Marching With Caesar-Civil War

by R. W. Peake

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  This is where things stood in mid-summer, when Octavian staged the traditional Victory Games for Apollo, held in the month that is now named for Caesar. A singularly peculiar event occurred during the games that further enhanced the popular belief that Caesar had become a god, indirectly benefiting Octavian as well. While the games were going on, for all seven days, a star bright enough to appear in the daytime appeared in the northern sky, low on the horizon but supposedly clearly visible at all times. It was widely believed that this was nothing less than the sight of Caesar’s soul being accepted by the rest of the gods to become a god himself. I must say that, while I am normally an extremely skeptical person, I found it hard to ascribe any other meaning to this sign, because too many people saw it for it to have been the work of Octavian’s agents. Even Scribonius, normally even more of a skeptic than I, was at a loss to explain it. I am not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere in the progress of the games, Octavian produced the chair that Caesar had used to preside over the Senate. The chair itself had been gilded, along with the white ribbon diadem offered to Caesar three times by Antonius during the Lupercalia, which Caesar had refused. Octavian ordered both to be set up in the Forum as a tribute to his adopted father. Antonius, using his authority as one of the Consuls, refused to allow this to be done, which was hugely unpopular with the people, but he did not budge. Then, on the last day of the games, Octavian ordered that a statue of Caesar, with a star above his head to denote his status as a god, be erected in Caesar’s temple of Venus Genetrix, the temple that Scribonius and I had visited shortly before its consecration. This drove Antonius into an apoplexy of rage, as he launched into an attack so vitriolic that some of his own Tribunes, commanders of his personal bodyguard no less, remonstrated with him about the harshness of his language towards Octavian. From all indications, this was the first that Antonius learned of the tremendous sympathy his own veterans held for Octavian, which shocked him to his core. Immediately recognizing that he could not afford to offend and alienate men whose strong right arms he needed to achieve his aims, he claimed that he wanted nothing more than to come to some sort of reconciliation with Octavian. All he wanted, Antonius claimed, was to be treated with the respect he felt that he had earned. It was agreed that Antonius and Octavian would meet on the steps of the Capital to make a public show of reconciliation, yet when Antonius made his way there, he was in for another shock. As Octavian approached from the opposite end, Antonius saw that he was surrounded in a protective cordon by Caesar’s veterans, recognizing a good number of them as men Antonius had enlisted on his trip through Campania. His own men were sending a signal to Antonius that, though they might march for him, their hearts were with the young Caesar, for that is how they thought of him. Even if Antonius had planned on doing Octavian any harm, it had to be clear to him that not only would Octavian’s supporters come to the young man’s defense, in all likelihood so would Antonius’ men as well. There was once more a public show of amity between the two, but the veterans were still not willing to trust Antonius, so after the meeting, they escorted Octavian back to his house. This show of support for Octavian by men who were in the employ of Antonius greatly angered the Consul, and I have to believe that it was this fact that led Antonius to accuse Octavian of plotting to kill him, using members of Antonius’ own bodyguard. This accusation understandably caused a huge uproar, and in the interest of living however much longer the gods have deemed for me, I will remain silent on this subject, allowing you, gentle reader, to draw your own conclusions. Suffice it to say that none of this helped to soothe public fears that another civil war was not looming on the horizon.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  In our part of the world, on the other side of the mountains separating Hispania from Gaul and more importantly Rome, the men of the 10th were at least looking and acting like a Legion, though only the drawing and shedding of blood would determine if they were truly Legionaries. Pollio was off chasing Sextus Pompey around the hills, but much to our disgust and discomfort, Marcus Lepidus had returned, making a thorough nuisance of himself. The actions of this puffed-up piece of cac led to the first great crisis with the new 10th. Naturally, daily inspections became part of our routine, which meant that the punishment list was correspondingly long. At first, we managed to restrict the punishments to extra duties or monetary fines, although taking money from men who had yet to receive their first allotment of pay was an administrative nightmare that had every Centurion, or more accurately, their clerks cursing Marcus Lepidus. However, fairly quickly this was no longer enough for our general, as I found myself summoned to headquarters to face the little man, who looked even smaller seated behind the large desk of the commanding general. Standing before him, I wondered why Pollio, who was not that much larger than Lepidus, looked as if he belonged behind that desk while our current commanding general looked very much like a child who has sneaked into his father’s office and is playing at being paterfamilias.

  “Primus Pilus, I have summoned you here in hopes that you can explain to me exactly why you are intent on disobeying me,” Lepidus began, trying to look severe, but only managing to look petulant.

  Reacting more to the tone than the words, I immediately stiffened to intente, adopting the vacant stare and clipped tone of the perfectly correct Centurion addressing a superior who he loathed. “I'm sorry, General, but I confess that I'm at a loss as to the General’s meaning. Perhaps if the General could explain what he's referring to I could be more helpful.”

  Lepidus gave a theatrical sigh as he rolled his eyes at one of his toadies who was standing next to the desk, smirking at me.

  Despite knowing that this was all a huge game, I felt my stomach tighten in anger, yet things were about to get worse. “Such is my lot in life that I'm surrounded by imbeciles and idiots,” Lepidus said. I had to fight back a laugh at the sight of the toady’s face when he realized that Lepidus was referring to him just as much as me. “What I'm referring to, Primus Pilus,” Lepidus continued with exaggerated patience, “is after more than a week of inspections, I have yet to see one good flogging, despite having a list as long as you are tall of men who have been found in gross violation of the standards of the army of Rome.”

  For a moment, I considered pointing out that a coat of varnish having a speck of dust on it was hardly a gross violation of anything, but I knew that it would do no good.

  Besides, my mind was busy dealing with something else he had said, once again the evil numen that makes me say things that are better left unspoken taking over my tongue. “Sorry, sir, but I'm confused at your reference to a ‘good flogging’. I don’t think any man who's been flogged would refer to it as good. Sir.”

  I heard a sharp cough. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the toady looking at the floor, clearly trying to suppress a laugh, and I thought that perhaps I had found an unlikely ally.

  After all, Lepidus had called him either an imbecile or an idiot, I was not sure which. Lepidus, on the other hand, was not amused at all. “Perhaps if you took your duties a little more seriously instead of thinking of clever things to say, the men would not need as much of a flogging as they obviously do,” he snapped.

  Now it was my turn to get angry. “If the General is unhappy with my performance, he's free to relieve me at his earliest convenience,” I said coolly.

  “Don’t think I wouldn’t,” he shot back, but we both knew he was lying.

  Perhaps it is boastful of me to say so, but my reputation in the army was such that if Lepidus tried to relieve me, it would bring about too many questions that he would not want to answer. Every governor is corrupt, but Lepidus was even more corrupt than most of the men sent by Rome. Despite his overall stupidity, he was smart enough to know that taking an action as drastic as relieving the Primus Pilus would draw unwanted attention. Further, he had to know that I could be counted on to point those asking the questions in the right direction. He sat there glaring at me as I stood staring at a point high
above his head, neither of us saying a word for several moments.

  Finally, Lepidus cleared his throat as he looked down at some papers on his desk. “Yes, well, I don't believe it needs to come to that anyway. All that needs to happen, Primus Pilus, is that some men are flogged. That's not too much to ask, is it?” he gave me a grimace that I supposed passed for his smile, and it was all I could do to keep from gaping at him in open amazement.

  Then, something clicked in my head, as I understood what was really taking place. Marcus Lepidus wanted to see men flogged, not for any other reason than he got some sort of satisfaction from the sight.

  “Very well, General, it will be as you command. I'll make sure that you'll see some . . . good floggings, but I do have one request.”

  Lepidus’ expression changed, and he sat back, his fingertips pressed together as he looked at me with unconcealed suspicion. “What is it?” he asked warily.

  “Just that the floggings are done without the scourge, and just the lash.”

  His look of disappointment confirmed my suspicions. While I had not thought it possible, my loathing for the man increased tenfold.

  He frowned, shooting a glance at his toady, then opened his mouth, but I cut him off, suddenly inspired. “Excuse me, General, but it’s just that if we used the scourge, a fair number of the men punished would either die or be completely useless, and we're at a point in our training where it would be too much to expect to find a replacement and get them trained up to the proper level.”

  Oh, he did not like that one bit, yet even men like Lepidus had their limits and could not be seen to hurt the readiness and training of a Legion for his own personal satisfaction. Because that is exactly what would be spread throughout the army, and if it was common knowledge in the army it would not take long for it to be known in Rome, where the climate was such that it would make things very dangerous for Lepidus.

  Biting his lip, he gave a curt nod, saying only, “Very well. That is all.”

  He dismissed me with a disgusted wave of his hand, not bothering to return my salute. I exited the office, trying to decide how I was going to get out of this mess.

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  “He what?” Scribonius’ mouth dropped open in shock.

  I just nodded, pointing to his cup of wine to indicate that he should take another drink.

  “We can’t do that,” Balbus said, his expression mirroring that of Scribonius.

  This time, I just shrugged, replying, “What choice do we have? By the book, any man written up more than twice for any offense, no matter how minor, is subject to being flogged. Besides that, by tradition and custom, whatever the Legate commanding a Legion decides is as close to law as one can get, and this Legate also happens to be the governor.” I shrugged. “At least he agreed for the men not to be scourged.”

  Balbus snorted in disgust. “That was big of him. Let’s be sure and tell the boys who had a smudge on their buckle or their blacking smeared that at least they won’t be scourged. I’m sure that will make them feel better.”

  “It should, because they’d probably be dead,” I shot back, stung by what I perceived as their lack of appreciation that I had gotten at least that much of a concession from Lepidus. Leaning forward, I said intently, “Look, you weren’t there. There was no changing his mind because this isn’t about discipline, it’s about that bastard getting some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing men striped bloody.”

  Balbus looked at me in open disbelief, while Scribonius sat back, nodding thoughtfully. “I had heard that about Lepidus. Apparently, he's a huge fan of the arena, and owns a stable of gladiators himself. But his interests don’t stop there; supposedly he tortures his slaves for his own amusement.”

  Balbus looked at Scribonius in surprise, but I had long ago learned that my friend was a fount of knowledge about the upper classes of Rome, and he had always been right before so I saw no reason to doubt him now.

  “So what do we do?” Balbus asked.

  Again, all I could do was shrug. “We obey orders. Tomorrow we set up the frame in the forum, and some poor bastard is going to get striped.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~

  The next day, things went exactly as we had feared, except that it was even worse because there were a total of 20 men deemed by Lepidus to be worthy of flogging. There was an audible gasp every time as one after the other, the men under punishment were called to the front of the formation, name after name after name. I could feel the eyes of the Centurions boring into my back, but they had all been warned what was coming and cautioned against making any sort of display that would give Lepidus the excuse to have them punished as well. While I did not believe Lepidus would be stupid enough to try having a Centurion flogged, I was not willing to take the chance. So many men were selected that the punishment took the better part of the rest of the morning, with another problem presenting itself, though Lepidus offered the solution, thereby making things even worse. Each man was to receive ten lashes; with 20 men that was 200 lashes that somebody had to administer. Generally, a man from the punishment detail could inflict about 50 lashes before his arm gave out, and there were only two men per Legion, so for a brief moment I thought that either some of the men would escape flogging, or each man would only receive three or four lashes. Unfortunately, Lepidus had brought along a whole stable of men trained in the arts of torture and punishment, and he ordered these men to inflict the punishment. At the sight of the heavily muscled, scarred men striding forward to take their place by the frames, there was a low buzz of muttering that swept through the Cohort formations, and I could feel the hair on the back of my neck raise at the sound of a hugely angry Legion. As much as I understood and agreed, I could not allow this to continue, so I executed an about-face to glare at the men, none of whom could look me in the eye, and I was gratified to hear the noise come to a complete stop. Still, I felt the undercurrent of anger, worrying me that this was only the first day. Unless Lepidus realized what a huge mistake he was making, I was not sure that I could control the men, youngsters or not. I would be lying if I said that there was a part of me that did not want to control them, that would love to see them tear Lepidus into little pieces. That would not do my career any good, however, so I just had to hope that somehow the crisis that I was sure was coming could be averted.