Marching With Caesar - Civil War (89 page)

“Caesar paid the men every sesterce he promised, along with the land he promised.”

I made no attempt to hide my relief as I sank back against the pillows that had been arranged so that I could sit up.

I realized that I was shaking a bit from the tension. “Thank the gods for that at least,” I said fervently, to which Scribonius nodded his agreement. “So what’s happening now?” I asked.

“There’s a new
dilectus
being held for all of the Spanish Legions. The 10th is being re-formed, with the men who are signing on for another enlistment being put into the first five Cohorts.”

“How many have re-enlisted?” I asked.

“About 500 so far, but you know how it is. A lot of the men will try to be farmers for about a month or two, then realize that it’s actually hard work, and they'll come running back.”

I laughed, thinking of Crastinus, who had said essentially that very thing when he was recalled. Everything Scribonius had been relaying was standard practice, yet I felt a gnawing sense of doubt growing, which I found both disconcerting and puzzling, because I was not sure why I felt that way.

The source of the uncertainty came into my mind fully formed when I asked the next question, and I realized why I was feeling anxious. “So who’s conducting the training while I’m recuperating?”

“Glaxus has been filling your role.” Seeing my face, Scribonius added hastily, “But he and the men know that it’s just temporary.”

I grunted, not wanting to verbalize what I was thinking at that moment.

Moving on to the other topic that occupied my mind, I asked, “And who's been filling the empty slots in the Centurionate? I can’t imagine that all the Centurions re-enlisted, so there has to be some scrambling going on right now.”

Scribonius nodded, and there was something in the careful way he seemed to be forming his words that warned me that the surprises were not over yet.

“Actually, that’s what I needed to tell you. Caesar is on his way here to make selections for the 10th since you're unable to do so.”

“Who said I couldn’t do it?” I was getting angry now, though I knew it was not fair to vent my spleen on Scribonius just he happened to be there. “How hard is it for me to review records and conduct interviews, even if it’s from bed?”

Now Scribonius was looking distinctly uncomfortable, and he shrugged helplessly. “Titus, it certainly wasn’t my decision.”

“Then who sent for Caesar?” I demanded.

“I believe it was General Pollio.”

I cursed bitterly, but I knew that there was nothing to be done for it now. “When is he going to be here?”

The only answer Scribonius could give was a shrug. “With Caesar, who knows? It could be next week, it could be tomorrow.”

“That’s a comfort,” I grumbled.

As it turned out, it was four days. It was also the last time I saw Gaius Julius Caesar alive, though it was also the occasion for a first as well. Our last meeting would mark the moment when I first laid eyes on the young Octavian, who is known by a different name now.

~ ~ ~ ~

“Well, Pullus, is that any way to greet your general, lying in bed?”

The words and the man speaking them gave me such a fright that I tried to come to my feet, the sudden movement causing me to gasp in pain while making me dizzy.

Caesar’s expression turned to one of alarm as he stepped forward quickly, putting his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back in bed. “By the gods, Pullus, I wasn't serious! Forgive me for giving you such a start.”

“Of course, Caesar,” I said, the sweat pouring down my face as I gritted my teeth to avoid showing how much pain I was in.

Even with my discomfort, I was more worried about Caesar’s appearance than how I felt. He looked more haggard, more tired and careworn than I had ever seen him, even during the days of short rations in Gaul and Hispania. There were dark rings under his eyes, which looked like glittering pieces of ice. The skin on his cheekbones was pulled taut, while the lines around his mouth were crevices that seemed bottomless. Still, with all these physical signs, his manner was as energetic as ever, his voice still strong, though he was slightly hoarse. Once I settled back, Caesar signaled for a chair to be brought next to the bed. He sat down on it, regarding me for a moment with eyes that, as usual, missed nothing. Every time I was subjected to his scrutiny, I was sure that he could peer into the darkest recesses of my soul to see every secret that it held, even the resentment that I harbored towards him for some of the things he had done to the men of the 10th, the Legion I considered to be mine just as much, if not more, than his.

Finally, he spoke. “You gave us all quite a scare, Primus Pilus Pullus,” he said this lightly, but I could tell that there was real concern there, and I was deeply touched. I bowed my head as I tried to compose myself before I spoke and Caesar, seeing my shame, continued speaking. "When I heard you had fallen, then was told how seriously you were wounded, I made several offerings for your complete and speedy recovery. I'm happy to see that the gods looked on not just my offerings, but those of all your friends and comrades with favor. Your death would have been a huge loss to Rome.”

“Thank you, Caesar,” my voice was husky with the emotion I felt and the strain of controlling myself. “I’m very thankful for your prayers and those of the men. I’m glad I could keep them from going to waste.”

It was a feeble jest, but Caesar laughed heartily, as if I had said the cleverest thing in the world. “That makes two of us. You would be a hard man to replace, if not for your size alone.” Turning serious, he continued, “And that's why I’m here. We have some decisions to make about the vacant spots in the Centurionate. I wish we could wait until you were fully mended, but unfortunately, we need to get the slots filled. I hope the work we need to do won't tax you too much.”

I shook my head, seeking to reassure my general. “If you don’t mind me doing it sitting or lying down, I can do whatever you need me to do, Caesar.”

“It’s your mind and experience that's needed here, Pullus. You know most of the men we'll be discussing more intimately than I do, so it doesn't matter whether you’re standing up or lying down while we work.” Standing up, Caesar finished with, “But I'll let you get some rest now, and we'll start in the morning. I have some other matters that must be attended to, and I'll have to leave for Rome in just a couple of days.”

He turned to leave.

Without thinking, I blurted out, “It seems that I’m not the only one in need of rest, Caesar.”

He looked back at me, giving me a smile that showed his fatigue more clearly than anything he could have said or done. “There's too much to do, Pullus. Once I've done all that needs to be done to put Rome to rights again, then I'll rest. But not before then.”

And with that, he left me to continue his work.

~ ~ ~ ~

As promised, Caesar was ready to start work early the next morning, sending a litter to carry me to the
Praetorium
. When I saw the contraption, the thought of being carried through the camp on it so mortified me that I got to my feet, announcing that I would walk. The slaves given the task of carrying me to headquarters looked terrified, and I understood that in his usual thorough way, Caesar had given them explicit instructions that I was to be transported by this conveyance and not allowed to go under my own power. Caesar was not the type to threaten slaves with all sorts of dire punishment if they did not follow his instructions, but he did not have to resort to such measures to instill the belief that he would nail up anyone who did not follow them. In fact, there was a pile of bony hands in Gaul that bore mute testimony that showed their fear was not misplaced. Not wanting the thought of men nailed to crosses on my conscience, slaves or not, I relented, lowering myself into the litter while insisting that the curtains be drawn so that I would not be seen. This was a pathetic ploy on my part, given the damn thing was parked outside my tent in plain sight of the entire camp, but I had to do what I could to retain some sense of dignity. My largest concern was for the new
tiro
s, who I had yet to lay eyes on and vice versa, since I did not want their first view of their Primus Pilus to be of me lounging about on a litter. It never occurred to me that none of the men, new or veteran, would view me as weak, all of them knowing how close I had come to death, along with my reputation in the army. Even with all that I had achieved, there was still a large streak of insecurity in my makeup, vestiges of that time when I was an oversized boy who crawled into his sister’s bed for comfort during a storm. It is only now, here near the end of my days that I can even acknowledge that, when it really no longer matters. I arrived at the
Praetorium
, and here I flat-out refused to be carried into the headquarters building, insisting on walking in under my own power.

When I was announced into Caesar’s office, he turned from where he had been poring over one of his endless scrolls with one of the scribes, his eyes narrowed at my now-gaunt frame moving under my own power. “I gave explicit instructions that you be carried here, Pullus,” he snapped. “I hope for your sake, and the sake of those poor slaves outside, that you heeded my orders and didn't walk here from your tent.”

Silently thanking the gods that I had read the situation correctly, I hastened to assure Caesar that the only steps I walked had been from the entrance to his office. Immediately mollified, he turned to point to a couch arranged with a number of pillows so that I could either sit or lie on it, ordering me to park myself on it, which I did without any protest. While I could now walk for short periods of time, the small distance between the entrance and Caesar’s office had tired me out a bit, not much but enough to know that if I were to try standing for any length of time I would be faced with the prospect of keeling over at my general’s feet. Settling myself on the couch, I chose for the time being to keep my feet on the floor; even being given leave by Caesar, I was still extremely reluctant to lounge about in front of my general. Caesar was finishing up what he was doing, which gave me the opportunity to examine the young man sitting quietly in the corner of the office. When I got a good look, my heart skipped a beat. I was looking at a young Caesar! He had the same brilliant blue eyes, the same strikingly handsome features, although as I examined him more closely, there was something almost feminine in his beauty that Caesar did not possess. I was struck by a wicked thought, that here was the kind of boy that men of a certain persuasion are very fond of, and I wondered if he would be receptive to their advances. I snuck a peek at Caesar, sure that he would be able to read my mind, and I was relieved to see that he was paying me no attention. Nonetheless, before he noticed me looking in his direction, I quickly looked away, returning my gaze on the young man. I got a second shock, because our eyes met, as he had obviously taken the opportunity to do his own examination of me when he thought I was not looking. I cannot help thinking now that the memory I carry with me today of the impression I came away with is colored by all that has transpired in the intervening time since that day. But where I was Caesar’s man through and through from the first time we locked eyes those many years ago, I did not have the same feeling when I looked into the eyes of this young man, who I had deduced was the young Octavian. In fact, the more closely I looked, the more I realized that the similarities I had thought so striking on first glance were more superficial than real. Although he had grown his hair long to cover them, there was no disguising that his ears stuck out like jug handles. His chin was not quite as strongly formed as Caesar’s, but the real difference was in the eyes. When you looked into the eyes of Gaius Julius Caesar, and he chose to reward you with the warmth of his gaze, there was no hint that it was forced, that there was anything that was not completely genuine in his affection and regard. With Octavian, there was a coldness behind the gaze, and I was struck by the thought that I had seen that type of look before, though it took a moment for me to put my finger on it. Then I remembered where I had seen that look, which I found very disquieting, because it was nothing human. Octavian’s cool, unblinking stare reminded me of the cobras that the Ptolemies kept as pets as they sat coiled in the corner of the cages in which they were kept. I could only hope that my thoughts were not revealed on my face, though I have never been very good at that, but he did not seem to notice me recoil as he gave me a shy smile before looking away. The smile softened my heart quite a bit, because in that moment he looked like what he was, a teenage boy who was awestruck by his surroundings. However, as I was to learn, there was much about Octavian that was not what it seemed on the surface, and I realize now that he was anything but a star-struck boy. Fortunately, that lesson was down the road.

~ ~ ~ ~