Marching With Caesar - Civil War (30 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

I was called to the villa of a Roman citizen living in Pergamum, a merchant I believe, where Caesar made his headquarters. I was ushered in immediately and I saw that Caesar was amidst his usual whirlwind of activity, dictating to a number of different scribes on a number of different topics. Waving me closer, he stopped his dictation, whereupon almost every one of his clerks immediately went scurrying off to either relieve themselves or get something to eat. Service with Caesar at any level or function was not easy, but I believe that his clerks had the absolute worst of it.

Looking at me, Caesar grinned. “How’s Publius?”

I know I should not have been surprised, but I was, which I think was half the reason Caesar said such things, just to keep people around him off balance.

“He’s almost recovered, Caesar.”

“Good.” As quickly as it came, his smile disappeared, and he looked at me coldly. “Because if he had died, I would have had no choice but to have you executed.”

I was determined that he would not keep me off balance, so I merely replied, “I know. But he’s not dead and will make a full recovery.”

He gave me a speculative look. “Pullus, while I understand what you did, I must ask if there wasn't some less . . . dramatic and violent a demonstration that you could have made?”

In truth, I had never thought about it, but when he said it, I realized that I probably could have done something else, and I felt a sense of shame wash over me. Damn the man, I thought! Can he always find something to make me feel like I am inadequate for the job he has given me? But I had undergone more exposure to Caesar in the last few weeks than I had experienced in my whole time in the army previously. What I learned during that time was that he was always testing the people around him, that every exchange with him held more meaning than met the eye, and I was determined that I would not be flustered by his questioning.

So I just shrugged. “Perhaps, Caesar, but rankers aren’t as appreciative of subtlety as other types of people. I could have tried something else, I suppose, but I’m fairly certain that it would have been as successful as trying to teach a pig how to speak our tongue.”

He threw back his head and laughed, and I was pleased with myself for amusing him.

“Well put, Pullus. Well put. And I take your point.” That done, he became all business. “The reason I called you is to tell you to prepare the men. We're leaving.”

“Where to, Caesar?”

“Alexandria. I've received reliable reports that Pompey has decided to head there with the goal of trying to convince their young king that his cause isn't doomed. I want to get there as quickly as possible and end this nonsense once and for all.”

Although that sounded good to me, I had my doubts about whether it would in fact end, and obviously, the reservation showed, because Caesar read my face and gave a sigh.

“You have your doubts, neh, Pullus?”

I nodded. “Yes, Caesar, I have my doubts.”

Crossing his arms, he sat on a table, regarding me steadily, then asked, “And why is that?”

“Cato.”

I am not sure what reaction I expected, but he pursed his lips and considered me with narrowed eyes. “And why do you fear Cato?”

Before I could stop myself, I retorted, “I don’t fear Cato, Caesar. There’s not a man born that I fear, and I certainly don’t fear a . . .”

I stopped myself before I made what could have been a huge error. No matter what Caesar may have thought of Cato, Cato was of his own class and the upper classes of Rome are incredibly touchy about any slurs or even criticism leveled at men of their own station, particularly by one as lowly born as me, Centurion or not. But I need not have worried, for Caesar finished for me.

“You don't fear a . . . prick like Cato?” His eyebrow arched as he asked, and I laughed.

“Actually I was going to call him a ‘
cunnus
,’ Caesar. But ‘prick’ will do just fine.”

“So why do you think Cato poses a threat?”

It was then that I explained to Caesar the longstanding argument between me and Vibius about Cato, how I had sat by more fires than I could count as Vibius recounted all that he thought Cato represented. He said nothing as I relived our endless arguments, but finally held up his hand.

“Pullus, as much as I appreciate hearing about Domitius’ feelings about Cato, it still doesn't answer the question.”

I felt the heat rising through my neck to my face, mainly because I realized he was right. I was not touching on the heart of the matter.

Thinking for a moment, I finally said, “I worry about Cato because he hates you, and is fanatical in that hatred. I think the reason he hates you so much is because you represent change, and despite all of Cato’s talk about preserving traditions, at his heart, he’s just a small man who hates change. And small men hate great men with a passion that never dies.” I finished by saying, “Pompey may not agree with you, but he doesn’t hate you. Cato does, and he’ll never stop. And he has three Legions.”

Caesar leaned back, arms still crossed as he regarded me thoughtfully. “Pullus, I said once I may have underestimated you. Now I know that I have.” Then he shrugged. “I have no doubt you're right, Pullus. But it makes no difference; as soon as I finish with Pompey, we'll go and meet Cato. And defeat him.”

With that, the interview ended. I was given my written orders by one of the harried clerks, and returned back to the camp, nodding to the Primus Pilus of the 28th who had been summoned as well, absurdly pleased that I was summoned first.

~ ~ ~ ~

Reading my orders, Caesar very specifically stated that I was not to mention our destination to anyone, and thereby unwittingly, or so I like to think, created the first big challenge to my command of the 6th. Once I returned to camp, I called a meeting of the other officers in my tent, regretting that since this was the first big occasion I had run out of the Falernian, it forced me to make do with whatever was available. Despite being indifferent to such things, I knew that many men thought highly of what type of wine they were served by a superior, viewing it somehow as a reflection of the regard or lack thereof in which they were held. However, there was nothing I could do about it, although looking back at how things transpired, perhaps if I had paid more attention to such things, my life would probably have been easier. I sent Diocles out to inform the command group to meet at my tent, and at the appointed time, I was pleased to see that they were all there, seated on stools and attentive to what I had to say. First having Diocles serve them, I waited the obligatory time for them to take a few sips of their wine, getting my first inkling of trouble from the sidelong glances some of them gave each other as they swallowed.

I resolved to head things off, and started by saying, “First I'd like to apologize for the mediocre quality of the refreshments. Unfortunately, this was the best I could procure.” My heart sank a bit, seeing the patent doubt on some of the faces, but I pressed on. “I’ve been given orders by Caesar. We’re to prepare to move by ship. We embark day after tomorrow.”

“Where to?” This was posed by Annius, and it was an innocent enough question, but I could not help hesitating, unfortunately instantly alerting the men, and I cursed myself.

“My orders are very specific about that. I can't say.”

If any of them had only been paying partial attention, this served to bring them around, and almost to a man, they straightened up on their stools, instantly alert. As I would learn, it was no surprise that Cornuficius raised his hand, yet that was a lesson for later. Nodding for him to speak, his seemingly blank eyes regarded me for a long moment before he did so, very slowly.

“And why’s that, Primus Pilus? Why do you suppose Caesar has chosen to keep that from us?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but thank the gods I stopped myself, because I might have made things even worse. The answer, to me at least, was obvious; the loyalty of the 6th was still very much an open question. They had been Pompey’s men, enlisted by Pompey, and most importantly paid by Pompey. If they were alerted that we were going after Pompey himself, it was very much a wager as to whether or not they would have somehow alerted Pompey that we were coming, and I know which way I would have bet. However, to say that openly would cast doubt on their honor, and there are few things that Legionaries are touchier about than their honor, even when there is good reason to question it.

Finally, I just shrugged. “I have no idea, Cornuficius.”

Even as I said it, I realized how weak it sounded. Nobody answered immediately, and it was during this silence, watching the men closely, that I first saw that Cornuficius held sway, and not just over the 10
^th
Cohort either.

He sat, sipping his wine, eyes staring off at something none of us could see. Setting the cup down, he said calmly, “We must be going after Pompey.”

My heart began thudding heavily, and I could hear the indrawn breath of the men, having a flash of insight that either Cornuficius was smarter than he appeared, or the others were not very smart; only time would bear that out. Of course, we were going after Pompey! What else would we be doing? Suddenly the quiet dissolved, the men speaking at once, and I held my hand up for silence. To their credit, they obeyed instantly, although I think it had more to do with wanting to hear my response than out of any respect.

“Cornuficius, that's speculation on your part, but it’s only speculation.”

He regarded me blandly, scratching an elbow. “Do you know where we’re going, Primus Pilus?”

I had just been outmaneuvered, and I knew it. If I chose, I could simply lie, saying I had no idea, but that posed its own problems. First, it meant that I was not fully trusted by Caesar either, and part of my hold over the men at this point came from their view that I was favored by Caesar, so that any disobedience of me meant drawing his wrath as well as mine. Second, if I chose to lie, and the lie was discovered at some point later on, then whatever trust I had built by that point would blow away like sand in the wind.

I took a deep breath. “Yes, I know where we’re going.”

Now they regarded me with close to open hostility, and Cornuficius pressed his advantage. “So neither you nor Caesar trusts us.”

The situation hung on the edge of a sword; whatever hold I had gained over these men could crumble with what I said next, and I felt a flare of anger, letting it show in my voice.

“First, I was given an order, and I follow orders. To the letter. Second,” I was struck by a sudden thought, “what would you do in my position, Cornuficius? Are you saying that you would not only violate your orders, but the trust placed in you by your commanding officer by telling what you knew despite very specific orders to the contrary?”

I was pleased to see a look of discomfort pass through those cow eyes, but it was only a flash.

“Well, Primus Pilus, the fact is I’m not in your position. But if I were, I guess what I would have to determine is wherein lies the greatest threat to myself, betraying my general, and worrying about him finding out about it, or having men at my back who do not trust me and what might happen because of their distrust.”

I was flabbergasted and shocked into speechlessness, which was something of a blessing, because it gave me a moment to observe the reactions of the other men. A couple of them, Annius being most prominent, had a look on his face similar to what I had seen on the faces of men watching the games when a kill was about to be made. But there were others, Felix, Clemens, and Sertorius being most prominent, who looked at the very least uncomfortable.

I forced my voice to remain calm. “Well, that’s certainly one way to look at it, Cornuficius. And if I were a suspicious man, I might think that you were actually making a threat, and as you know, as Primus Pilus, I would be well within my rights to have you arrested and executed, without trial.”

Oh, he was a cool customer; I will give him that, because he did not even blink. He merely nodded and replied, “As you say, Primus Pilus. That would be within your rights. However, I don't think that it would endear you to the men of the 6th, and in turn, your command of them would be doomed to failure. Which in turn would mean that you failed your general and patron, Caesar.”

“That would be a risk I’d have to take,” I replied evenly, “but you’d still be dead, neh? And I'd be alive, and where there’s life there’s always hope. Not so much hope when you’re dead.”

“So we’re at an impasse then.” He sipped his wine again.

Nobody spoke for several moments, each of us deep in our own thoughts.