Marching With Caesar - Civil War (25 page)

Now that I had spoken my suspicions, I saw several heads nodding, and someone said, “I think Pullus is right. I know that my boys have been moaning about it for a couple weeks now.”

“I can’t say that I blame them,” said a voice.

I whipped my head around to see who had uttered such nonsense, but was shocked to the core when I heard many voices add their agreement, and I looked over at Torquatus, who looked as surprised as I did. But significantly, or at least so I thought, Balbus did not look surprised at all, and wondered what that meant.

“So what do we do about it?” someone else asked, stopping the muttered conversations as we all looked at Torquatus, who rubbed his face wearily as he thought. I remember thinking then that perhaps the cost of ambition and my goal of rising to Primus Pilus bore a price that ultimately was too high for me to pay, yet I quickly shrugged it off, thinking that somehow I would never find myself in this position.

Waiting for several moments as Torquatus stared at the ground, he finally spoke. “Nothing. There’s nothing we can do until it happens.” He glanced up to see how his decision was being received, and encouraged, he continued, “We can’t very well start dragging men out for punishment because they’ve been the loudest complainers about this bonus. Especially when it’s clear that a number of their Centurions agree with them.” He glared around as he said the last bit, and was rewarded by a few heads bowing, some of the Centurions suddenly finding something about their boots incredibly interesting at that moment. Torquatus then gave a tired shrug. “I think we just have to wait and see what happens, and whether Balbus is right. And then,” he looked meaningfully around at the Centurions of the 10th, “we’ll see who stands where, won’t we?”

And with that, we were dismissed to go pass the word to our men to make ready to move out. Or to mutiny, we weren’t sure which.

~ ~ ~ ~

As matters turned out, Balbus was about as right as he could have been. When the order was given to make ready to march the men of the 9th, led by their Centurions, simply refused to budge. They were followed quickly by the 8th, then the 7th, and thanks to the warning that Balbus had raised, the only person shocked when the 10th followed suit was Caesar himself. Stepping in front of the Cohort, despite my belief that I had prepared myself, I was still a bit shaken when Vibius was not standing there ready to receive my orders. Instead, he was standing in his former spot in the formation, and I think I was trying to postpone the inevitable because I did not order him to me.

Instead I acted like everything was normal, turning to the
cornicen
to sound the call for the men to pick up their gear, who actually hesitated for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something before I said to him quietly, “Don’t. Just carry out the order, and whatever happens will happen. Don’t compound your crime by refusing a direct order.”

His face darkened, but he obeyed and blew the call, whereupon the men of the Cohort followed the lead of the rest of the army. Instead of picking up their gear, almost in unison, they sat down on the ground next to it. Even knowing it was coming, actually watching it happen was a blow almost physical in nature. I stood for a moment, not sure what to do at this point, looking over at the First Cohort to see if Torquatus had any ideas, but he just looked at me and shrugged helplessly. Finally, I walked towards Vibius, who sat calmly watching me approach, but did not come to his feet.

The anger that was building inside me at being put in this situation flared up through my chest, and I spoke sharply, “Get on your feet when your superior approaches, Optio.”

For a moment, he did not move, then slowly got to his feet, coming to
intente
. For moments that seemed to last forever, we stood staring at each other, neither knowing what to say. Finally, I shook my head.

“Why, Vibius?”

He looked at me as if I had gone mad. “Why,” he said incredulously, “why? You know very well why, Titus. He lied to us, Titus. Surely you can see that?”

I shook my head. “First, I don’t believe that just because he hasn’t given us our bonus it’s a case that he’s lying to us. If you haven’t noticed,” my voice was heavy with sarcasm, “he’s been a little busy the last few weeks.”

“I know exactly how busy he’s been because it’s been thanks to our sweat and blood,” he shot back, and this I could not argue.

For a moment, we stood there, neither of us speaking and I could almost pretend that we were just two friends standing in comfortable silence, but we both knew it was just that, a pretense.

Finally, Vibius placed a hand on my arm and said, “Titus, you know that I’m right. You know that he owes us, and he owes us more than just some bonus.”

Now, all these years later, I will finally confess that at that moment, Vibius had almost convinced me. The surprise of that realization almost undid me, because I nearly opened my mouth. I had not realized until that moment that I had some resentment built up inside me that I was unaware of, some
numen
that inhabited my soul, feeding a flame of bitterness and anger that I did not even know was there until that moment. And standing there thinking on it, I also realized that I did not really know why I felt this way. After all, Caesar had favored me, not as much as some other men, but more than most; however, I was also tired. I was tired of all the marching, and I was tired of watching my men bleed and die. When all was said and done, was it not really for the reasons that Vibius had been arguing about all these years, that we were just pieces on the board of some great game being played by Gaius Julius Caesar? That all of his high-flown rhetoric about preserving the Republic and stopping tyranny were just empty words, that this was about little more than one patrician trying to gain ascendancy over another? These thoughts rushed through my mind staring down at Vibius’ hand resting on my forearm, and through all of the confusion and emotions running through my body, I remembered how Vibius and I had met, and how much we had seen together. When I first saw that hand, I thought, it was so much smaller and white. Now, it was as brown as a piece of leather, the knuckles scarred from hard work and fights. So was the forearm it rested on, his hand partially covering the long scar that ran down my arm, and I frowned, trying to remember where I had gotten it. What battle had it been, I wondered? Then I remembered; it was from the Gallaeci all those years ago, and one thing I knew was that Vibius had been by my side.

“Join us, Titus. Caesar will listen if you’re with us.”

And there it was; all I had to do was say yes, and my friendship with Vibius would be preserved. Besides, was there not something to what he was saying? Perhaps the way the men were going about it was not the right way, but surely they had just cause, and ultimately, did Caesar not owe us what he had promised? I do not know how long I stood there, looking down at that hand resting on my arm, but then I shook my head. Looking up, I saw Vibius frowning at me, and I was suddenly filled with a sadness that I had never felt before, because I knew that this time, our friendship could not survive.

“No, Vibius. I won’t join you. You’re rising in mutiny against our general. And I can’t justify that, no matter what the cause.”

Vibius jerked his hand away as if I had suddenly become red-hot. His face turned bright red, something I had seen so many times over the years, telling me that he was not just angry; he was enraged.

“Mutiny,” he hissed between clenched teeth, his jaw muscles bulging. “This is no mutiny! This is a just act by Roman citizens who are simply demanding their rights. The men of the 7th, 8th, and 9th have been wronged . . .”

I cut him off with a harsh laugh. “Spare me, Vibius. You could give a fart in a
testudo
for those faithless bastards. You hate them as much as I do, so please refrain from acting with such righteous indignation about their rights.”

For a moment, Vibius said nothing, his jaws working as he chewed on his rage. “Fine,” he spat, “you’re right. This has nothing to do with them. It has everything to do with what Caesar owes us. And while we’re being honest,” he continued hotly, “let’s not pretend that the reason you won’t join us has anything to do with what’s right or what’s wrong. It has everything to do with wanting to be in good with Caesar. You’ll do anything to be his lapdog!”

Before I had conscious thought, my hand gripped my sword, whipping the blade out but not bringing it up, pointing it at the ground instead. Vibius’ eyes widened, but he stood his ground, his own hand reaching down.

“You’d be dead before you got it out, Vibius,” I said calmly. “It’s been a long, long time since you could best me.”

He said nothing, but his hand dropped from the pommel of his sword. That is how things were for dozens of heartbeats as we stood staring at each other.

His mouth opened and closed several times before he finally said in a croaking whisper, “You would strike me down? Your best and longest friend? It’s come to that?”

All I could do was nod my head; then there was nothing left to say about it, and I saw the death of my longest and dearest friendship pass through the eyes of Vibius Domitius.

Finally, he nodded, his voice becoming cold and formal. “Very well, Pilus Prior. But if that’s what the gods will, then so be it, but I’m not marching. And,” he turned and indicated the men, “neither are any of the men of the Second Cohort. We took a vote and it’s been decided.”

“You took a vote?”

I do not know why, but I found that the most astonishing thing; the men had voted behind my back, and I did not know it had taken place. Of course, it could very well have been that Vibius was lying about a vote, yet it certainly seemed creditable at the time, and since we never spoke about that day after this, I never did find out the truth.

~ ~ ~ ~

For the first time ever, Caesar was flummoxed and he did not seem to know what to do. First, he approached the other Spanish Legions, who steadfastly refused to budge, demanding their discharges.

Then he came to the 10th, standing before us for several moments in silence, before he finally spoke. “Comrades, I know that of all my Legions, I can rely on the 10th to follow its general and hunt Pompey down. What say you?”

For an instant, just a brief instant, there was not a sound and I dared to think that when it came down to it, standing here facing their general, the men could not go through with their threat, but then one man, quickly followed by other voices, called out.

“No, Caesar! We won’t follow you until you pay us the bonus you’ve promised!”

Immediately, the air was rent by the cries and calls of the men. Despite not being given leave to move, I whirled around, glaring at the men of the Second Cohort, but none of them except Vibius met my gaze. He was the only man with the courage to stare directly in my eyes as his voice was raised in refusal to his general, and despite my anger at him, I felt a grudging respect that he was at least a man among mice.

Turning back to Caesar, I saw he had gone white with shock seeing his most favored and to this moment most loyal Legion refuse his orders to march. I watched his face transform, the color rushing to his cheeks and I could see that he was growing terribly angry.

Finally, he roared louder than I had ever heard him. “
Silete
!”

And the men immediately shut up, faster than they ever had before, stirring in me a flicker of hope. It was clear that Caesar still possessed some sort of hold over the men, and I held my breath waiting for what was to happen next.

That silence hung in the air for several moments, before Caesar said coldly, “Before I say anything more, I first want to know who among the Centurions and Optios feel the same way as the men?”

What happened next staggered Caesar, as it staggered me. For a moment, there was no movement, then I sensed something out of the corner of my eye and looked over to where it originated in the First Cohort, and despite myself, I let out a gasp. Balbus had stepped forward, his back straight, his chest thrust out as he stared at Caesar calmly. A second later, two more Centurions of the First stepped forward, and I thought that Torquatus would have some sort of stroke at the sight. However, I quickly realized that if the Centurions of the First felt this way, then it was almost a certainty that my Centurions would betray me as well, and I whirled around to see who the vipers at my back were. I cannot say I was particularly surprised when Celer stepped forward, nor when Vibius did the same, but I was surprised when the only other Optios to step forward were Celer’s toady and Vatinius, who I guess would be more accurately described as acting Centurion in Niger’s place. Scribonius and Priscus, along with their Optios remained standing, stone-faced and watching their comrades step forward in defiance of Caesar. And of course, at Vibius Domitius, who for the first time at least did not look quite as sure of himself when he stepped forward to join the others. Looking down the formation, the only solace I could take was that my Cohort had less of its officers’ side with the men than any other, but it was small comfort. And Caesar clearly did not take any comfort in anything that was happening, standing there watching the Legion he had favored above all others betray him. There was a silence for several moments, with both sides staring at each other before Caesar finally spoke, and what he said next chilled me to my very marrow.