Marching With Caesar - Civil War (90 page)

Finally done with his other business, Caesar turned to me, ordering the slaves who hovered in the corners to move the table he had been working on next to my couch. “You don't mind if I stand while we work, do you, Primus Pilus?” Caesar asked me, as if I would even think to say that I did mind, but these little things that Caesar did that made him different from every other patrician I ever met. I shook my head, and satisfied, Caesar then turned to Octavian, beckoning him to stand beside Caesar. “Pullus, I'd like you to meet my niece Atia’s boy, Gaius Octavius,” Caesar announced.

Caesar’s pride was obvious and to my eye, completely unfeigned, and I had enough experience with Caesar that I was sure I could tell if it was. I struggled to my feet to offer my hand, pleasantly surprised at the firmness of Octavian’s grip, though the skin was soft and smooth, a sign that he had not been partaking of the military training that all fine young men are supposed to go through at his age.

“Young Master Octavius, it's an honor to meet you,” I could not bring myself to call him “sir,” so I decided that this was the least offensive alternative, but neither he nor Caesar seemed to notice or mind.

“No, Primus Pilus, the honor and pleasure is mine. You're a legend, and my uncle has spoken very highly of you.”

Now, I am just as susceptible to flattery, perhaps even more so, than any man, and I felt my heart soften towards the boy, thinking that perhaps I had been harsh in my initial assessment.

“I was hoping that you'd be my guest at dinner tonight,” Octavius continued. “I have so many questions about your experiences that it would take many, many thirds of a watch, but if I could have just a few of them tonight to at least ask the most pressing questions, I'd be eternally in your debt.”

Oh, he was smooth, knowing all the right strings to pluck, and while I had warmed to the boy considerably, there was still something in me that caused me to hold back, though I still did not fully understand what it was.

“It would be my honor and my pleasure, young Master,” I replied, then with those details seen to, Caesar indicated that I should resume my spot on the couch so we could begin our work.

~ ~ ~ ~

There were 35 slots in the Centurionate that needed to be filled in the 10th as it was brought back up to full strength, slightly more than half. In addition, we had to make decisions about how best to assign those Centurions who had decided to stay on for another enlistment. In the past, the usual custom was just to shift all the Centurions into the leading Cohorts until all the spots were filled, then bring in new Centurions, or men from other Legions who were looking to advance but could not in their existing Legion to fill out the rest. However, neither Caesar nor I were proponents of this method, no matter how entrenched in custom and tradition that it may have been. The problem, at least to our minds, was obvious. While the first four or five Cohorts would be led by experienced men, the rest of the Legion would be filled with green men at all levels. The more sensible approach would be to salt every Cohort with experienced Centurions, but there was a challenge with this approach, which was behind the reason why the system of promotion had been done in the manner it had been for all these years. With the old system, every remaining Centurion was almost guaranteed of a promotion, some of them jumping several grades at once. This enticement was responsible for the high retention rate of the Centurions compared to the rest of the men, but the rumors had already spread that Caesar would be doing things differently. As a result, several Centurions had come to me in the days before, seeking reassurance that if they chose to stay they would be rewarded with promotion, a promise that I could not give because I was not sure exactly what was going to happen. Caesar and I had enough discussions over the years that I had a feeling for his thoughts on how to handle this delicate matter, but since he had never given me any concrete plan before this, I was unwilling to stake my personal reputation on the outcome. Now, while we had 35 Centurions who had indicated they would stay, relatively few of them had signed their new enlistment oaths, choosing to wait to see how things turned out. It was a very tricky situation; while we had to do what was best for the Legion, we also had to keep the self-interest of the Centurions in mind, or we would lose the majority of the men who were staying on. Caesar decided that our first order of business was to arrange the disposition of the re-enlisting Centurions, before we began discussing candidates for the Centurionate. Next on the list were the Optios, who presented their own set of challenges, though not as pressing. As the scribes began laying out the scrolls containing the records of the Centurions, Caesar ordered some of the slaves to leave the room to fetch something. When they returned, they were carrying in a large board, with legs attached so that it stood almost like a wall. While I had seen Caesar use such a device to hang maps on, this board was different because it was painted with a series of columns and rows, each of which had markings heading each column. It took me a moment to recognize that the columns were the numbers of each Cohort, and the rows were for each Century. There were hooks attached to the board, at the junction point of every Century and Cohort. I was puzzling over this when another set of slaves walked in, each carrying a handful of tiles, which they set on the table. I looked at the tiles, and saw that they each had a hole in them. Finally, on every tile was written a name, the names of the thirty-five Centurions.

“I thought this might help make our task a little easier,” Caesar explained. “I've always found that when I can see a problem arranged in a logical fashion, it helps me solve it more quickly.”

I do not remember what I said, because I was still consumed with admiration at the genius of Caesar in thinking up such a contrivance. He had indeed made things much easier, but that only became apparent as we used his device, and once you saw it, it made perfect sense and you wondered why nobody had thought of this before. I suppose that is the sign of true genius, in solving a problem in the simplest manner possible, and in doing so making people wonder why nobody has come up with this solution earlier. The way it worked is that we would take the name of a Centurion, place his tile on the hook of the Cohort and Century that we thought would be the best fit for him and the Legion, then we would have an open discussion about our choice. General Pollio was invited to participate, which I did not mind, as well as some of the Tribunes, who were strictly enjoined from speaking. What we found is that rarely did a Centurion stay on the hook that he was initially given, as his relative strengths and weaknesses were discussed. It was in this manner that the day passed, although I found that I had to go from a sitting to a reclining position fairly quickly, and it became night, but Caesar showed no sign of stopping.

We had been taking only very short breaks to relieve ourselves, and it was during one of these breaks that Octavian approached me and whispered, “I'm sorry, Primus Pilus, but it looks as if our dinner will have to be postponed.”

I laughed. “I would have warned you that you were being exceedingly optimistic about that,” I agreed. “Once Caesar gets the bit in his teeth, there's no stopping him.”

“So I’m learning.” Octavian gave a rueful laugh of his own, then grimaced at the sight of Caesar waving us back to work. “But I'm learning a lot, and that’s what’s most important.”

As we walked back to the board, Octavian, seeing that I was a bit wobbly, offered his arm. It was a sign of my fatigue that I took it without hesitation or complaint.

I thanked him, though I was also a bit surprised, not at the offer of help, but at what he had just said. “You plan on a career in the army?”

The doubt must have been evident in my voice because he looked up at me, and just for a moment I saw what I thought was a flash of anger.

Then it was gone almost more quickly than it had come, and he gave me a smile. “Not necessarily, Primus Pilus. Oh, I plan on doing my obligatory campaigns, but I don’t believe that I'm cut out for a military career any more than you do.” I could feel the flush rising up my neck as I began to stammer out some sort of protest, but he cut me off with a laugh and wave of his hand. “No, don’t be embarrassed. You’re absolutely right in your assessment. But I still find this all very fascinating, and I love to learn new things, no matter what the subject. Except Greek, perhaps.” He made a face, and I saw the schoolboy emerge. This time I held my tongue, remembering how touchy young men are about their youth. “Still,” he continued, “you never know when something like this will come in handy. Who knows, one day I may be in Uncle’s position myself, and what I learned today will come in very handy indeed.”

I was about to laugh at his hubris, but something stopped me, and now I am glad that it did. We had made it back to the board by this time, where there were just a couple of tiles left, but one in particular I had been surreptitiously shuffling back to the bottom of the stack, wanting to put off the decision.

At least, I thought I had been sly. “Pullus, it’s time that you stop delaying the decision about where to put your friend Scribonius,” Caesar said gently, proving once again that he did not miss a trick.

~ ~ ~ ~

I had been in an agony of indecision about Scribonius, who had told me some time earlier that he was planning on re-enlisting, no matter how things shook out. While I took that as a sign that he would accept whatever posting he was assigned, I still wanted to do my best for him. Since the rift between Vibius and me, Scribonius had become my closest friend, and he was one of only two of my original tentmates that was staying on. The other was Vellusius, who by his own admission would never be anything other than what he was, a Gregarius. Vibius had made his decision to leave the army the day he found out that Juno’s husband had died, and as far as I knew, was already back home and married to her. Scribonius, on the other hand, I considered much smarter than I, and while he was not as good a fighter, he was an outstanding leader of men, and when all is said and done, that is probably the most important aspect of a Centurion’s job. You can be the greatest swordsman in the army, or you can do vast sums in your head faster than the quickest clerk, but if men will not follow you willingly, into and through anything, then it is all for nothing. Perhaps most importantly to me, I trusted Scribonius with my life. So the question before me, while simple, was also damnably hard at the same time. Did I reward Scribonius by moving him into the First Cohort, and thereby into the first grade of Centurion, but in one of the lower Centuries, or did I keep him as Pilus Prior of the Second, where he had demonstrated that he was one of the best in the army at running a Cohort? While moving into the First was technically a promotion, the reality was far different. Being a Pilus Prior, even of a lower Cohort, gave a Centurion a certain autonomy that would be missing if they were commanding a Century in a higher ranked Cohort. Many times, operations, especially under Caesar, were of Cohort size, and that is one place where Scribonius had flourished, when he was in independent command, out on his own and away from my prying eyes. It was also a load off my mind knowing that I could depend on Scribonius to make the right decisions without running to me for help. For perhaps the hundredth time, I cursed myself for being too cowardly to discuss this with Scribonius before now, because I was afraid that he would give me an answer that I did not want to hear, since the truth was I was as close to decided as one could be to keep him where he was. I valued him too much as Pilus Prior for him to be Princeps Posterior, which was the post that was open in the First at that point, but I honestly did not know how he would respond. As I said, he had assured me that he would accept whatever posting he was given, yet I did not want him to resent me, and I also wanted him to know how much I valued his service and his friendship. Keeping him in the Pilus Prior slot, at least to my mind, was not exactly praise and reward. All these thoughts were going through my head as I fiddled with his tile, and I suddenly realized that Caesar, Pollio, and Octavian were all studying me. For the second time, I felt the heat rising to my face, Caesar’s expression of amusement not helping any.

“It seems that you are on the horns of a dilemma, neh Pullus?” Caesar asked with barely suppressed enjoyment.

I swallowed my irritation at his seeming pleasure in my predicament, and nodded unhappily.

I started to explain my thinking, but he quickly waved me to silence. “I completely understand, Pullus, believe me, which is why I am so amused, I suppose. These are exactly the sorts of problems I've been wrestling with and I suppose that misery loves company. How do you show your regard for the service of a loyal subordinate when by rewarding them you put them in a position where they are in fact, less valuable to you? Have I described the essence of your problem?”

I had to suppress a wince as he spoke; when it was described so nakedly it certainly made it more unseemly, at least to my ears, but he had summed it up in just a few sentences, and I said as much.

Suddenly inspired, I asked him, “So what would you do in my place, Caesar?” There, I thought, see how you like it.

He did not bat an eye, nor did he hesitate, answering evenly, “Well, I think it’s obvious, isn’t it? You have to put him, or I suspect in this matter, keep him where he'll serve Rome the best, and I believe that's exactly where he is.”