the one we had searched, to make the proper number of chains. Since this was the first town we had come to that possessed anything close to the materials and ability to create manacles, the immunes were creating enough to replace the lengths of rope that were currently securing those we had already taken prisoners who had been brought within the walls themselves once the town was deemed secured. Neither did I see any bodies of old people, which told me Urso had either been too busy to give the order to cull them from the others, or Corvinus had found a way to dawdle in performing the task. Speaking of the Quartus Pilus Prior, while I kept my eye out for his coming and going to consult with Urso, I had also made sure to steer a wide berth from his area; frankly, I was not sure how I would react when I saw him and I did not want to run that risk, at least until the news of his former partnership with Urso was not so raw. Despite resolving to do so every time it happened, I still could not seem to govern my tongue, and I had no desire to have him after me as well. Thankfully, the circumstances made it easy for me to tell Lutatius we needed to hurry past, but while that was my intention, the gods had decreed otherwise, except the trouble did not come from Corvinus.

  "Oy, Pullus! Where the fuck are you going in such a hurry that you can't say hello to your oldest friends?"

  My chagrin was unfeigned as I stopped to answer Metellus, one of my friends from the First Section.

  "Sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't see you."

  "The fuck you didn't," he said, but I saw he was teasing. "Besides, what's the rush? You lucky bastards have the night off!"

  In answer, I pointed to where the fire was clearly blazing and just in the glance I gave in that direction, I clearly saw flames leaping above the rooftops of the buildings between where we were standing and the fire itself.

  "We're going to see if the Primus Pilus needs help putting that out," I told him.

  "He already called up the Fifth," Metellus answered. "They're already over there by now."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because the Primus Pilus and most of the other Pili Priores were standing right over there," he answered, pointing a short distance away, and I did see that Varo, Flaccus, and some of the other signiferi were gathered together, passing a wine skin around.

  "Oh," was all I could think to say, but before I could think of an excuse to leave, another of my friends, Bassus, spied me and called to me.

  Before I could leave, I was surrounded by Metellus, Bassus, and Dento, and as distracted as I was, it was nice to see them all in one piece. Naturally, they were all bemoaning their fate.

  "You and the rest of you lucky bastards in the First probably found all sorts of choice loot." Bassus said this accusingly, and I must confess I felt an impish urge.

  Grinning, I pulled my coin purse from where I kept it tucked up under my baltea and held it up, shaking it so they could hear the jingle of the coins in it.

  "Well," I admitted, "Lutatius and I did just find about a year's pay under a hearthstone." I paused for a moment before adding, "I mean, a year's pay apiece."

  As I hoped, this made them groan with envy, cursing my luck. Struck by an idea for more fun, I took a step so that I was in their midst, then held the coin purse above my head, stretching out to my full height as I said, "If one of you can jump up and get it, you can have it!"

  For the next few moments, the other men guarding the prisoners, and the prisoners themselves were treated to the sight of three fully armored Legionaries leaping up and down in a vain attempt to snatch the bag from my hand. By the time I decided enough was enough, Lutatius was bent over at the waist, laughing so hard he could not catch his breath. My trio of former comrades were not quite as amused, although by the time they gave up, even they were amused at the absurdity.

  "You big bastard," Metellus complained. "Do you have to remind us all the time you're the tallest fucking Roman alive?"

  "Yes," I said simply, which, as I hoped, made them laugh even more.

  Lutatius caught my eye, gesturing with his head, so I turned to excuse myself from my friends. I have often wondered that when I did so, had I spun about in the opposite direction, if things would have turned out differently. Because as I did, it was natural for me to also face in the direction of the assembled townspeople under guard. Only then did I realize I had been pointedly ignoring them, which in itself made me feel somewhat ashamed at what I viewed as a sign of weakness. I suppose that was why I took the time to look down at the miserable wretches sitting on the ground, most of them hugging their knees, or each other. My ability to see their faces clearly was also aided by the fact that, in just the short time we had stopped to talk, the flames to the northwest were growing higher, making them easier to see, although I did not make that connection then. Neither can I fathom the reason my eye fell on one prisoner in particular and I have often wondered if the gods had something to do with it, because when I did, I instantly recognized the small, upturned face. Except it was not an exact match for the one in my memory, yet even when they were huddled together just before I snatched one of them up, I recalled how much the brother and sister from the smithy resembled each other. I was looking down at the brother, but it was not the sight of him that disturbed me; rather, it was who was not with him that did. Scanning the faces around him, I saw one girl about the same age and I thought the same hair color, although it was impossible to tell by the dancing firelight. Pushing past my friends, who made no move to stop me but just observed me with open curiosity, I stepped in between the first few rows of the prisoners. All of them shrank back, some of them moaning in fear at my approach, just as they had at the first village. Ignoring
them, I only had eyes for one of their number, but she must have sensed my approach because she lifted her head from where she was resting it on her knees with her face turned downward, and when she did, I knew it was not the sister of the little boy. Still, just to make sure, I pulled her to her feet but unlike the other girl, this one moaned in obvious terror, her legs collapsing and refusing to support her weight and forcing me to lift her bodily with one hand, which was no chore. Even in the poor lighting, I could see that, while the shift she wore was more or less identical and filthy in its own right, it did not have the smeared bloodstains that had come from my arm when I had carried her out of the smithy. I am afraid I just dropped this girl, spinning around and stepping over the other prisoners.

  Pointing to the little boy, I demanded, "Where did his sister go?"

  Metellus stared at me with understandable puzzlement.

  "What are you talking about? Whose sister?"

  "That boy right there." I pointed, but when Metellus did not react as I hoped, I leaned over to snatch the boy off the ground, holding him up by the scruff of his little tunic where he hung there, whimpering in fear as he stared first at me, then Metellus. "This one." I cannot say I was gentle, although I did put him down more easily than I had the first girl. "I," then I pointed to Lutatius and corrected myself, "we found this boy, and his sister. She's about nine or ten."

  Suddenly, Metellus broke his gaze, looking away from me, and I felt the hard lump forming in my stomach. Still, he did not say anything, causing me to take a step closer to him and use my height and size to my advantage as I towered over him. Also, I was aware there was one other thing that was in my favor.

  "Metellus," I spoke softly, except it was without a hint of warmth or recognition of our past friendship. "Where's that girl? Who did you give her to?"

  "I…I promised I wouldn't say," he mumbled, causing me to take a step closer.

  This prompted Bassus, the oldest member of that section who had once been in the 14th, a tough, stringy piece of boot leather in his own right, to grab my arm. Rather than say anything, I turned and stared down at him; he was shorter than Metellus, but I saw that he interpreted the look I gave him correctly, letting go of my arm as if it had turned white hot. Which, I remember thinking, was close to the truth. Turning back to Metellus, only then did I reach out to put my hand on his shoulder. He was one of the veterans still wearing the hamata, and while to an outside observer I am sure they would have thought I was making a friendly gesture, it was anything but, which he understood, or more accurately, felt.

  "Do you remember Maxentius?" I asked him quietly.

  "I remember." I saw him swallow hard, but he still seemed determined to remain silent.

  "Metellus, I consider you a friend," I assured him, and I was grimly amused at the feeling of his body relaxing under my hand, which I could feel even through his armor. Continuing, I said, "And I don't have any desire to hurt you. But," I suddenly resumed squeezing, except I increased the pressure more than it had been before, the result of the hand strengthening exercises I had been performing since I was twelve years old, meaning that even with the hamata, he winced as I finished, "if you don't tell me who took that girl, what I did to Maxentius will be nothing compared to what I do to you."

  I wish I could say I was bluffing, that a man I considered not just a comrade but a friend would mean more to me than some barbarian girl on whom I had barely laid eyes. That would not be true, however. However what is accurate is, in most ways much more unpleasant, because although I would have refused to acknowledge it at the time, the reality is that this had very little to do with the girl and more to do with my loathing of Caecina. Whereas I had originally viewed him as little more than an annoying rock in my boot, somewhere in the intervening time, I had come to view him as the symbol of all that was wrong, both with my section and my Century. Granted, he was only as evil as he was allowed to be by our Primus Pilus, yet as much disdain as I held for Urso, I felt confident he would not approve of this if he was confronted by it. Ignore it, perhaps, but there is so much a Primus Pilus of a Legion must concern himself with that, as harsh as I was, and in some ways still am in my view of Urso, I find it hard to condemn him for choosing to look the other way at times. And, if the truth must be known and as I have come to learn, as much as a Centurion knows about the men in his Century, there is at least as much, if not more that he does not. Nor do I claim that Urso's attitude was, and is unique among Centurions of every grade.

  "It was your Sergeant, the one with the bad eye," he finally mumbled, gasping in relief when I relinquished my grip on his shoulder.

  "How long ago?" I asked him, and even I could hear the coldness in my voice, hoping it would be enough to convince Metellus to keep talking.

  "Not that long," he admitted, then shrugged and added, "Maybe a sixth part of a watch ago."

  "Which way did he head?" I demanded.

  Initially, I was surprised when he pointed not back in the direction from which he had come, but another.

  Indicating the southwest corner of the town, he told me, "He headed that way, and he took the first street that leads in the direction of the southern gate."

  I did not thank him, nor did I say anything at all. Wheeling about, I began striding in the way he had pointed. Hearing pounding footsteps I did not turn around when Lutatius reached my side, barely glancing at him when he reached my side.

  "Pullus, what are you going to do?"

  "I'm going to bring that girl back so she can take care of her brother," I told him.

  For the second time, someone grabbed my arm, but while slowing, I did not stop.

  "Pullus, by the gods!" he begged, and I sensed a desperate tone. "Don't do this! Caecina outranks you!"

  "Caecina is a fucking cunnus!" I snarled. "And he has no right…"

  "He has every right," Lutatius shot back and, for the first time, I heard real anger in his voice, which surprised me enough into stopping. "He's a Sergeant of a Legion of Rome," he continued, speaking more emphatically than I had ever heard from him before, "and these people are in rebellion! The Legate has ordered us to…"

  "The Legate." If not as angry at Lutatius, I was no less scornful. "Please don't tell me that you're telling me this because of the orders of the Legate. You could give a fart in a testudo for him, don't deny it!"

  "I don't deny it," Lutatius agreed, "but he is the Legate, in command of this army. And his orders are like they're engraved on a bronze tablet. Which means," he pointed a finger at me, "who's right and who's wrong doesn't fucking matter. Caecina is under the standard, and this Legion is carrying out the orders of the Legate. Which means that anyone who interferes with that is going to be fucked."

  That, I realized, was something I could not argue. Lutatius had the rights of it, in every particular. By confronting Caecina, I was exposing myself to any number of possible consequences, yet while the punishment might vary, when all things were considered, I would have been foolish to think I would have gotten off with just being put on a punishment detail and nothing else. Caecina, or Urso, for that matter, would not waste such an opportunity, and after all, I told myself, does it really matter that I save this little girl from being raped now? Because the harsh reality was that if I saved her from Caecina, I would not be around to save her from someone else; maybe the slaver, or one of his guards, or even another slave. In almost every particular, the best outcome I could hope for was that I delayed the inevitable in her case, and that in doing so, when I was punished, it would be lightly enough it did not leave my record ruined beyond repair, or my back from being striped. Yet, while this was mostly about Caecina, it was not the only reason. When I brought the little girl out of the smith's house and into the light of day, although I had pretended not to look down at her under my arm, I had done so, although I wish I had not. While her hair was a slightly different color and the tone of her skin just a bit darker, the way her hair naturally curled, and most damningly to my self-control, her eyes reminded me o
f my youngest sister Miriam. She was nine at that time, around the same age as this girl, and somehow, they became connected in my mind. Of all my siblings – my mother had three more children in the intervening time, but only two of them survived, Gaius and Septimus – I admit I am fondest of Miriam. If the truth were known, she is the favorite of all of her siblings, and while I am the oldest son and heir, I am not resentful that in many ways she is the most beloved of my parents as well. Such was not always the case, at least as far as I was concerned. Only after I read my Avus' account did I understand it is what my sister, who was named for the wife of my Avus and, most importantly to my mother, the woman who was my mother's mistress, confidante, and friend, represents to both of my parents. The original Miriam died before I was born, but I can say that her spirit is still alive, kept that way through my sister, and in the memories of my mother and my father. Despite the fact that I understood the connection my mother had with the original Miriam, I confess it had puzzled me when I saw my father become emotional whenever she was mentioned. As far as my Avus was concerned, I learned early on my questions about her made him extremely sad, although he would patiently answer them. Consequently, since making him unhappy was the worst thing I could do, I made sure never to bring her up in his presence. In truth, I was not aware my Avus had had another wife before Miriam, although in the case of Gisela, they were married in practice and not legally, nor that he had fathered two children, until I read about them in his account. As I think about it now, I suppose the link between my sister and this Varciani girl also tied back to the original Miriam and what she meant to my Avus.