Marching With Caesar-Pax Romana

by R. W. Peake

  "I'll leave at first light," was his only response, except when I reached for my coin purse, he waved it away. "You don't owe me a thing, Pullus. Gods know I owe your grandfather."

  "At least let me pay for the expenses of the trip," I argued.

  Finally, he relented, and I returned to camp feeling quite good about myself. When I stopped at Asinius' quarters, the door was opened by Capulo, but when I entered the Optio's private quarters, I could not keep my eyes from the empty bunk that had belonged to Flaccus.

  Clearly seeing my gaze, Capulo's voice was hoarse as he said, "It's hard to get used to the quiet. Flaccus was such a talkative bastard that now it's just…strange."

  I did not reply, but only because my throat had suddenly closed up. Asinius obviously heard us, because the door opened and he stood there, waving me inside. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw both Capulo and Titius staring at us, which prompted the Optio to give the kind of sigh better suited for the theater.

  "Fine," he grumbled, waving at them. "You might as well hear this too."

  When I saw Asinius' expression once we were all in his quarters, I was tempted to torment him, thinking if the roles were reversed, he would do the same. I did not, something I regret even now; I suppose I am just soft like that.

  "It's taken care of," was all I said.

  There was an explosion of sound that was impressive, even for such a small group of us, but seeing the genuine happiness of Capulo and Titius was the most eloquent demonstration that, no matter how it came about, Appius Asinius was a worthy successor to Tiburtinus and had become fully accepted as our Optio. Only Asinius did not seem exhilarated, although he was doing his best to smile and accept the hard slaps on his back with good grace.

  "What is it? What's wrong?" I asked.

  Sighing, Asinius said, "Now Atticus is saying he's reconsidered the amount of time he's giving me."

  Before he could say anything more, though, I cut him off, assuring him, "That's not a problem anymore. I can have the money day after tomorrow."

  His head shot up, but despite the fact the rest of us were grinning broadly, he still looked troubled. Not as hopeless as he had seemed a moment before perhaps, but he was still not reacting with the kind of joy or relief I thought appropriate.

  "Now what?" I asked crossly. "You still look as if you swallowed a turd! I thought you'd be happy!"

  "I am," he protested, but then shook his head. "I mean, I am, somewhat. It's just there's another…complication."

  "What now?" I groaned, thinking that perhaps the gods did not want us to be successful.

  "When I went to tell Atticus I agreed, he said that he gave me too much time to gather the money," he explained, but I waved this away.

  "I know, you said that," I replied impatiently, "but I told you it doesn't matter."

  "That's not all, though." Asinius looked thoroughly miserable. "The bastard told me he had just received word from my…competitor for the position," he used the word 'competitor' as an epithet, "and that he's raised his offer."

  Suddenly, I felt the need for support, so I reached out and grabbed the edge of the table, trying to brace myself for the worst.

  "How much more?"

  "Another thousand sesterces," he told me.

  The eyes of the others turned towards me except they misinterpreted when I sagged and leaned over onto the small table, thinking it was a sign of defeat.

  "That," I smiled up at Asinius, "isn't a problem."

  Once more, the small office shook with shouts of joy. Probably the most potent sign was when Asinius suddenly embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. It was the first time in our association he had shown me such affection and it is a memory I will always treasure, the day I was able to repay my first Sergeant back for helping me stay alive to that point.

  The other major event in the lives of the 8th Legion was the process we call "plumping up," as men were shifted about and the promotions that had been delayed while we waited for our permanent Primus Pilus were made. At the same time, the Legion prepared to receive a new influx of tiros who were supposed to arrive before the end of the year. Frankly, this process has more of an impact on the Cohorts other than the First because we draw exclusively from within the Legion. And, in his own way, Appius Asinius repaid what only he viewed as a debt to me by using our new Primus Pilus' unfamiliarity with the Legion, bringing into the First Section of the First Cohort Servius Metellus, one of my old comrades in the Fourth, along with Lucius Vatinius, although I do not think even he would have answered to that name by this time, having been given the nickname Bovinus before I even joined for his habit of always chewing on a blade of grass. In the ways that mattered, both men were formidable fighters in their own right, and before I arrived, Bovinus had been considered the strongest man in the Fourth Cohort. As I had learned the year before, he earned that title honestly, giving me more than my share of bumps and bruises when we sparred. Despite the fact that the assimilation of new men into the First runs more smoothly, that does not mean it happens without obstacles along the way. Since this was my first such experience in the First, I did not learn until later that this time was even more strained and fraught with tension than normal. In hindsight, I can see how inevitable it would be this was the case, because as we suspected our new Primus Pilus had brought a half-dozen men with him. This was bad enough, except as I quickly discovered I was not going to be immune to the turmoil.

  It started when Crito came to find me, which was unusual in itself, but while I did not have the same relationship with our Century and the Legion's chief clerk that I had with Lysander, I suppose I must have grown on him, because his agitation appeared genuine when he told me, "Primus Pilus Atticus summons you to meet with him immediately."

  At the time, we were in our hut, shuffling our sleeping arrangements where, using my newly found power, I had insisted that, though I had the bunk at the end right next to the stove, the customary spot for the section Sergeant, I insisted that Domitius and Metellus share the twin bunks to my left, with Avitus and Ventidius in the bunks to the right. And as I quickly discovered it was something that Ventidius did not seem to appreciate all that much, despite the honor I was doing them. In my defense, as skimpy as it may have been, it was the best I could arrange, given my position one step up from the lowest rung of the ladder.

  "I was comfortable in my spot," he protested, "and I finally have everything just right."

  It was not until he said this I recalled that of all of us, Ventidius was the fussiest and most particular, never quite satisfied with the cleanliness of the rest of us, grumbling frequently, usually under his breath, about the likelihood the rest of us had, in fact, actually been raised in a pig sty. Being frank, if I had to do it all over again, I would have relented and let him keep his spot, but I was extremely insecure about my position. And as I was about to learn when I accompanied Crito, I had good cause to be worried.

  The occasion of my first private meeting with the new Primus Pilus was memorable, even without what occurred during my audience with him and what I was forced to do afterward. Regardless of my feelings, I made sure that when I came to intente in front of his desk, snapping a salute and announcing myself in the prescribed manner, he could find no fault in anything I did. Being fair, he did not, nor did he behave as I expected by indulging in the game that I suppose is as old as the first army where ranks were assigned. Rather than ignore me while he pretended to read something – he actually did not even have the scroll opened at that point – he returned my salute. Then, in even more of a surprise, which only now do I recognize was his attempt to confuse me and get me off balance, he indicated the lone stool off to the side, pointing to where he wanted me to sit, directly across from him with the desk between us. I did as he directed and only then did he actually open the scroll that I was about to learn was the Legion's official record of my career, such as it was by that point.

  "Gregarius Titus Porcinianus Pullus," he intoned as he held the scroll at arm's len
gth, frowning at the tiny, cramped script that for all intents and purposes summed up my value to Rome.

  I think this was when the first warning alarm went off in my mind, but despite it, I could not stop myself from pointing out, "I'm actually the Sergeant of the First Section now, Primus Pilus. It looks like the clerks haven't made the proper amendment."

  "Oh, they did make the amendment," he replied, but while his tone was genial, the words he uttered next made me turn cold. "But I haven't endorsed it. And frankly," only then did he lower the scroll to look more closely at me, "I'm not inclined to do so."

  I was dimly aware of a gasping sound, hardly audible to me because of a sudden roaring sound in my ears and, for a horrific instant, I was sure I would either faint, or even worse, cry. Thanks to the gods and the inner voice that asked what my father would think of such a display, I did not.

  In fact, I was proud of myself that I managed to reply in what I believe was a cool tone, "May I ask why, Primus Pilus?"

  "No," he shot back, but then I saw a glimmer of a smile and I recognized he was toying with me, and probably testing me at the same time.

  "Very well." I managed to maintain the same tone. "I apologize for asking, Primus Pilus. It's just that I'd like to know what areas I'm deficient in so that I can correct them."

  I saw that, despite himself, he was impressed, and he confirmed as much. "That's a commendable attitude, Pullus. And it shows me that you're indeed made of the right stuff for promotion." The flicker of hope I felt lasted only long enough for him to continue. "Be that as it may, I'm still not likely to endorse this promotion. I think a more…experienced man would be a better fit."

  Over the years, I have been accused of possessing a pessimistic nature; in refutation, I would point to this event, because what I heard him say was enough to convince me that being demoted was not as much of a foregone conclusion as it may have seemed.

  "Primus Pilus," I began, choosing my words carefully, "I'll admit that I'm young. But, although I've only participated in two campaigns, I'll put my record up against any man in the Legion over these past two years."

  He did not reply immediately; instead, he seemed concerned with finding something contained in the scroll. Apparently finding it, I watched him read, then his eyes moved back as if he was re-reading the same passage.

  "That," he finally said, "is certainly in your favor. At least," he waved the scroll, "according to this. It says you were decorated by Nero Claudius Drusus personally?"

  "I was." I made no attempt to contain my pride. "It was one of the best moments of my life."

  I was being completely honest and it still ranks highly when I look back on the notable moments of my career.

  "I can imagine." He favored me with a slight smile as he leaned back in his chair, dropping the scroll on his desk. "I remember the first time I was decorated by Augustus himself."

  There is no way to know what is inside the mind of another man, but at that moment, I was convinced he was sending me a message; the intervening years and all that happened after this moment have only reinforced my belief. To this day, I believe he was letting me know that as high an honor as it was to be singled out by Drusus, ultimately, there is only one man of Rome who counts, and that is the divine Augustus. Rather than try and argue the point or make some other comment, I inclined my head in recognition of his superiority when it came to the honors bestowed upon us. I must confess I still recall the thought that ran through my mind at that moment: You're an old man and I'm just getting started, I boasted. Thankfully, I managed to keep that challenge confined to the interior of my mind.

  Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, he asked with what I believe was a deliberately offhand manner, "You and my Optio served together, true?"

  "Yes, sir," I replied, wondering where he was headed.

  "You know," his tone remained decidedly casual, but I felt certain it was contrived, "I had the same thought with your Optio. That there were more qualified men in the army than him."

  I did not miss his reference to the army and not the Legion, nor do I believe that he intended for me to do so. Which, I quickly understood, made perfect sense considering the other candidate for the post was from the Praetorian Guard. Given all that I know now I would not be surprised in the slightest if it was somehow learned there had never been another candidate. At the time, I would simply argue it was nevertheless an entirely plausible situation, meaning I would be as unsurprised if there had in fact been another man in the Praetorians.

  Unmindful of my internal musing he continued on, "But, as I found out, I was…mistaken as far as his qualifications. Once I reconsidered, I realized he's the best man for the job. He convinced me that this was the case." For the first time, he looked directly in my eyes, and his next words were as much a challenge as a question. "Can you convince me you're the best man for the job?"

  Under normal circumstances, this was a moment where I would have tried not to be the one to break the silence, but I quickly realized I really had no choice. Nevertheless, I surprised even myself.

  "How much?" I asked quietly.

  I was rewarded by the recognition I had caught my Primus Pilus by surprise, his jaw dropping in shock that I had not continued speaking in the same circumspect manner. The fact that his eyes started darting about the room, as if looking for hidden ears, gave me a sense of satisfaction.

  "Er…well." Suddenly, his earlier confidence and self-assurance were gone and it was all I could do to keep my lip from curling in contempt at this confirmation that my Primus Pilus was simply engaged in commerce. "I actually haven't given it much thought."

  Liar, I thought, grimly amused.

  Collecting himself, he finally blurted out, "I think two thousand sesterces would…convince me."

  "Done," I replied instantly.

  And in doing so, I exposed my family to danger; that, however, came later.

  Once the respective statuses of Asinius and me had been secured, only then did the training begin in earnest. The fact that in my own personal case I could go to Titius to demand a thousand sesterces drawn from my account, which from outward appearances bankrupted me, actually worked in my favor. The fact that I had to return to the plutocrat for the other thousand was not something anyone else needed to know. My Avus first uttered this truth; there are very few secrets in a Century, Cohort, and Legion, and my situation was no exception. And I will always believe that, while I know it was not his intention, Atticus actually smoothed my path as a Sergeant who had yet to see his nineteenth birthday. Only on the training ground, acting in my role as weapons instructor, did I feel completely confident, with the watches of time spent under the harsh and critical eye of my father reaping the dividends when, one by one, I vanquished every one of my comrades of the First Century. Even, I take great joy in pointing out, those men who Atticus had brought with him.

  Slowly but surely, the 8th Legion healed, from within, as Legions always do. Even with our skepticism about the actual fighting quality of those men who Atticus brought with him, it became apparent that no matter what their other qualities, he at least brought men who could fight. Despite the fact that it pains me in some ways to admit this, the truth is that none of those Atticus thrust into the First Century were unable to give a good accounting for themselves once they held a sword and shield. The winter was as harsh as predicted and, most importantly, came earlier than normal. This made full-scale training of the Legion difficult and the Centurions and Optios were pushed to the limits of their abilities with the new batch of Tirones who arrived in dribs and drabs over the winter months. I cannot deny the weeks after the time both Asinius and I paid Atticus, as I waited for Silva to return with the actual money needed to repay the plutocrat, seemed to drag on much more slowly than normal; fortunately the confidence that comes with being young helped me cope. At least, I did so better than Asinius who, from all appearances towards the end of our vigil, stopped eating and sleeping altogether. Actually, I took it as a mark of Asinius' integrit
y that despite the fact the plutocrat delivered the agreed-upon sum to Atticus as promised two days after the Optio's agreement to the terms, he did not allow himself to relax until the sum the plutocrat demanded as repayment had arrived in Siscia. But despite his relief, I was presented with a whole new set of problems.