Marching With Caesar - Civil War (98 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

The punishment over, the men were marched back to their respective areas, while I scanned their faces as they marched past, my heart sinking at their expressions of open anger and disgust. Fueled by the veterans, who would no doubt be telling them that things had never been this way while marching for Caesar, or even for that bastard Labienus, the Centurions and I were sitting on top of a rapidly boiling pot. With that in mind, I called a meeting of all Centurions and Optios. Not wanting to have the type of discussion we needed to have in earshot of either the men or Lepidus’ minions, we met at the small theater in town, with guards at the entrances to make sure that nobody could eavesdrop.

“You all know why I called this meeting,” I began immediately, without any greeting. “We're dealing with a situation that frankly I'm at a loss how to deal with, and I'm looking for ideas on how we can contain things before the men revolt.”

I stopped, waiting for someone, anyone to speak up, but the silence was complete, the men looking about for someone else to go first. After several seconds, I looked to Scribonius in appeal, but he shook his head. I insisted, waving my hand in a beckoning gesture while pointing to the spot next to me with the other hand, and finally, with a sigh, he stepped forward. I had no idea what he was going to say, but my hope was that having Scribonius speak first would break the ice and get the other men talking.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do, really.”

I looked at Scribonius in disbelief, furious that this was what came out of his mouth, yet he returned my gaze with a look that said, “You asked for this.”

However, it did get the other men talking, if only to howl in protest at the idea that we were helpless. “We run this Legion, not Lepidus,” someone shouted, and there was a roar of agreement.

I held up my hand, but it took a moment to get the men quiet. “Then how do we take back control of the Legion?” I asked.

“Make him realize that we’re the only thing keeping the men from tearing him to pieces,” I recognized the deep voice of Balbus, and I looked over to see him leaning against the wall, arms folded.

“How do we do that?” I countered, knowing that he had some idea already or he would not have said anything.

He shrugged, then studied his fingernails as he spoke. “I don’t think that approaching him directly would do any good. He’d just get his back up like most patricians, then we’d be worse off than before. Is there any among his toadies who he listens to, who has some influence with him?”

I gave it some thought. I had seen that he seemed to rely on one man in particular, one of his Tribunes whose birth was not so high as to threaten Lepidus yet high enough that Lepidus considered him worthy to be in the same room. I do not remember the man’s name, but it was his that I mentioned.

“Then I suggest that you approach him and have a word with him,” Balbus said.

“And what if that doesn’t work?” someone demanded. “What if it makes him angry? Then what?”

“Then,” Balbus said calmly, as if he were discussing the next day’s training schedule, “we kill him.”

The fact that nobody batted an eye or raised even the tiniest voice of protest, no matter how half-hearted, told more about our hatred of Lepidus than anything else could. With that, the meeting adjourned, and I went looking for the Tribune.

~ ~ ~ ~

He agreed to see me. When I asked that the ensuing conversation take place only between the two of us and that he dismiss even his slaves he did not seem particularly surprised, giving me my first hint that he had been expecting some sort of meeting. Once one of his body slaves poured us each a cup of wine, the slave departed to leave us sipping from our cups, neither speaking for a moment.

Then the Tribune broke the silence. “Well, Primus Pilus, I don't believe that this is a social call. What is it that you wish to discuss?”

As usual, I preferred the direct frontal assault. “We have a problem, Tribune,” I began, as he raised an eyebrow but said nothing, forcing me to continue. “It concerns the actions of General Lepidus and his excessive use of the lash on the men for minor offenses.”

The Tribune leaned forward to set the cup down, his face revealing nothing. Speaking very carefully, he replied, “I'm not sure what you mean, Primus Pilus. Nothing that the Governor,” he put special emphasis on Lepidus’ civilian administrative title, which outranked that of ordinary General, “has ordered is outside the regulations or the customs of the armies of Rome.”

“That's true,” I conceded. “He is technically within his rights, but this is a young Legion, and he's using the most extreme punishment for offenses that haven't been administered for at least as long as I've been in the army. I can never remember a man being flogged for failing an inspection. Losing equipment, or failing to show up for an assigned duty, that’s when a flogging is absolutely appropriate, but for having a smudged buckle?” I shook my head. “What happens when one of the men actually does something like what I just described? What’s left?”

“Either the scourge or execution, of course,” the Tribune said, laughing at my shocked expression. Looking down into his cup, I suppose in order to avoid looking me in the eye as he said this, the Tribune continued. “The Governor is a firm believer in the ancient and hallowed traditions of the Republic. He believes that discipline in the Legions under Caesar was lax, and that a firmer hand is required. Perhaps once your men realize this, they will put more effort into their duties in order to avoid punishment.”

“With all respect Tribune, I don’t think it has anything to do with the Governor’s beliefs about the Republic. If it was, he'd be on the side of The Liberators, but he’s not. I think it has everything to do with his enjoyment of seeing men weaker than he is suffer,” I shot back.

The Tribune sat back, now looking me directly in the eye.

While I was expecting him to be angry, instead I saw the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps there is a grain of truth in what you say,” he admitted. “But does it really matter why he does what he does? He's the Governor, and he has the law on his side.”

“And I have a very angry Legion who the Centurions will find hard to control if Lepidus continues on this course,” I countered, and now I saw a glint of anger in his eyes.

“That's a very serious statement, Primus Pilus. You understand what would happen if you and your Centurions were unable to control your men? At the very least the Legion would be decimated, and any Centurion who was found to not have done their utmost to stop such behavior would be executed.”

“True,” I granted, now it was my turn to lean forward to look him in the eye. “But Lepidus would still be dead, and I expect so would anyone the men thought close to Lepidus.”

Nothing more was said for some time, then the Tribune sighed. “Understood,” he said curtly. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“I've observed that Lepidus seems to respect and value your opinion a great deal.” I saw no harm in laying it on thick, and he seemed to perk up a bit at the flattery. “I'm asking you to prevail upon the Governor to relax his punishment, not the discipline behind it,” I emphasized. “We fully accept and respect his authority under the laws of Rome, and we don't expect him to ignore any violation of regulations, we're just asking that his punishment be more in line with the custom of more recent times.”

“And what’s in it for me?” he asked, not blinking. I suppose I should not have been surprised, but I was. “What do you want?” I asked cautiously. He laughed, I guess, at my naivety.

“Why, money of course,” he said cheerfully.

He named a sum, making me fight the urge to pick up the cup and smash it over his head because of his greed. Instead, I agreed, while I was wondering how I would scrape up that kind of cash on short notice. Our business concluded, I thanked him for the wine, then returned to the Legion area to spread the news.

~ ~ ~ ~

As expensive as it was, the Tribune was at least as good as his word. While the next morning’s inspection produced just as many men on the punishment list as before, this time the penalties were in the form of money and extra duties, something that Lepidus looked none too happy about. I could feel the breeze produced by the audible sighs of relief of both the rankers and the Centurions as the crisis passed. With that out of the way, we could return our minds and efforts to making the Legion ready to fight.

However, that is for later. Once again, I grow tired, and need a day or two to recover my energy. There is much more to tell about the struggle between Marcus Antonius, and young Octavian; more marching, more fighting, more bleeding and dying. Most importantly, a new Rome to be forged, a Rome breaking free of its past and becoming stronger and mightier than ever, thanks to the men of the Legions. Of which I am one, and will always be. Titus Pullus, Legionary of Rome.