Marching With Caesar - Civil War (60 page)

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I will say that Cornuficius died well. He did not cry or grovel, walking steadily to the spot in the basement that had obviously been used for executions in the past, the stone floor stained more darkly than the rest of the stone surrounding it. The Jews were there, their anger still evident, and as Cornuficius was led past, ben-Judah spat on the floor then said something in his tongue that I can only guess at. Cornuficius did not react at all, staring straight ahead, stripped down to only his tunic. Caesar was present, but he chose Apollonius to read the warrant for execution, saying only what was required of him, that the sentence was to be carried out. Like the men from the torture detachment, there are men trained for executions of condemned men, and one of those men was standing there waiting, armed with a spatha instead of the infantry sword. The blade of the cavalryman, being longer and heavier, makes it a better tool for decapitating a man. Cornuficius knelt, his lips moving in prayer to his household gods I imagine, as the executioner stepped forward, looking to Caesar to give the signal. Caesar waited until Cornuficius was through, then nodded. The blade swung into the air before flashing downward in a brutal arc, slicing through Cornuficius’ neck as easily as if it were a loaf of bread, his head falling with a thud that made my stomach lurch. Blood spurted several inches from his neck, the body remaining upright for an instant before toppling sideways to the floor. It was done; one of my bitterest enemies was dead, yet I felt no real triumph, just a sense of relief that I would not have to watch my back anymore. I looked over at the Jews, some of whom looked triumphantly at the corpse, while most of them looked solemn and as if they would rather be somewhere else. Most surprising to me was that one of those was ben-Judah; I had expected him to look, at the least, satisfied at the death of Cornuficius, yet he did not appear to be so.

Despite that, I could not resist saying to him as he walked by, “Are you happy now, Jew?”

A look of real anger flashed in his eyes and he took a step forward, his hand going to the hilt of his sword, but before he could say anything, I nodded down at his hand, saying quietly, “You should be careful of making it a habit of reaching for that whenever you're angry. Someone might think you were going to use it, and that would be bad. For everybody.”

He stopped short, but his hand moved away from the hilt, and he let out a breath, nodding slowly. “I suppose you are right. And am I happy?” He considered this, then shook his head. “No, I am not happy. Joseph is still dead. The blood of your man does not change that. But I admit that justice has been done, even if it was not in the manner in which we wanted. I suppose that’s the best we can expect . . . being subjects of Rome.”

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable, and I saw in his face the despair that comes from being a people subject to the will of another, more powerful nation. There was nothing more to be said after that, and he left with the rest of the Jews. After they had gone, Publius was brought forth and executed; the Jews were no more interested in him than they were in the sword that had been used on Joseph, knowing that he was just a tool. For his part, he did not die well, sobbing and begging Caesar for mercy, having to be dragged to the spot where Cornuficius had died, his body already removed. Being as large a man as he was, it took three provosts to drag him, kicking and screaming, the spittle flying from his mouth, spraying the others around him. All in all, it was a pathetic scene and we were thankful when it was over. The other two men, Genusius and Larius, were not executed, but they were scourged, again in private and not in the forum as custom dictated. Caesar wanted to keep this affair as quiet as possible, but a Centurion cannot just disappear, therefore I was ordered to call a formation to read the charges, along with the execution warrant at the morning formation. There was also the matter of Cornuficius’ replacement, and I promoted Sertorius from the Fifth Century. Additionally, in a somewhat unusual move, I named Salvius’ Optio Porcinus, who had impressed me a great deal, into Sertorius’ spot. Sertorius’ original Optio, a man named Spurius Albus, was not happy about it, but I promised him that the next opening that came up in the 10th, I would promote him to that slot. Into Porcinus’ old slot, I promoted Numerius Pupinius, which did not please Salvius in the slightest, but he had been recommended by Porcinus and I trusted his judgment much more than Salvius’. I did this all the evening after Cornuficius’ execution, calling a meeting of the Centurions and Optios of the 10th in the headquarters building, ostensibly to inform them of the promotions, not wanting the men to have a chance to find out what had happened to Cornuficius. When I informed the officers of all that had transpired, the only part I left out was the belief that Joseph of Gaza had cheated Cornuficius. Their reaction ranged from shock and disbelief, to what looked almost like panic on the faces of men like Favonius and Cornuficius’ Optio, a little worm named Ligus, who had been one of his toadies. Fuscus was no longer trying to hide his look of triumph at the death of his longtime Nemesis, while Sertorius was giving nothing away, looking as impassive as that statue of the Sphinx we had seen on our sightseeing excursion on the Nile. After the announcement, we had the formal promotion ceremony, whereupon I dismissed the men, having Diocles hand the proper warrants to each of the newly promoted men so they could go to the Legion quartermaster to draw the extra gear that came with their new ranks. I returned to the camp, more exhausted than I had been in a long time; it had been a very trying day.

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While I took care of my own administrative details, Caesar was doing the same, on a much larger scale. As he told me, he had to think of a way to appease the Jews, doing it in his usual thorough and grand way. During our stay in Ace Ptolemais, one of Antipater’s rivals, a man named Antigonus had come before Caesar to accuse Antipater and Hyrcanus of trying to poison him, asking Caesar for justice. Antigonus’ timing could not have been worse, though he had no way of knowing what had transpired with Joseph of Gaza. In what Apollonius described as a scene worthy to be called theater and to charge people for admission, there was a confrontation between Antigonus and Antipater. Antipater disrobed to show everyone there the scars that he had borne during the battle on the Nile fighting for Caesar. Even if there had not been the Joseph affair hanging over his head, there was no way that Caesar would turn his back on a man who had shed blood for him, meaning Antigonus was sent on his way empty-handed. Both as a reward for his service and as a way to appease the Jews for the murder of Joseph, Caesar told Antipater to pick the office he wanted to hold in Judaea, and Antipater made himself procurator of the province. Antipater promptly appointed his fifteen-year-old son, Phasaelus, governor of Jerusalem, and his other son, Herod, governor of Galilee. Caesar also bestowed Roman citizenship on Antipater, freeing him from taxes for the rest of his life as well. Hyrcanus was confirmed as high priest of the Jews, which Caesar also decreed would be a hereditary post, Hyrcanus’ sons and grandsons inheriting the office. With these two acts, the Jews were appeased, enabling Caesar to turn his attention back to the matter of Pharnaces.

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At the formation the next morning, I informed the men of the fate of Cornuficius, which of course, they already knew. I had to keep myself from shaking my head; I cannot say I was particularly surprised, and I suppose it was a little much to expect that newly promoted men would not draw attention and questions. As I stood there mouthing the words, I looked most intently at the men of the Second Century of the 10th, and was happy to see that, for the most part, the men looked more relieved than anything else. At the very least, they would not have to worry about being extorted, able to keep more of their money for themselves, in order to waste in any manner they saw fit.

Suddenly seeing an opportunity, I began speaking again. “If there's anything to be learned from this, it's that nobody, not even a Centurion, is above the law. No matter what your rank, no matter what your station, the laws of Rome provide protection for each and every one of you. But it also means that there will be retribution against you if you break those laws. Let the example of Cornuficius remind you of that. Nobody is above the law,” I repeated. With that done, I turned to other business, informing the men what I had learned in the morning briefing. “We'll be marching very shortly now, perhaps even in the next day. So except for the Centuries on guard duty, you all have passes to go into the city and debauch yourselves to your heart’s content after your duties.”

The men gave a rousing cheer, but I was not about to let them go without a warning.

Holding my hand up for silence, they obeyed quickly enough that I did not have to yell at them to shut up. “I would hope that the example of Cornuficius and Publius is sufficient warning to keep you out of trouble. But just to be sure, you're all forbidden from going anywhere near the Jewish Quarter. And if you run into any of the Jewish soldiers, you're to avoid trouble with them at all costs, even if that means you leave the premises. Any man who gets into any kind of trouble with the Jews is going to be assumed guilty, no matter what your explanation. And if you get into trouble, you better hope that the Jews kill you, because I will flay you alive. Do I make myself clear?”

The men answered that they did, although I knew that they would agree to anything just to get out of there and get into the city. I just hoped that it would be enough, but had decided to take the risk, knowing that no matter the cause and who had been punished, hearing about a comrade being executed was not good for morale, so I wanted them to have something to take their minds off of it.

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Just before we left, Caesar was joined by one of his kinsman, Sextus Caesar, who had arrived with a fleet from Italy, bringing dire news of developments back home. According to Sextus, Dolabella had announced that he planned on forgiving all debts and eliminating all rents, which he had the power to do as Tribune of the Plebs. Naturally, despite this being immensely popular with people of my class, it enraged the patricians, who comprised the majority of the landlords in Rome and the whole of the peninsula, along with being the major lenders. Although there was some violence in the Forum, it had been relatively minor so far, but it was not likely to remain that way. Still, as bad as that was, there was even worse news, at least as far as I was concerned, and it was about the 10th and what they had done. As I mentioned earlier, they had been encamped on the Campus Martius now, along with the other Spanish Legions for almost a year, waiting for Caesar, and their patience had finally run out. Despite the fact I did not know the details, I was told by Caesar that at least two Tribunes by the name of Gaius Avienus and Aulus Fonteius, along with several Centurions, had been feeding the flames of the men’s discontent, telling them that they indeed held legitimate grievances and deserved all the things that Caesar had promised them. Now, I cannot argue that they were wrong; Caesar had indeed made promises and as loyal as I was to Caesar, I felt strongly that these promises must be kept for a number of reasons. However, the men were running out of patience, and there were a number of incidents of violence against civilians, with tensions rising almost daily, according to Sextus Caesar. When I was told of what was happening, and that Centurions were involved, I knew in my gut that at the very least, Celer was involved. As sure as I was about Celer, I was just as sure that Scribonius and Priscus would not have anything to do with inciting the men. Crispus, I was not so sure about, and Niger’s replacement, Vatinius, I did not know well enough to make a judgment either way, but the man I was most worried about was Vibius. Even though he was not a Centurion and had been my and was now Scribonius’ Optio, I was sure that his hatred of Caesar, and now of me, would spur him to act in a rash manner. Compounding the problem, at least in my eyes, was the fact that despite not being a Centurion, Vibius held a great deal of influence over the men. As much as I would like to say that it was only because of his relationship with me that would not be the truth; he was as brave as I was, he was well-liked by his comrades and I have no doubt that if he had wanted it as badly as I did, he would have been in the Centurionate. At Pharsalus, I had threatened to strike him down, and meant it, but the habit of a lifetime is very hard to break. No matter how angry I was with Vibius, or how estranged we were, he had been my oldest friend and that was something I could not just shut off, no matter how much I may have wanted. Despite all this bad news, Caesar was still determined to finish what he had started here in the East, both administratively and militarily with Pharnaces, who showed no inclination to vacate the territory he had taken. To that end, we took ship, bound for Tarsus in Cilicia next, where Caesar did the same thing he had done in Ace Ptolemais, making appointments, hearing cases and putting things in order. For whatever reason, he did not seem to be in any hurry to confront Pharnaces, which I found both puzzling and disturbing, so much so that I grabbed Apollonius one evening when he was sitting talking with Diocles and demanded to know what he thought Caesar was doing.

Having become accustomed to my attempts to bully him, Apollonius was unperturbed. “I imagine that he’s giving Pharnaces a chance to reconsider his decision to stay put. Not to mention that he has to give the 36th time to march overland to the place Caesar has designated for us to meet.”

He gave me a smug look, raising his cup in a mock salute, giving a girlish squeal when I kicked the chair out from under him.