by R. W. Peake
Fortunately, Caesar was no more eager for this battle than we were. Obviously, neither were Afranius and Petreius, because the sun dipped to the edge of the horizon before the horns sounded the recall, first on the Pompeian side, then on ours, and we all filed back inside our respective camps, wondering if we would be doing the same thing the next day.
~ ~ ~ ~
The next morning found us resuming the work on the contravallation, while Petreius and Afranius took one last desperate roll of the dice by sending groups of their cavalry out to find possible fords across the Sicoris, now only a couple of miles distant. Caesar countered the move by sending detachments of our own cavalry, beating the Pompeians to the river and setting up a chain of outposts at every likely crossing point, thereby defeating the Pompeian attempt before it even started. The end had come for the Pompeians. They had been out of forage for their remaining stock for four days, had run out of food for the men the day before, and were now out of water. Shortly before midday, a party of Pompeians approached the camp under a flag of truce, asking for an audience with Caesar, which he granted. The representative asked Caesar that he grant the request of Afranius that the discussion take place out of our sight, which Caesar denied, indicating that the negotiations should take place in the open between the two camps. Afranius had no choice but to agree and sent his son over to us as a hostage, waiting for Caesar roughly halfway between our two camps. Our ramparts were packed with men watching the exchange between our two generals and I am not ashamed to say that I had one of the best seats in the theater, by virtue of my size and reputation as much as by my rank. We could not hear what was said, meaning we had to try to translate the body language and gestures of the two men in order to try to make some sense of what was taking place. As usual, there was always some wit who provided his own version of the dialogue; while I do not remember who it was on this occasion, it brought to mind the painful recollection that in the past it had been Calienus who kept us almost doubled over in laughter as he played the part of some Gallic chieftain begging Caesar for mercy.
“Oooooh, great Caesar, I am here to beg you not to kill us, and I’ll do anything you ask.” This was spoken in a high falsetto voice by someone a short distance down the rampart, causing some snickers.
“Really? What do you mean by ‘anything’?”
Although the part of Caesar was spoken in a deeper voice, it obviously came from the same man.
“Why, I’ll get on my knees and suck your cock, right here in front of everyone,” the falsetto replied, and the snickers quickly became guffaws of laughter.
“Well, that’s certainly a tempting offer. I haven’t had my cock sucked in, oh, well since this morning. .”
I could not hear what he said after that, since it was drowned out by laughter. I knew that either myself or one of the other Centurions should be shutting the unknown comedian up, but I glanced over at Primus Pilus Torquatus and he was grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying himself as much as the rest of the men. And so was I, so I laughed along with everyone else.
“But I’m afraid that my men would need to have their cocks sucked as well. It’s been much longer for most of them.”
“Welllll,” the falsetto tried to convey a sense of doubt, “it would take me a while, but I suppose…”
At this point, our laughter must have reached the ears of Caesar, because he turned around to glare back at us, and there is no way to describe how quickly the mirth died away. Each of us felt sure that he was looking directly at us, even we Centurions felt a flip-flopping in our stomachs. Caesar was a fair and even-tempered commander, but we had all seen him lose it and none of us wanted to bear the brunt of his anger. Turning to snap an order to be quiet, I instantly saw that there was no need; you could have heard a gnat fart in the silence.
The conference continued, and we clearly saw Caesar shake his head, the gesture met by a look of dismay on the face of Afranius. However, Caesar continued speaking and we could see Afranius’ expression change, his face assuming a look of unmistakable relief. Whatever was said could obviously be heard by the Pompeian Legions standing on their own rampart, because a huge roar of joy came rolling across the ground, assaulting our ears in waves of exultation.
The Primus Pilus turned to me, and with a grin said, “Well, I guess we won.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Won we had, and then some. With a minimum of bloodshed, Caesar had achieved the disbandment of Pompey’s entire army, in a manner that left the Pompeians neither embittered nor destitute. Caesar promised that he would restore to the men of the Pompeian army the property they had lost when their camp was overrun, although that was not one of his more popular decisions, I can tell you. Further, Caesar ordered that the three Spanish Legions of Pompey’s army, the 4th, 5th, and 6th, whose discharges were due, were to be disbanded, paid their final amounts and be allowed to go home. Not surprisingly, at least to some of us, this also did not sit well with some of our own men, particularly with the 7th, 8th, and the 9th because their time was up as well, enlisting at the same time as the Pompeian Legions. The sentiment was that, since their discharges were up as well and they were on the winning side, the right thing for Caesar to do was to grant them their own discharges. The 10th, on the other hand, still had some time left on our enlistments, meaning it was not an issue for us, but the 9th, in particular, was the most vocal in their grumbling. Caesar chose to send back the Valeria and 3rd Legion to their home territory in Cisalpine Gaul, He decided to send the 7th and 9th with them as an escort, promising the Pompeians that they would be discharged and paid off once they were back in their home territory. The 7th and 9th were ordered to continue marching back to Italia, to report to Marcus Antonius and await Caesar’s orders. Despite this being an unpopular command, at least with the two Legions involved, it was nothing compared to the reaction to his final order, the release and parole of Afranius and Petreius. This act was met with outrage by the army, and I confess that I was just as angry as any man, having lost a number of good men at their hands, not by honorable battle but by treachery. Still, Caesar’s will was to be obeyed in all things, and accordingly we stood in formation and in stony silence watching the two generals and their staffs given their paroles and allowed to leave. It was only a small comfort to us to see the look of fear and apprehension on the faces of both Afranius and Petreius as they rode through our ranks out of the camp. Then it was over, at least this part of it, but only part of the province was ours. There was still the west to subdue, and Caesar now turned his attention to it.
~ ~ ~ ~
Remaining with Caesar was us, the 14th, the 21st and 30th. He took the 21st and 30th with him, along with 600 of his cavalry to confront the remainder of Pompey’s army in Hispania, the 2nd and Indigena. Sending the two Legions one route under the command of Quintus Cassius Longinus, brother of the traitor Gaius Cassius Longinus, Caesar took the cavalry on a separate route, along the way sending word to the towns in the territory to throw out their Pompeian garrisons and surrender to him without any fear of retribution. He ordered an assembly of province officials to meet at Corduba, where the Pompeian commander Varro had decided to make his defense, and to where Varro was now hurrying himself. It became a race to see who would occupy the town first. As usual, Caesar was too quick for Varro, aided by the citizens of the town, who expelled the Pompeian garrison and sent word to Varro that the gates would be shut to him in the event that he arrived before Caesar. The Indigena promptly came over to Caesar, forcing Varro to surrender the 2nd, despite the Legion remaining loyal to Pompey. However, Varro recognized the futility of his plight, and the resistance to Caesar in the rest of the province collapsed without any bloodshed. Caesar acted with his usual liberality in order to assure the loyalty of a region that heretofore had been staunchly for Pompey. He granted citizenship to the native tribes who were not yet invested with such, remitting all the money appropriated by Varro, and returning all of the valuables that Varro had taken for “safekeeping” to the temple
of Hercules at Gades. Leaving Longinus behind as governor, with Varro’s two former Legions to garrison the province, Caesar was now free to turn his attention to other more pressing matters. Not everything was to go Caesar’s way, however. We in the army felt vindicated when we learned that Afranius and Petreius had remained true to their oaths only long enough to get out of sight before showing their true colors and throwing back in with Pompey, but not before convincing the men of the 4th and 6th to join them in their flight to join Pompey in Greece.
~ ~ ~ ~
Now that Hispania was pacified, it was time for Caesar to turn his attention back to Massilia. Despite the defeat of the Pompeian fleet, the city itself still held out, so we were given the order to pack up and, leaving the 14th behind, we accompanied Caesar back to the east. Before we left, however, Caesar issued one of his most unpopular orders, recalling the men whose enlistments had expired and been allowed to go home by Fabius, those veterans that had salted our ranks when the 10th Legion had been first formed. This news was met with a huge uproar in the army, because it cast doubt on the status of the men promoted into the empty spots when the original men left the army. The fact that I was not one of them, promoted before the discharges as I was, did not blind me to the plight of the men in that situation. While it was hard for me to share their anger, I did sympathize. On the other hand, I looked forward to seeing Gaius Crastinus return to the Legion, although I was not sure what frame of mind he would be in, or any of the men for that matter. Despite the furor it caused, Caesar would not budge, but he did do his best to see that men were given the opportunity to make a lateral move into other Legions where there were vacancies at the same rank and title that they were forced to relinquish to the returning men. Not everyone could be accommodated, so that men like Cyclops found themselves being in effect demoted because of Caesar’s orders. As men were shuffled from slots in the 10th over to the 14th and the other Legions to make room for Crastinus and the others, Cyclops found himself moved all the way down to the Sixth Century of the Tenth Cohort of the 14th.
In the 10th, the biggest change came with the return of Crastinus as Primus Pilus, but it was with some trepidation that I answered his summons for a meeting of the senior Centurions of the Legion, since I did not know what frame of mind he would be in. For all I knew, the months he had spent in retirement were the happiest of his life, and I could think of all kinds of possible outcomes if that was the case, none of them good. Being Primus Pilus, Crastinus held absolute control over all of us, and if he was angry at his recall, he could in turn make all of our lives miserable. Entering his tent, my heart sank at the sight of his scowling face, with its livid scar along the jawline, courtesy of a Nervii sword. He gave no sign of recognition, save for a curt nod as I entered to join the other Centurions who had already arrived. Luckily I was not the last to arrive, sparing me the scathing tongue-lashing with which Crastinus skewered the unfortunates, obviously having spent some of his time in retirement coming up with more inventive terms to describe their mothers, using curses I had never heard before from his lips. I also took notice of the fact that the customary cups of wine were nowhere in sight, further increasing my suspicions that our Primus Pilus was not particularly happy to be back with us.
Once we had settled in, he began speaking. “All right, there’s no need to go over why I’m here. Caesar commanded it and that’s that. All I have to say about it is…”
He paused, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for him to unleash some sort of invective aimed at Caesar and the army. But as usual, Crastinus was a man of surprises.
“Thank the gods,” he shouted, his battered face creasing into a smile. “I was bored out of my fucking mind! I was almost ready to show up at the next dilectus and start over as a tiro! Farming is the worst job in the world, and I hope I never see another plow as long as I live!”
There was an explosion of air as I realized I was not the only one holding my breath, and we laughed uproariously, as much from the release of tension as at Crastinus’ wit. Amid the laughter, Crastinus reached down from behind his campaign desk where he had hidden an amphora of Falernian wine and enough cups for all of us. Within moments, we were toasting his return and laughing at his tales of woe as yet another failed farmer. We passed the evening drinking to his failure as a farmer, and everything else we could think of, and I vaguely remember weaving my way back to my own tent, aglow with a happiness that was fueled as much by the relief I felt that Crastinus was happy to be back as it was by Bacchus. The next morning was a slightly different story, and I am afraid the Cohort suffered from my hangover as much as I did. Such are the privileges of rank.
Chapter 2- Greece
We did not stay in Massilia long, and I will not spend time recounting the siege and conquest of the city, mainly because we played no real part in it. Once the city was occupied, with Caesar acting with his usual clemency, a policy that was growing increasingly unpopular with the army, he issued orders for us to begin the long march back to Italia, all the way down the peninsula to the heel and the port city of Brundisium. This was going to be the port of embarkation for the invasion of Greece, where Pompey was gathering his own army, building fortifications at strategic points along the coast in preparation for our crossing. This was the longest march we had ever undertaken at this point, but Vibius and I were excited to finally see Italy; despite the fact we were not going to enter Rome, we would be passing nearby, and we talked about the sights we would see. We would also be passing through Campania, and depending on our exact route, I thought I might stop in the town where my father came from to meet the kin I had never seen before. Despite the anticipation of seeing the home province for the first time, none of us was looking forward to being on the march for more than a month. Even with the roads that are the best in the known world, day after day of marching in formation wears a man down, no matter how fit he is. My job as Pilus Prior meant that I had to be constantly on the alert for men falling out on the march, either because of exhaustion or because some comely wench caught their eye. The farther east we marched, the more settled and prosperous the land, and it was somewhat unsettling to realize just how dingy and poverty-ridden the regions we had originally come from were when compared to the peninsula. Crossing the Rubicon, I know that I for one was struck by the moment. After all, this river had ultimately launched the civil war. I must say that I was not impressed, expecting something more substantial than the muddy stream that we waded across without having to lift our shields above our heads. It didn’t seem to be much of a barrier, or much of a symbol to use, as the line over which no general could march his troops. Now, I know this has caused some confusion. Indeed, I spent the equivalent of many watches trying to explain it to Gisela because I will admit that it is puzzling. Her question was simple; if no general could cross the Rubicon with an army, how did that explain when a general was given the honor of a triumph in Rome, and he could march at the head of his army through the streets of the capital? I had wondered about this myself, finally working up the nerve to ask one of the older men, who laughed and said that he had asked the same question. It is a matter of form more than anything else. A general is not allowed to lead an army over the Rubicon. However, if he crosses first and enters the capital, then summons his army, that is acceptable. But to ride at the head of an army is expressly forbidden, since it signals evil intentions against the Republic. When I had explained this to Gisela, she snorted in her usual contempt for some of our finer points of custom and tradition.
“So he can ride ahead, lull your stupid fat Senators into believing that he has only good intentions, then summon his army to descend on Rome?”
When I grudgingly agreed that this was one way to look at it, she simply shook her head in wonderment. “How you lot managed to conquer most of the known world is beyond me.”
I knew better than to argue the point with her, and in truth, sometimes I wondered myself.
~ ~ ~ ~
Such was the tone of my
thoughts wading across the muddy river. I had left Gisela and the baby behind, and it was at moments like these when I thought of times spent with her that the ache of loneliness was the worst. While the rankers brought their women along with them wherever they went, it was not seemly for a Centurion of my rank to do the same, meaning Gisela and my child were far away, safe enough, but I longed for their company at night when the army bedded down. However, these were not thoughts I could express to anyone, not even Vibius, so I would sit in my tent at night, brooding over the daily reports and ration requests. It was a mark of my frame of mind that I insisted on doing these myself, rather than let Zeno do them like I normally did, but I needed something to keep my mind busy and away from thoughts of my family. I would make the rounds of the fires at night, trying to present a normal front to the men, but there are no secrets in the army, and I could tell they knew something was bothering me. Still, I was not willing to talk about it with anyone, except that Vibius was unwilling to accept that and persisted in showing up at my tent every evening, demanding to know what was bothering me. Finally, a couple of days after we crossed the Rubicon, I broke down and told him, more out of exasperation than anything else. We were sitting in my tent, and he looked across my desk at me somberly, his wine cup in his hand. I am not sure what I was expecting, yet he did not mock or tease me, the normal reaction any man got when he displayed any type of emotion or behavior that his comrades considered soft.
Instead, he nodded and said simply, “I thought so.” He suddenly stood and turned away so that I could not see his face as he continued, “Titus, I know how you feel, trust me in that. Remember how I felt about Juno?”
