Marching With Caesar - Civil War (28 page)

“So did you have someone in mind?”

“Scribonius,” I again responded instantly, and I saw that I had caught Caesar by surprise.

“Scribonius,” he said doubtfully, then shook his head. “He hasn't been Hastatus Prior very long.”

“No, only a matter of months,” I agreed, but an idea was forming in my mind, and in that moment I decided that this would be my price. “But the men respect him immensely. In fact, I would go so far as to say that he’s the most respected, outside of me. At least until the other day,” I amended, feeling another twinge of emotion. Caesar said nothing, so I plunged on. "He’s smarter than I am, and he’s almost as good a fighter. Well, perhaps not that good.” There were limits to how far I could bend, I realized. Finishing, I spoke plainly, “That’s my price, Caesar. The only man I trust to run the Cohort effectively is Scribonius.”

“Well, you don’t ask for much,” he replied dryly, re-crossing his arms as he leaned backward on the desk. His brow furrowed as he thought about it, then finally he shrugged, “Very well, I'll make it happen.” His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Are you sure that Scribonius will go along with this?”

“Yes, I’m sure of it.”

Truthfully, I had no idea, I realized. If he was unwilling I would just have to convince him somehow, but I had a feeling that I would not have to. Although we had never talked about it, I sensed that Scribonius had his own ambitions. I would just have to find out.

“What about when I come back to the 10th? What position will I occupy?”

His brow furrowed as he thought about it, then he said, “I can't honestly say at this point, Pullus. But what I can tell you is that when you return, there will be a promotion, and I'll also make sure that your status as Primus Pilus of the 6th is made official.” He grinned. “Although at this moment, I have no idea how, but I'll think of something. I always do.”

I could not argue that, recognizing that this was the best I could do under the circumstances.

With that business settled, I asked Caesar the next most pressing questions. “When do I meet the men? And when do we leave?”

Caesar looked surprised. “Why, we leave immediately, of course. You can meet the men when we form up for the march. I'll say something brief, and we'll get on with it.”

I was struck by another thought. “Do the men of the 6th know about this yet?”

To my relief, he nodded. “Yes, those were part of the terms I discussed with them. They're not happy about it, but they will obey.”

During the course of this extraordinary interview, I had spoken more freely with Caesar than at any point in my career, and I decided that there was no point stopping now.

“What makes you so sure that they'll obey?”

Caesar favored me with a smile, and responded simply, “Because I have every confidence in your ability to make them obey, Pullus.”

And with that, Caesar ushered me out of the room and the fine young men came trooping back in, shooting me glances, again some curious, some poisonous. And for once, I did not particularly care; I had too much on my mind to take much notice.

~ ~ ~ ~

As it turned out, the men of the 6th were not quite as ready to march as Caesar hoped. During their surrender, they gave up all their weapons and armor, then in the resulting confusion nobody had catalogued it and checked it in, meaning that now the men had to draw from stores. There were some problems finding all the proper bits, keeping the army quartermaster Quintus Cornuficius quite busy. It also turned out that the deal Caesar made with the 6th was a bit more complex than he made it out to be. The men had recognized that in all reality they held the advantage in the negotiations, and accordingly made several demands that Caesar acceded to, since he had no real choice in the matter. These men had lost their entire fortunes and all their possessions when Pompey’s camp was sacked. There was no question of trying to retrieve either the money or the possessions, especially since it had been done by their own comrades, who fled. Therefore, the men of the 6th had submitted a list to Caesar that they claimed itemized the monetary value of these possessions. There is little doubt that the amounts were highly inflated, but Caesar was in no position to dispute the figures, and both parties knew it. Also, the men stipulated that they would not take arms against their comrades of the 6th which, while it did not surprise me when I learned of it, it did tell me that Caesar had not been totally forthcoming with me during our talk. I also learned that they were refusing to allow any men to be added to their numbers from outside the 6th, even if they were part of Pompey’s army and drawn from the prisoners we took. I was the only exception, and while I was never told I surmised that I was a concession in exchange for Caesar’s granting of the amounts submitted by them without argument. What I did not know at the time was what this meant in the grand scheme of things, but I did recognize that I would have to watch my back whenever we finally did fight someone. Because of the delay in setting out, I had the time to meet the men I was to lead while still in camp, and a formation was called for the occasion, the difficulty compounded by the fact that Caesar himself had pushed on after Pompey already, leaving me to face my new command alone. Using one of the few surviving captured slaves who was an attendant for one of Pompey’s Tribunes and knew what needed to be done, I had him make me look more than presentable. Wearing all of my decorations, my hope was that between all of them and my size, the men would be sufficiently wary of me not to start testing me immediately. I was experienced enough to know that the moment would inevitably come where someone in the ranks would try something to see what I would allow them to get away with, but it was important that it not start immediately. My confidence in myself was such that I was sure that given a few weeks under my command that the men would adjust to their new reality, but first I had to have that period of time before any of them tried to test me. What I was counting on was using the dark pillar that is one of the two foundations of respect, and that was fear. Before their regard for me could grow, they had to fear me, although I knew that it could not just be fear of me, and me alone; it had to be a combination of fear of me personally, along with the regulations and customs of the Legions. They had to be afraid of not only the unofficial, but the official consequences of disobedience and treachery, yet I also knew that the most immediate dread they needed to have was of me personally. Such were my thoughts striding through the forum, using an old trick of coming up from behind the men rather than in front of them. This trick had been taught to me by Crastinus, the idea being that nothing made the men quite as nervous as the idea of a superior lurking somewhere they could not see them, knowing that they were under the scrutiny of a Centurion. This made them extremely reluctant to risk whispering to each other as they gave their opinion on whatever matter was at hand. It also carried the added benefit of not putting me in the position of feeling like I was being judged, since all eyes would be watching me if I approached from the front. Moving quietly, I approaching the rear ranks, and from several feet away I could hear the buzzing of muted conversation as they waited for me.

“So this is the way he introduces himself, keeping us waiting?”

“Just trying to keep us on our toes, I guess.”

“On our toes? Who does that prick think he is? We’re the 6th, not some bunch of
tirones
! If anything, he should be waiting for us!”

I spotted the two men speaking and aimed for the man who spoke last. They were in the next to rear rank of the formation, members of the 7th Cohort and I pushed past the men in the rearmost rank, who started to mouth their protest but quickly shut up when they saw who it was pushing them aside. Stopping silently behind the two men, I studied them for a moment. They had to be brothers, I thought, because they looked like two peas from the same pod. Both were short, brown, scrawny things, with twigs for arms and sticks for legs, yet those appendages also bore their share of scars. They were Spanish Legionaries all right, I thought to myself; not an ounce of fat, just meat and gristle and tough as old boot leather.

I smiled grimly, then leaned forward and said quietly in the second man’s ear, “Prick, am I?”

I was gratified to see both their bodies go absolutely rigid, and there was a moment where neither of them said anything.

Finally, the man who had uttered the insult said in a voice that did not waver, “Yes, sir. That’s what I said. No disrespect intended. In fact, we Spaniards use it as a term of affection sometimes sir. Not sure what your custom is, sir.”

I had to suppress a chuckle; at least the man could think on his feet, and he did not immediately fall to the ground quaking. Well, we will see how long that lasts, I thought, stepping around and turning to face him, looking down where his face was gazing straight into my chest. I was pleased to see that suddenly he did not seem so sure of himself, sure that I detected a hint of a quiver run through his body, but if it was there he quickly got it under control. Then I leaned towards him, another favorite trick of mine, and despite himself, he in turn leaned back, trying to maintain some distance between us. I smiled, but it was not a nice smile as I looked him up and down, curling my lip in the same manner that Crastinus had all those years ago, and I was struck by a sudden urge to laugh. Apparently, the
numen
that had once waved the invisible turd under Crastinus’ nose back when I was a
tiro
had transferred itself to me now that he was gone.

Finally, I spoke again. “You’re a short-ass little piece of
cac
, aren’t you?” He did not say anything, and I snapped, “I believe I asked you a question, Gregarius!”

“Yes, sir,” he barked. “I’m a short-ass piece of
cac
!”

I nodded. “I thought as much. But it’s good that you see yourself for what you are. The path to true happiness lies in knowing your shortcomings. And you want to be happy, don’t you, Gregarius?”

A look of confusion flitted across his face, but he knew the game well enough to know that no matter where this was going, he was going to lose. It is one of the secrets to being as close to happy as one can be in the army; knowing that your superiors are playing with loaded dice that will come up Venus for them on every roll. Once one accepts that, it makes life for everyone go much easier, and by this point in time, every man who thought he could beat the system had long since died or deserted.

“Yes, sir. I want to be happy, sir.”

“Do you know what another brick in the road to true happiness is, Gregarius?”

“No, sir, but I hope that the Centurion will instruct me. Sir.”

Despite myself, I was enjoying this exchange and I suspect that the Gregarius was as well. It is all just a big farce really, and we each have a role to play.

Now I bent my knees so that I was looking directly into his eyes, saying slowly and distinctly, “Do. Not. Fuck. With. Me. Or I will beat you to death with my bare hands. Do you doubt that, Gregarius? That I could do just that?”

Role it may have been, but I was also deadly serious, and looking into his eyes before he looked away, I saw with satisfaction that he knew it as well.

“No, sir. I don’t doubt it at all. Sir.”

His tone was clipped, but his voice held no emotion, his eyes now back to looking at a point above my head.

I nodded again. “What’s your name and rank, Gregarius?”

“Gregarius
Immunes
Gaius Tetarfenus, sir.”

I turned to the first man, asking him the same, and my suspicions were confirmed.

“Sergeant Quintus Tetarfenus. Sir.”

I raised an eyebrow as I turned to the Sergeant. “You’re a Sergeant? And you’re talking in the ranks like a washerwoman?” I gave a loud, theatrical sigh then shook my head. “I am surprised.” I raised my voice so that more of the men could hear. “When I was told that I'd be leading the men of the 6th Legion, I thought to myself, here’s a group of men worthy of my leadership at least. Men that I, Primus Pilus Titus Pullus,” I savored the taste of my new title on my tongue, “would be honored to lead wherever Caesar deems it necessary to send us, whether it’s to Hades or to the top of Olympus to fight the gods themselves!” Pausing, I looked at the men around me out of the corner of my eye, and I could see them straining to hear my words. I let out another huge sigh. “But what’s my first impression? My first impression, courtesy of the Tetarfenus brothers, is that they gossip like camp whores, and they have no respect for their superior officers!”

My voice was like a lash by the time I finished, and I was pleased to see that the reaction of the men seemed to be equal parts anger and shame. I had little doubt that some of the anger was directed at me, but the majority would now be aimed at the brothers Tetarfenus and when I turned to walk towards the front of the formation, I saw by their ashen expressions that they indeed felt that way. Taking my place at the front of the formation, I executed an about turn to face my new command. Staring back at me were men almost identical to the men of the Second Cohort of the 10th. Oh, the faces were different, but the men were exactly the same. Some larger than others, none as large as me, although there were a couple who came close, all browned by countless days in the sun, without an ounce of spare fat on their frames, and there were scars and decorations in abundance.