Pompey made good his escape, taking ship for Mytilene, among other stops, where he continued to try to rally support, while the 1st, 4th, and the rest of the 6th was gathered up by Cato to be shipped off to Africa. They were joined there by the rest of the traitors who escaped from the battle; Afranius, Petreius, and the worst of the lot, Labienus. Meanwhile, the rest of the 6th set out for Macedonia, following in Caesar’s wake as he in turn trailed Pompey, and I marched at their head. Despite the fact I had not won the second pillar of respect, I was confident that they feared me, since Publius was still confined to being carried by one of the Legion wagons, unable to walk. The added benefit to my thorough beating of Publius was that, just like my defeat would have, word of what I did flashed through the rest of the army before we left. I took some satisfaction that Vibius knew what I could have done to him if I had so chosen.
Finally catching up with Caesar in Asia at Pergamum, where he was lingering to deal with a number of matters pertaining to the running of the province, we were ordered to make a camp outside the walls to wait while he finished attending to his business. Additionally, we were waiting for five Cohorts of the 28th, one of the newer Legions that had not participated in the revolt in camp. I looked at this time as an opportunity to start establishing firmer control of the 6th; to that point we had not spent two nights in a row in the same place, save for almost a week waiting for shipping to take us to Caesar, and that was not an appropriate time or place for what I had in mind. In Pergamum, I would have the time, and my approach was basic, focusing on what had been my first step up the ladder of promotion, with weapons training. I was going to give every man willing to try a chance at besting me in mock combat. How cocksure I was in those days, how convinced of my own strength and skill! I must laugh at myself now, not so much for having those thoughts, but at how unbearably earnest I was in my belief in myself. I also must laugh at myself because after several weeks in which to think of the best solution to my problem, this was the best I could do, simply resorting to my physical skills instead of using my brain. Elegant it was not, but it was effective, although I did not escape entirely unscathed. When all was said and done, I faced just short of 40 men willing to test themselves against me, and despite besting all of them, it was not without a supreme effort and quite a few cuts and bruises on my part. I also demanded that the men adopt the grip of the sword first taught to me by Vinicius, and while they resisted at first, after the first few bouts when I knocked the wooden sword from my opponents’ hands, they became convinced.
At this point, I think it is appropriate to mention the Centurions who served under me; some of them would go on to become good friends, some not. The Septimus Pilus Prior was a man named Gaius Valerius Valens, a Spaniard just a couple years older than I was. Of medium height and build, he was a competent officer, respected but not loved by his men. The Pilus Posterior was Quintus Annius, a greasy little speck of nothing who held aspirations of reaching the first grade rank, except that he did not have enough of what it took to get there. He was clever but not smart, unable to think past the immediate benefit or downfall of whatever scheme he was cooking up, and would prove to be a rock in my boot. The Princeps Prior was Gaius Sido, an older man on his second enlistment. Sido had risen about as far as he was ever going to go, but he was competent enough to do his job. In command of the Fourth Century was Princeps Posterior Lucius Serenus, a companion of Annius with about the same level of competence but not nearly as wily as Annius, and who looked at Annius as being much smarter than he was, which should tell one all they need to know about him. The Fifth was under the command of Marcus Junius Felix, who reminded me of Scribonius in many ways, both in his physical appearance and in his outlook. It was perhaps because of that resemblance that I would grow closer to Felix than perhaps any of the other men. Finally, the Hastatus Posterior was Publius Clemens, and there was nothing merciful about him. He was a fighter, one of those men like Publius who lived for battle, although he was smarter than Publius, which is why he was a Centurion. Clemens was well liked, even loved by his men and he loved them back. His weakness was the same as with so many men: Bacchus and the grape. Regardless, he was still one of my best.
The Tenth Cohort’s Decimus Pilus Prior was Gaius Fuscus, originally from Etruria, and he ran the Cohort in name only. The real muscle running the Tenth was a brute named Gaius Cornuficius, the Pilus Posterior. A combination of guile and enormous strength, Cornuficius was reputedly a fearsome fighter, but he was not one of the men who challenged me during my weapons training, which I would learn later was a sign that he was actually quite smart. Interestingly, he had the appearance of being dull, looking at the world through blank, bovine eyes, but it was all a sham, as I would learn the hard way. The Princeps Prior was Lucius Salvius, more or less a non-entity who did the bare minimum needed to run his Century, relying on his Optio, a man named Porcinus who, just on ability, should have been in that slot. Princeps Posterior was Marcus Favonius, and he was Cornuficius’ toady, much in the same way that Niger was to Celer. Of all the men under me, I think Favonius was the most tragic, because he had a great deal of potential to be a real leader, if he had not been polluted by Cornuficius. The Fifth’s Centurion was Quintus Sertorius, and based solely on ability he should have been the man running the Cohort. Like Clemens, he was well loved by his men, but unlike Clemens, he did not have any obvious weakness. Finally, was Marcus Considius, commander of the Sixth Century, and there is not much I can say about the man one way or another. I believe that he was promoted to the Centurionate because of connections and not ability, something that sometimes happened, although thankfully not in any Legion Caesar commanded. However, Pompey’s army had apparently been run differently and I was stuck with Considius until I could think of other alternatives.
~ ~ ~ ~
Being de facto Primus Pilus, I was not only given a raise in pay, I was also accorded the other benefits that come with the position. Namely, I had a larger tent, and I was eligible for two clerks and a personal body slave. Because I was only running two Cohorts, I chose not to take advantage of the second clerk, although I did take on the body slave, choosing the slave who helped me prepare for my first meeting with the 6th. He was a miserable looking, short-ass little thing, scrawny even for a Greek, and it was not until several weeks into his service with me that I even bothered to learn his name. He said it was Diocles. Yes, gentle reader, the very same man hurriedly scribbling away as I speak, I first met many, many years ago in a dusty army camp. I am smiling now at the memory, and am pleased to see that he is smiling back. He was barely out of his teens, ten years younger than me, and when I first took him into my service, it was only as an attendant to my physical needs. At the time, I was unaware, and truthfully did not particularly care about Diocles’ many other talents of a more cerebral nature; that would be a pleasant surprise, but down the road after many, many miles and battles.
(Since I am the topic of this part of my master and friend’s narrative, I am inserting my own recollection of the event of our meeting, because it was much more momentous for me than it was for him. As he mentioned, I had indeed been in the service of a member of Pompey’s staff and had managed to survive what was a horrific experience when first Pompey’s very own men sacked the camp, followed by members of Caesar’s army. I hid myself under a pile of bodies dispatched by Pompey’s men, servants and retainers of Pompey’s staff, along with clerks and the like who tried to stop our own troops from looting their officers and comrades’ valuables, but I have never seen such a madness come over men as I saw that day. I burrowed into a pile of corpses, and when Caesar’s men came into the camp, they more or less picked up where Pompey’s men had left off, taking whatever was left, and killing whoever they found. It was not until Caesar came and took control of the camp, and even then I waited a full watch for nightfall, before I felt safe enough to climb from my gruesome refuge. I surrendered myself to the provosts, who herded me into a large holding area, separate from the combatant prisoners, where I stayed with others like myself who through some combination of luck and guile had managed to survive the madness. We were well treated, considering our status and our station, and it was from this state that I was plucked by none other than Titus Pullus. I first laid eyes on him when he came to our enclosure, calling for anyone with experience as a body slave. As he now knows, I had absolutely no practical experience in such matters, although I had seen it done more times than I could count, having been my former master’s personal secretary. Even now, these many years later, I do not know why I chose to step forward and raise my hand, despite giving the matter much thought over the years. But that is exactly what I did, entering the life of Titus Pullus, as he entered mine. Neither of us at the time had any idea that we would be together so many years; at that moment I just made the determination that what Titus Pullus was offering was better than what my immediate future seemed to have in the offing. He has described me (accurately I might add, as much as it pains me to admit it), but here is what I saw when I first laid eyes on him. While my master and friend may not be shy about proclaiming the greatness of his deeds, he does not exaggerate in his descriptions. When he says he was a large man, if anything it is an understatement; in truth I had never seen a man as large and powerful as Titus Pullus up to that moment. He was not in uniform, but he carried his vitus, so I knew that he was a Centurion, and if I had contented myself with just taking in his physical appearance, I would have dismissed him as a typical Roman, his size notwithstanding. But as we stood in those few moments studying each other, I thought I detected something in his brown eyes that indicated that there was something there that was more than a professional soldier of Rome’s army. I hesitate to call it intelligence, because to say as much would give the Centurions of Rome’s army short shrift; most of them are intelligent, strictly speaking, but there is more to a man than how quickly he can think through a problem. Perhaps what I saw was a certain sensitivity (which will undoubtedly cause my master to spew a mouthful of wine all over when he reads this), or a spark of what might be described as imagination. But no, that is not it, and as I write this I think I may have touched on the quality I saw in his eyes, and that was curiosity. As boastful as my master may be about his physical deeds, he is the exact opposite when it comes to his other qualities, and one thing that I have noticed missing in his description of himself is his absolute curiosity and willingness to learn more about the world around him. He says that he only became interested in learning to read better because of his promotions, but that is not a complete truth. In fact, one of the duties that kept me the busiest, then and now, was laying my hands on reading material for him. He was and is a voracious reader, and now in the twilight of his life his library rivals that of any patrician or equites of Rome. I know why he did not speak of his habits while he was on active service; soldiers view literacy with suspicion, for a number of reasons. To men in the ranks, and even to other officers, it speaks of a dissatisfaction with one’s station in life, since education is one of the most vital components for a New Man to rise in Roman society. They also view it as a sign of cleverness, and to a Roman that is not a compliment. Lastly, a literate man is more likely to know the rules and regulation of the army and can use those to enrich himself, at the expense of others.
My master has made no secret in his narrative that his primary goal when he decided to join the Legions and make the army his career was to better himself and his descendants, but such ambition must never be spoken of openly in Roman society when one is of the lower classes. It is funny; even after almost an entire life spent in one of the pillars of Roman society in the army, I still view myself as an outsider, looking in on the workings of the society and culture that I believe will enter the annals of history as the greatest of all time. I say this with some pain; I am a Greek by birth, and slave or not, I am as proud of my heritage as any Roman citizen, but while the Romans may lack culture and refinement, they make up for that lack in many other qualities, not all of them martial. What has made the Romans great is not in their ability to just conquer, but in to hold what they have conquered by offering the subdued both tangible and intangible benefits that far surpass the benefits that the conquered society offered its citizens before Rome showed up. And one of the things that Rome offers is the ability to improve one’s circumstances. But make no mistake, it is rigidly controlled and is not an easy course to pursue. Equal to the suspicion of the lower ranks when a man displays too much interest in literacy (and I shudder when I say that to Romans there is such a thing as too much) is both the suspicion and the resistance to such a man from the upper ranks of Roman society. While the lower ranks and their attitude towards a man bettering himself is a barrier, the resistance of the patrician class to such a man can be downright dangerous, and not just to a man’s status, but to his life. The countryside of the Republic is littered with the bones of men who some patrician deemed to be getting above himself. So I understand and at the time, I approved of my master’s reluctance to display his literacy to anyone other than those few he trusted completely, but those days are long past. His status is secure here towards the end of his life and career, so I am somewhat puzzled why even in this account of his life he is reluctant to speak of this aspect of his character. Perhaps it is as he has said himself; old habits die hard. So that is what I saw in the eyes of Titus Pullus on that day those many years ago. In that moment, our fates intertwined, and I have enjoyed the experience immensely.)
~ ~ ~ ~
I was called to the villa of a Roman citizen living in Pergamum, a merchant I believe, where Caesar made his headquarters. I was ushered in immediately and I saw that Caesar was amidst his usual whirlwind of activity, dictating to a number of different scribes on a number of different topics. Waving me closer, he stopped his dictation, whereupon almost every one of his clerks immediately went scurrying off to either relieve themselves or get something to eat. Service with Caesar at any level or function was not easy, but I believe that his clerks had the absolute worst of it.
Looking at me, Caesar grinned. “How’s Publius?”
I know I should not have been surprised, but I was, which I think was half the reason Caesar said such things, just to keep people around him off balance.
“He’s almost recovered, Caesar.”
“Good.” As quickly as it came, his smile disappeared, and he looked at me coldly. “Because if he had died, I would have had no choice but to have you executed.”
I was determined that he would not keep me off balance, so I merely replied, “I know. But he’s not dead and will make a full recovery.”
He gave me a speculative look. “Pullus, while I understand what you did, I must ask if there wasn't some less . . . dramatic and violent a demonstration that you could have made?”
In truth, I had never thought about it, but when he said it, I realized that I probably could have done something else, and I felt a sense of shame wash over me. Damn the man, I thought! Can he always find something to make me feel like I am inadequate for the job he has given me? But I had undergone more exposure to Caesar in the last few weeks than I had experienced in my whole time in the army previously. What I learned during that time was that he was always testing the people around him, that every exchange with him held more meaning than met the eye, and I was determined that I would not be flustered by his questioning.
So I just shrugged. “Perhaps, Caesar, but rankers aren’t as appreciative of subtlety as other types of people. I could have tried something else, I suppose, but I’m fairly certain that it would have been as successful as trying to teach a pig how to speak our tongue.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and I was pleased with myself for amusing him.
“Well put, Pullus. Well put. And I take your point.” That done, he became all business. “The reason I called you is to tell you to prepare the men. We're leaving.”
“Where to, Caesar?”
“Alexandria. I've received reliable reports that Pompey has decided to head there with the goal of trying to convince their young king that his cause isn't doomed. I want to get there as quickly as possible and end this nonsense once and for all.”
Although that sounded good to me, I had my doubts about whether it would in fact end, and obviously, the reservation showed, because Caesar read my face and gave a sigh.
“You have your doubts, neh, Pullus?”
I nodded. “Yes, Caesar, I have my doubts.”
Crossing his arms, he sat on a table, regarding me steadily, then asked, “And why is that?”
“Cato.”
I am not sure what reaction I expected, but he pursed his lips and considered me with narrowed eyes. “And why do you fear Cato?”
Before I could stop myself, I retorted, “I don’t fear Cato, Caesar. There’s not a man born that I fear, and I certainly don’t fear a . . .”
I stopped myself before I made what could have been a huge error. No matter what Caesar may have thought of Cato, Cato was of his own class and the upper classes of Rome are incredibly touchy about any slurs or even criticism leveled at men of their own station, particularly by one as lowly born as me, Centurion or not. But I need not have worried, for Caesar finished for me.
“You don't fear a . . . prick like Cato?” His eyebrow arched as he asked, and I laughed.
“Actually I was going to call him a ‘cunnus,’ Caesar. But ‘prick’ will do just fine.”
“So why do you think Cato poses a threat?”
It was then that I explained to Caesar the longstanding argument between me and Vibius about Cato, how I had sat by more fires than I could count as Vibius recounted all that he thought Cato represented. He said nothing as I relived our endless arguments, but finally held up his hand.
“Pullus, as much as I appreciate hearing about Domitius’ feelings about Cato, it still doesn't answer the question.”
I felt the heat rising through my neck to my face, mainly because I realized he was right. I was not touching on the heart of the matter.
Thinking for a moment, I finally said, “I worry about Cato because he hates you, and is fanatical in that hatred. I think the reason he hates you so much is because you represent change, and despite all of Cato’s talk about preserving traditions, at his heart, he’s just a small man who hates change. And small men hate great men with a passion that never dies.” I finished by saying, “Pompey may not agree with you, but he doesn’t hate you. Cato does, and he’ll never stop. And he has three Legions.”
Caesar leaned back, arms still crossed as he regarded me thoughtfully. “Pullus, I said once I may have underestimated you. Now I know that I have.” Then he shrugged. “I have no doubt you're right, Pullus. But it makes no difference; as soon as I finish with Pompey, we'll go and meet Cato. And defeat him.”
With that, the interview ended. I was given my written orders by one of the harried clerks, and returned back to the camp, nodding to the Primus Pilus of the 28th who had been summoned as well, absurdly pleased that I was summoned first.
~ ~ ~ ~
Reading my orders, Caesar very specifically stated that I was not to mention our destination to anyone, and thereby unwittingly, or so I like to think, created the first big challenge to my command of the 6th. Once I returned to camp, I called a meeting of the other officers in my tent, regretting that since this was the first big occasion I had run out of the Falernian, it forced me to make do with whatever was available. Despite being indifferent to such things, I knew that many men thought highly of what type of wine they were served by a superior, viewing it somehow as a reflection of the regard or lack thereof in which they were held. However, there was nothing I could do about it, although looking back at how things transpired, perhaps if I had paid more attention to such things, my life would probably have been easier. I sent Diocles out to inform the command group to meet at my tent, and at the appointed time, I was pleased to see that they were all there, seated on stools and attentive to what I had to say. First having Diocles serve them, I waited the obligatory time for them to take a few sips of their wine, getting my first inkling of trouble from the sidelong glances some of them gave each other as they swallowed.
I resolved to head things off, and started by saying, “First I'd like to apologize for the mediocre quality of the refreshments. Unfortunately, this was the best I could procure.” My heart sank a bit, seeing the patent doubt on some of the faces, but I pressed on. “I’ve been given orders by Caesar. We’re to prepare to move by ship. We embark day after tomorrow.”
“Where to?” This was posed by Annius, and it was an innocent enough question, but I could not help hesitating, unfortunately instantly alerting the men, and I cursed myself.
“My orders are very specific about that. I can't say.”
If any of them had only been paying partial attention, this served to bring them around, and almost to a man, they straightened up on their stools, instantly alert. As I would learn, it was no surprise that Cornuficius raised his hand, yet that was a lesson for later. Nodding for him to speak, his seemingly blank eyes regarded me for a long moment before he did so, very slowly.
“And why’s that, Primus Pilus? Why do you suppose Caesar has chosen to keep that from us?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but thank the gods I stopped myself, because I might have made things even worse. The answer, to me at least, was obvious; the loyalty of the 6th was still very much an open question. They had been Pompey’s men, enlisted by Pompey, and most importantly paid by Pompey. If they were alerted that we were going after Pompey himself, it was very much a wager as to whether or not they would have somehow alerted Pompey that we were coming, and I know which way I would have bet. However, to say that openly would cast doubt on their honor, and there are few things that Legionaries are touchier about than their honor, even when there is good reason to question it.
Finally, I just shrugged. “I have no idea, Cornuficius.”
Even as I said it, I realized how weak it sounded. Nobody answered immediately, and it was during this silence, watching the men closely, that I first saw that Cornuficius held sway, and not just over the 10th Cohort either.
He sat, sipping his wine, eyes staring off at something none of us could see. Setting the cup down, he said calmly, “We must be going after Pompey.”
My heart began thudding heavily, and I could hear the indrawn breath of the men, having a flash of insight that either Cornuficius was smarter than he appeared, or the others were not very smart; only time would bear that out. Of course, we were going after Pompey! What else would we be doing? Suddenly the quiet dissolved, the men speaking at once, and I held my hand up for silence. To their credit, they obeyed instantly, although I think it had more to do with wanting to hear my response than out of any respect.
“Cornuficius, that's speculation on your part, but it’s only speculation.”
He regarded me blandly, scratching an elbow. “Do you know where we’re going, Primus Pilus?”
I had just been outmaneuvered, and I knew it. If I chose, I could simply lie, saying I had no idea, but that posed its own problems. First, it meant that I was not fully trusted by Caesar either, and part of my hold over the men at this point came from their view that I was favored by Caesar, so that any disobedience of me meant drawing his wrath as well as mine. Second, if I chose to lie, and the lie was discovered at some point later on, then whatever trust I had built by that point would blow away like sand in the wind.
I took a deep breath. “Yes, I know where we’re going.”
Now they regarded me with close to open hostility, and Cornuficius pressed his advantage. “So neither you nor Caesar trusts us.”
The situation hung on the edge of a sword; whatever hold I had gained over these men could crumble with what I said next, and I felt a flare of anger, letting it show in my voice.
“First, I was given an order, and I follow orders. To the letter. Second,” I was struck by a sudden thought, “what would you do in my position, Cornuficius? Are you saying that you would not only violate your orders, but the trust placed in you by your commanding officer by telling what you knew despite very specific orders to the contrary?”
I was pleased to see a look of discomfort pass through those cow eyes, but it was only a flash.
“Well, Primus Pilus, the fact is I’m not in your position. But if I were, I guess what I would have to determine is wherein lies the greatest threat to myself, betraying my general, and worrying about him finding out about it, or having men at my back who do not trust me and what might happen because of their distrust.”
I was flabbergasted and shocked into speechlessness, which was something of a blessing, because it gave me a moment to observe the reactions of the other men. A couple of them, Annius being most prominent, had a look on his face similar to what I had seen on the faces of men watching the games when a kill was about to be made. But there were others, Felix, Clemens, and Sertorius being most prominent, who looked at the very least uncomfortable.
I forced my voice to remain calm. “Well, that’s certainly one way to look at it, Cornuficius. And if I were a suspicious man, I might think that you were actually making a threat, and as you know, as Primus Pilus, I would be well within my rights to have you arrested and executed, without trial.”
Oh, he was a cool customer; I will give him that, because he did not even blink. He merely nodded and replied, “As you say, Primus Pilus. That would be within your rights. However, I don't think that it would endear you to the men of the 6th, and in turn, your command of them would be doomed to failure. Which in turn would mean that you failed your general and patron, Caesar.”
“That would be a risk I’d have to take,” I replied evenly, “but you’d still be dead, neh? And I'd be alive, and where there’s life there’s always hope. Not so much hope when you’re dead.”
“So we’re at an impasse then.” He sipped his wine again.
Nobody spoke for several moments, each of us deep in our own thoughts.
Finally, I shook my head and said, “Not really. Ultimately, it’s not just Caesar and by extension, me, you have to worry about. If things were to play out as you’ve described, do you really think that all the rest of Caesar’s army wouldn't have their revenge? Especially my comrades in the 10th,” I saw no need to reveal the true state of the relationship with some of the men of the 10th and me, “who I have no doubt whatsoever would take their revenge.”
I could see that I was making an impact, and I pressed on. “Oh, it would never be anything official, you know that. A brawl outside camp, where suddenly the men of the 6th found themselves surrounded and outnumbered by the men of the 10th. Just a typical soldier’s brawl, although it'd be a bit bloodier than normal. A death here, a death there. Never more than one or two at a time, but they’ll add up over time, until the 7th and 10th Cohort of the 6th no longer exists, and the clerks at headquarters are left scratching their head trying to figure out what happened.”
This had them thinking all right, and they did not like the direction this was taking, but I was determined to hammer home the point I was making.
“So it’s not really an impasse. If I can’t convince you to accept and obey your orders, exactly as they’re relayed, because of the sacred oaths you all have taken at the lustration ceremonies, then you’ll just have to content yourself with the knowledge that my comrades would exterminate each and every one of you. Unofficially, of course.”
All eyes turned on Cornuficius, and again there was deadly silence. Finally, someone cleared his throat.
I turned to see Felix stand, and it was in the expression on his face that I first saw Scribonius, frowning while forming his thoughts. “Primus Pilus, I want to make sure you understand that Cornuficius is only voicing the concerns we all feel.”
Everyone’s head nodded, with the exception of Cornuficius, I noticed, whose bovine eyes narrowed, watching Felix, and I remember thinking, there is no love between these two, something I would do well to remember.
“However, I want to assure you that you can rely on me and the men of the Fifth of the Seventh to do their duty to Rome.” He put emphasis on the last word, looking directly at Cornuficius as he said it, then continued, “Because ultimately that’s who we all serve. Not an individual, but Rome.”
I do not know whether he meant that as a rebuke to me just as much as to Cornuficius, but I chose to take what he said at face value, and I nodded my agreement. “Thank you, Felix, that’s well put. And I absolutely agree. We all serve Rome, and right now the orders of our general are that we're going to leave day after tomorrow, and I’m not at liberty to say where. Does anyone else have anything to say?”
Predictably, nobody did. Dismissing them to go make their preparations, I stopped Cornuficius, motioning him to sit back down. He did so willingly enough, and I poured him another cup of wine and more for myself. We sat for a moment, sipping our wine while I tried to decide the best way to begin.
As usual, I opted for the frontal assault. “So, Gaius Cornuficius. Am I going to have to kill you?”
Of course, I had waited until he had started to take another sip of his wine, but instead of choking on it, he actually chuckled, lifting his cup to me in mock salute.
“You’re welcome to try, Primus Pilus. Many have, but none have succeeded.”
“None of them were me,” I said calmly, and now his expression changed.
For just the briefest of moments his mask slipped and I saw a blaze of hatred and anger flare, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.
“That’s what some of the others said.”
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees so that I could look directly into his eyes. “Was my demonstration with Publius not enough? Or the fact that I faced more than 40 of the men and bested every one of them?”
He gave a short laugh. “Publius is a profoundly stupid man, Primus Pilus. I wouldn’t set a lot of store in besting him. But I'll admit that I'm not your equal with a sword; in truth, I don’t think I’ve seen anyone as good in all my time in the Legions.”
My eyes narrowed as I tried to determine if he was playing to my vanity, but his face was expressionless, giving me no clue.
Continuing, he said, “But there are many ways in which men do battle, Primus Pilus.” Sitting back, he rolled the cup in his hands, looking into its depths. Evidently coming to some decision, he said, “But to answer your original question, the answer is no, you won’t have to attempt to kill me, Primus Pilus, at least right now. I’ll do my duty in a manner that you’ll find no fault with. As Felix said,” as he spoke, he gave a small smile, just to make sure I knew that he thought no such thing, “we’re all doing our duty for Rome, and not one man.” He looked at me, I at him, and I knew in that moment that I had an enemy who I would have to watch very carefully indeed. “Will that be all, Primus Pilus? If so, I must go get the men ready to move out.”
I stood, indicating that the audience was over, watching him depart as I thought about all that had taken place. Calling Diocles, I told him that I wanted to speak with Felix, then sat down heavily, pulling the wine to me.
~ ~ ~ ~
Felix was announced, and I bade him enter. Clearly ill at ease, he stood at intente. Even after I gave him leave to sit, he relaxed only marginally and remained standing.
I decided to jump right in. “I just wanted to thank you for what you said, Felix. Your words eased the tension quite a bit.”
His eyes narrowed, and I could see he was trying to determine if there was anything hidden in my words that he needed to worry about. I laughed at the sight, thinking that he looked very much the way I felt whenever I was around Caesar, and I told him as much.
Shrugging, he said, “I just told the truth, Primus Pilus.”
“Yes, but sometimes speaking the truth, especially under such circumstances, can be extremely difficult, especially in front of your comrades. I just wanted you to know your courage was appreciated.”
“Thank you, Primus Pilus.”
He was still standing stiffly; finally, I had to order him to sit down. Offering him wine, he accepted a cup, but did not drink. Sighing, I realized that this was going to take more work than I had thought.
“Look, Felix, I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”
“Neither am I, Primus Pilus.”
I do not know why, but I found this funny and burst out laughing. At first, he looked offended, then in a moment, he began chuckling himself. Before long, we were both roaring with laughter.
Finally, I caught my breath. “Tell me about yourself, Felix. I just realized I haven’t sat down with any of you to find out more about each of you.”
“I know, Primus Pilus.” He said this without obvious thought, and just as quickly, I realized the error that I had made.
I had been so consumed with proving to the men that I was a physical force to be reckoned with and ensuring respect out of fear that I had not taken one of the most basic steps to guaranteeing that men obey because they want to, and that was to get to know them as men.
“Really? What else have I done wrong?” The instant I said this, I realized that it had not come out the way I meant it, and I could see as much by Felix’s change, his posture becoming tense and defensive. Before he could reply, I held my hand up. “Pax, Felix. The instant I said that, I realized how it sounded, but I’m being completely sincere. I truly want to know if there is anything else that you think would help with making things run more smoothly.”
Normally, I would never have asked this of a subordinate, at least not one I barely knew. Unfortunately, none of us, men, officers, nor I had ever been in a situation like this, and it was because of the straits we were in that I decided to throw the dice, hoping they came up Venus. I was taking a huge gamble that Felix would not simply tell me what he thought I wanted to hear before running back to the rest of the Centurions to relay how insecure I was truly feeling in my command. However, I felt that I had picked the right man for such a question, and the more I have thought about it, I have to believe that the similarities between Felix and Scribonius played a huge role in my choice. And my luck held; I had chosen the right man, who proceeded to help me more than I think even he knew.
~ ~ ~ ~
Boarding ship two days later, the men were sullen and quiet, angry that they had not been informed of their destination, something I chose to ignore. The Centurions were in a similar frame of mind, but were too professional to let it show openly, treating me with an icy professional courtesy, even Felix. At first I was puzzled by his demeanor, yet after thinking about it, I realized that while I thought we had made progress towards establishing a rapport two nights before, it was still too early for him to declare his allegiance openly. Fortunately, the worries that always accompany an ocean voyage soon took precedence in the minds of the men. Their problems with me and where they were going took second place to the fear of drowning. The fact that Caesar chose the most direct route from Pergamum to Alexandria did not help matters, because it meant a voyage across the open sea out of sight of land, something that did not make me any happier than anyone else onboard. Just as it was for the rest of the men, this was my first time on a ship where we spent more than a matter of a couple of watches without land in view, and the only thing I could be thankful for was that I had lost my tendency to get seasick. A number of the men were not so lucky, spending the majority of their time draped over the side of the ship. Luckily, the weather held, the sea never particularly choppy, with the winds blowing steadily. Even so, we spent three full days out of sight of land before the flagship sent the signal that land was sighted. There was a mad scramble as men roused themselves from their misery to run to the sides of the vessel, and I stifled a laugh at the sight. Despite having only gotten a glimpse of the maps of this region, I knew where we were headed and off what quarter of the ship the men should be looking for their first sight of land, but such was their disorientation that the betting was fairly evenly spread around all points of the ship. Watching the frenzy of wagering, I became aware of the sensation of being observed, turning to see Cornuficius standing with his Optio, a man named Furius, his bovine eyes studying me. Even as I turned, I saw Cornuficius speak a quiet word to Furius and hand him a coin purse, whereupon the Optio scurried off, presumably to make a wager. I frowned; it was a bad idea on a number of levels for Centurions to engage in any of the wagering that the men did, although in fact, it rarely stopped many of them. It quickly became clear that Cornuficius was one of the men who saw nothing wrong with it. I walked across the rolling deck and approached him, returning his salute.
“Taking part in the betting action, Cornuficius?”
He nodded.
I regarded him for a moment, then said, “I don’t like my Centurions engaging in betting with the men. With other Centurions and even Optios, it’s fine, but not with the rankers.”
Cornuficius gave a small smile, like there was some private joke he was reliving, and I felt my anger stir, but there was nothing I could fault in his tone.
“As you wish, Primus Pilus, I’ll refrain from such activities in the future. And just so you know, it’s not something I do regularly.” He paused, as if trying to decide if he should continue, then gave another small smile. “It’s just that I seldom have an opportunity where I’m so sure of the outcome, I just couldn’t resist.”
“So you think you know where to look for land, Cornuficius?”
He nodded again. “Absolutely, Primus Pilus.”
“And how can you be so sure?”
Now the smile that had been playing at the edges of his mouth finally won the battle, quickly turning into a laugh. “Because you told me, Primus Pilus.”
And with that, he asked to be excused, which I granted, wanting a moment to myself. What had he meant by that? Thinking about it, I realized that he must have been watching me when the announcement was first made that land had been spotted and seen me look off the port side of the ship. That in itself was not a huge thing, but thinking on it more deeply, I was struck first by a question, then just as quickly by the answer, and the conclusion I drew was deeply unsettling. How could he have known to look at me when the signal came that land was sighted? The answer was that there was no way he could have known, which could only mean that he had been watching me already, and the chance to enrich himself was just, at least as far as he was concerned, a happy accident. It also explained why he thought it so amusing; he was having a laugh at my expense. I think what I found most disturbing was that up until the last moment, I had been unaware that he was spying on me, meaning that he was very, very good at being unobtrusive. My respect for Cornuficius raised a notch, but so did my dislike and distrust. I felt my jaw muscles tighten, determined that he would not best me again, at anything.
~ ~ ~ ~
Our first sight of Alexandria came courtesy of a blinding light that appeared out of the darkness. I am of course referring to the light coming from the great lighthouse of Alexandria, and since it was dark by the time we slid up the Egyptian coast towards Alexandria, this was indeed our first sight of the great city. The sight of such a light, appearing out of nowhere so to speak, caused a near panic among the men, and it was then I was forced to reveal to them our destination, some of the men becoming so frightened of what they thought was some ghostly apparition that they threatened to throw themselves overboard. Calling a hasty formation on the deck, I announced that what the men were seeing was no numen, it was the light from the great lighthouse. Instantly the cries of panics turned to a combination of shouts of delight from the winners and groans of despair from the losers, and in the darkness, I could hear the clinking of coins changing hands. Peering through the gloom and by the dim glow from the light reflected from the lighthouse, I could just make out the bulk of the ship carrying the other Cohort, wondering how Valens was faring with the men of the Seventh. I had little doubt that there was much the same scene being played out on the decks of his ship, although he did not have the advantage of knowing where we were going. It turned out the panic onboard was stopped from what I thought an unlikely source, the Princeps Prior Gaius Sido. As I mentioned, he was an older man on his second enlistment, and had actually served with Gabinius when he invaded Egypt. Therefore, he had seen the lighthouse before and knew it for what it was, none of which I found out until we landed. Now that the men knew where they were going and were not about to be consumed by some great sea monster that had a light on its head that it used to lure ships and men to their doom, the chatter focused on what pleasures awaited them in Alexandria. Like every Legionary serving Rome who has not actually been there, Alexandria was legendary for the supposedly limitless opportunities for debauchery available and was a topic of conversation around every fire I had ever sat around at least once a week since I had been in the army. It generally started with something like, “My cousin served with Pompey when he fought the Parthians, and on the way back they stopped in Alexandria. He said that you could find a woman who . . .” Whereupon the man with the cousin would describe the most lascivious, lewd act that he could think of, some of which I do not think were anatomically possible. Alexandria had fired more men’s imaginations, along with their nether parts, than any other location that men talked about, even Rome. Hearing the excited murmurs of men gleefully planning to sink to depths that they had only previously dreamed of, I felt a stirring of pity. These men had not marched with Caesar for long; even when they had served with us in Gaul for those two years, they had done very little but garrison duty, guarding of the baggage or had been under the command of one Caesar’s Legates or Tribunes and not the great man himself. Consequently, they were blissfully unaware that it was highly unlikely that we would be idle long enough to fulfill any of their fantasies. For a moment, I debated the idea of breaking it to them, but decided against it, knowing that they would not hold me in any gratitude for shattering their illusions. So I turned away, shaking my head and going to look for Diocles to make sure we were ready to disembark.
~ ~ ~ ~
Waiting outside the harbor until it was daylight, we got our first good look at what is rightly one of the wonders of the world. It was one of the few times that the men were struck into silence, so awe-inspiring was the sight of the huge white tower looming above us as our ships slid by. Craning my neck upwards, I was struck by a wave of dizziness as I imagined what it would be like to stand on top, looking down. The statue of Zeus that stands astride the top of the tower by itself would have been massive and intimidating; the fact that it stood on top of a tower that was more than 400 feet high made my jaw drop, and I was not alone. The tower consisted of what almost looked like huge children’s building blocks, in three basic shapes. The bottom of the tower is square, built of whitewashed stones and more than 200 feet high. Sitting atop the square is an octagon, but I could not tell with what material it was constructed, and it is not as tall as the square. Finally, there is a cylindrical tower upon which is a cupola where the light burns in front of a huge polished metal mirror. I would learn later that during the day, fire was not used; instead, the sun is bounced off the mirror to send a signal. Around the base of the lighthouse is a high wall, which I was told served to protect the base of the lighthouse from the raging waves caused by storms. Spiraling around the entire tower is a stairway leading to the top, and I did not envy the men whose job it was to ascend that stairway, between the height and the exertion it would require. Sliding by, I could also see that the construction of such a massive structure was not just a matter of vanity; Alexandria is a well-protected harbor, and I instantly understood why it has the reputation of being the most secure anchorage in the world, because the entrance is narrow and the approach is surrounded by rocky shore. The lighthouse is actually on an island called Pharos Island that serves as a barrier, with a huge man-made causeway built out from the mainland that not only links the island but also bisects the harbor, dividing it into a section called The Great Harbor, which is where we were sailing, and the Harbor of Eunostus. The lighthouse was built on a spur of land extending from the eastern end of the island, jutting into the harbor and serving as the upper of what could be called two jaws. The lower jaw is provided by a spur of land that protrudes out north from the mainland, so that the only way to approach the Great Harbor is heading from the northeast; I learned later that it is called Cape Lochias. Between the two jaws are clumps of jagged rocks, further narrowing the entrance.
Taking this all in with the fleet making its way into the anchorage, I was also struck by the sight of so many ships, of all shapes and sizes. I had never seen numbers like it, even when we were in Brundisium, and I was not alone in my wonderment. The men lined the sides of not just my ship, but every transport, pointing at first this sight then the next, talking excitedly about what they were seeing. And we were under just as much scrutiny; I could see men stopping in their work to watch our fleet pass by, some men actually dropping whatever they were doing to dash off down whatever pier they were working on. I would learn that the man-made causeway, lined with docks and being where we were headed, is called the Heptastadion, Greek for Seven Furlongs, which is its actual length. At each end of the causeway is an arched bridge that allows smaller boats to pass from one harbor to another. Caesar’s flagship moored first, followed by my transports then the others containing the 7th Cohort, with the next third of a watch occupied in securing the ships and making ready to disembark. Once all was prepared, I was given orders to secure the dock and the immediate area in preparation for Caesar disembarking. The pier was now swarming with curious people, and although I would not describe their posture as welcoming, I did not see anything that I considered threatening. The gangplank was lowered and I walked down the ramp, followed by the men of three Centuries of the Tenth Cohort. Giving the order to set up a defensive perimeter, I told Fuscus, Sertorius, and Favonius to handle the civilians gently, since I did not know the Egyptian temperament at that time, or how they would react to being manhandled. We were able to clear the area without incident, and I remember thinking to myself that perhaps things would go smoothly the rest of the time we were there. The way events unfolded, I only had a matter of a few moments before the first problem arose.
~ ~ ~ ~
When I gave my report to General Pollio, one of Caesar’s staff and the commander of the cavalry, I informed him that the area had been secured without incident, and he in turn strode back up the gangplank of the flagship to let Caesar know. After several moments, there was a commotion and I turned to see that Caesar had decided to make an entrance worthy of his status. Down the ramp marched his 12 lictors, their bundles adorned with the ivy, as was Caesar’s right, having been hailed as Imperator on the field. Following the lictors were a number of Caesar’s other attendants, with the great man himself walking behind, clad in his gilt armor and with his paludamentum flowing behind him. He had barely set foot on the quay when there was a hue and cry from the people standing on the outside of the perimeter formed by the men. Because I could not understand a word that was being said, I had to rely on what I saw, and surrounding us was a very angry mob, shaking their fists, hurling what I have to believe were obscenities down on us. Despite none of them doing anything overtly offensive or violent, it was clear that it would not be long before someone in the crowd reached down to pick up a brick or a stave and then things could get ugly. They began chanting something in their language, shaking their fists in rhythm to what they were saying. I saw that it was beginning to affect some of the men, who stood with their shields raised in the first position, as they started to shift their feet or glance over their shoulder back at their Centurions, waiting for us to tell them what to do. Turning about, I saw that Caesar was as surprised as any of us at the sudden turn of events, and I marveled that he seemed unsure of himself. He beckoned Pollio and another general, Tiberius Nero, to his side and they talked quickly. As they were doing so, Sertorius called to me from his spot immediately behind the men who were the farthest away. Saying something that I could not hear over the racket being made by the Egyptians, he pointed and I spotted what had alerted him. From beyond the fringes of the crowd ran a fairly large group of men that, while not exactly heavily armed, were attired in uniform and appeared to have some official capacity. They were pushing their way through the crowd who, once they saw who was pushing, readily gave way. Leading the way were two men; one was wearing the same uniform as the others and was clearly the commanding officer. He was also the darkest man I had ever seen. The second had lighter, honey-colored skin, but that was not what made him so remarkable, because he wore makeup heavier than I had ever seen on a woman, let alone a man. His eyes were outlined in black, with lines drawn outwards from the edge of his eyes, I guessed in an attempt to make them look larger and slanted, although why anyone would want to do that I could not fathom. His attire was of the finest material, richly brocaded with gold, while around his neck he wore what I took to be some sort of symbol of his office. The uniformed men shoved the people out of his way more roughly than I had allowed the men to handle them, but they made no protest, instead immediately shrinking away when they saw the official. The man’s bearing bespoke of a haughtiness that comes from being accustomed to being obeyed and feared, but he was respectful enough as he approached.
I walked to meet him, whereupon he held up a hand in greeting, which I returned cautiously, then he spoke, but since he spoke in Greek and the only Greek I knew at that point was not likely to help smooth diplomatic relations, I shrugged and said, “I'm sorry, sir. I don't speak Greek.”
A look of what could be considered distaste flashed in his eyes, except he covered it so quickly that I might have imagined it, immediately switching to Latin.
He spoke our tongue flawlessly, although something in the tone of his voice that I found disquieting, but I knew not why at the time. “Salve, Centurion. I am Paulinus Eupator. I am one of the city’s magistrates, and I hurried here as soon as I heard you and your general landed. What is his name, if I may ask?”
“Gaius Julius Caesar, Consul of Rome and commander of the Eastern Army.”
This last bit I made up on the fly; we had no official name, but this he did not know. The reaction to Caesar’s name was gratifying, his eyes immediately widening and in some sort of reflex, his hand went up to touch the amulet he wore around his neck.
He recovered nicely, however. “We are most honored to receive a personage as great as Caesar; his fame is well known, and deservedly so, throughout the civilized world.” He cleared his throat. “And what is the purpose of such a great man who visits our humble city?”
I shrugged. “That I can't tell you, Paulinus. You'll have to ask Caesar. I do know that right now he intends on marching to the royal palace to pay his respects to your sovereign.”
Now there was no hiding his discomfort and he pursed his lips, making me notice for the first time that his lips were painted along with his eyes. And there was that voice, I thought.
Almost like a woman’s voice, not just in pitch but in inflection as well. “I regret to say that there is a difficulty with his request, Centurion.”
Despite myself, I barked out a laugh. “Request? It’s not a request. Caesar is coming to pay his respects.” Then my brain registered what he had said. “And what do you mean by ‘difficulty’?”
Oh, he was very uncomfortable now, and I saw a bead of sweat pop out on his forehead. “It’s just that our laws are very specific, Centurion. The men who precede Caesar who carry those bundles of rods and axes? As I understand it, they represent Caesar’s power to punish men if he deems it necessary, correct?”
“Not just Caesar. Any Roman who's served in a type of office, both currently and if he's held this office in the past, is entitled to his lictors. The number depends on the office. What of it?” I asked impatiently, aware that while the noise had died down, now there was an air of anticipation hanging over us, and it was not just coming from the Egyptians. Caesar was not renowned for his patience.
“No person in Egypt other than Pharaoh has the right to take a man’s life, Centurion, even a Consul of Rome.”
“It’s a symbol of office,” I argued. “I haven’t seen or even heard of a lictor administering punishment in my lifetime. It’s simply a mark of the status of Caesar and men like him to have lictors.”
“I understand that, Centurion, truly I do.” He indicated the crowd behind him with a minute nod of his head. “But they do not. I must respectfully request that Caesar not be preceded by his lictors as he makes his way through our city.”
I stood there for a moment, although I knew delaying was not going to make things any easier. “Very well,” I said tersely, “I'll relay what you've said to Caesar. Wait here.”
Whereupon I turned and walked back to Caesar, fighting the urge to break into a run because it would not be dignified. Caesar had been standing there for a few dozen heartbeats, and for a man like Caesar that is a lifetime, so his impatience and irritation was clear to see even as I approached him.
“Well?” he snapped as I saluted him, which he did return, despite his obvious impatience.
I relayed what Paulinus had said, and I saw the same puzzlement in his eyes that I had felt.
“But it’s a ceremonial office,” he said in exasperation.
“I told him that, Caesar, but he says that although he understands that, those folks over there,” like Paulinus, I used my head to point, “they don’t know that.”
“Well, that's too bad for them. I'm a Consul of Rome, and they would do well to remember that. Tell the emissary that I won't be dismissing my lictors, and I will make my way to the palace.”
“Yes, sir.”
And with that, I turned to walk back to Paulinus, informing him of Caesar’s decision.
His chin quivered, and for a moment, I thought he might actually cry, but he took a breath then said slowly, “Very well. I will inform the City Guard that you and your party are to be escorted as they are currently formed. Do not worry, Centurion. The City Guard will ensure your safety.”
I threw my head back and laughed, which he did not care for in the slightest. “Thank you Paulinus, but,” I indicated my own men, “these are Legionaries of Rome. I think we'll be safe enough.”
“Fine, Centurion. As you wish,” he snapped.
Again, I was struck by how womanish he sounded. Paulinus turned away, walking over to the commander of the City Guard to say something. I saw the man’s body stiffen in anger, then he looked over Paulinus’ shoulder at me, and if looks could kill, I would have dropped stone dead. I merely winked at him, then turned to my men and ordered them to form up to march. And that is how we entered Alexandria.
~ ~ ~ ~
Despite Paulinus’ warning, we marched to the royal palace without major incident, save for a couple of rotten vegetables thrown our way, thankfully not at Caesar because we would have had to punish them, and one thing I was learning, tramping through the streets, was that there were a lot of Egyptians. Normally, Caesar would have led the way with his retinue, but given the tensions, he ordered me to send a Century ahead, and I chose Felix’s, marching with him as we cleared the way for Caesar. I had never seen so much humanity crammed into one place in my life, and I wondered if perhaps it was a case of every citizen choosing to be out in the streets to watch our approach. They gave way easily enough, yet were clearly not happy with our presence. I am just happy that none of us knew the local language because I am sure someone in the crowd said something that guaranteed their head leaving their shoulders prematurely, and that would have been bad. Another thing I noticed was the layout of the city itself, never seeing anything like it before. The streets for the most part are perfectly straight and intersect each other at right angles. As we marched, I studied the layout, trying to think why it was so foreign but so familiar at the same time. Finally, I made mention of it to Felix.
“That’s because it’s laid out like a Roman army camp.”
I started; he was right. That was why it had seemed so familiar, but was also so strange, because none of our towns or cities is laid out in a similar fashion.
“So these bastards stole our design,” I said smugly, but was surprised when Felix laughed.
“No, Primus Pilus, it’s the other way around. We stole the design from them.”
“Gerrae,” I replied indignantly, “how’s that possible?”
“Well, you know who Alexandria is named for, don’t you?”
“Of course, I’m not that uneducated,” I shot back indignantly, nettled at his presumption of ignorance on my part.
“Well, Alexander lived more than 200 years ago, and we’ve only been making our camps this way for about 150 years. So I think it’s safe to say that we copied Alexander. Not,” he added hastily, apparently worried that he had offended me, “that Alexander is a bad person to copy from.”
I regarded what he said, then asked, “And how did you know this, Felix?”
Now he looked uncomfortable.
Finally, he shrugged and looked away as he mumbled, “I like to read a bit. I just picked it up from somewhere, I guess.”
I looked over my shoulder to make sure Felix’s Optio and men were out of earshot, then told him quietly, “So do I. I read quite a bit.”
He looked so surprised that I am sure a strong wind could have blown him over. I recognized that here was the opening I was looking for, in my attempt to make him an ally.
“In fact, I’ve built up quite a little library over the last few years,” I said, hoping my voice sounded casual. “If you ever have the urge, please feel free to borrow anything that strikes your fancy.”
Through the cautious expression, I saw the blaze of interest at my words, and recognized that look, for I suspect there were times when my own face was a reflection of his. Once I finally started reading for reasons other than reports and tallies, a whole world had opened up to me, and now rarely a night went by that I did not spend some time reading whatever I could get my hands on. I knew that look because I knew that feeling, and I hoped that this would be enough. Following the Street of the Soma, one of the principal north-south thoroughfares, we passed by the great Library, interesting the men not at all, but Felix and me greatly, and we exchanged a secret smile, knowing what the other was thinking.
“I could get lost in there for months,” he said wistfully as we marched by
“More like years,” I replied, my tone matching his.
~ ~ ~ ~
Upon reaching the Canopic Way, which is the primary east-west road, we turned left, and I marveled at how the roads not only ran straight, but how wide and well maintained they were. The streets were made of carefully fitted stone, much like our military highways, with curbs and gutters. Now the gutters were lined with people standing shoulder to shoulder and several people deep, and gazing down the length of the avenue, I realized that I could see almost a mile down the thoroughfare without my view being obstructed. And as I looked down the road, my heart sank; every step of the way was lined with people, a great brown, heaving mass, none of whom looked happy to see us.
“How many people you think live here?” Felix’s question mirrored my own thoughts, but I could only shrug.
“More than I’ve ever seen in one place is all I can say,” I answered.
“It has to be bigger than Rome.”
I looked at Felix in surprise. “You’ve been to Rome?”
He nodded. “Several times.”
“How does this compare?” I asked him.
He gave a short laugh. “This place is much, much cleaner.”
“So are the streets laid out this way?”
Another laugh. “Not even close. I don’t think there’s a street in Rome that runs straight for more than a few paces.”
That did not make sense to me and I said so. “But if we make our camps like this, and we copied from Alexander, and Alexander laid his cities out like this, then why don’t we?”
He shrugged. “I think it may be because it’s too late. The only way to make Rome look like this is to tear everything down and start over. And I don’t think that’s happening anytime soon.”
I was struck by a thought. “Don’t be so sure,” I replied. “I have a feeling Caesar is going to be changing a lot of things about Rome. If he looks at Alexandria and thinks it’s a good idea for Rome, he’ll do it. He’ll tear everything down and start all over again, and nobody will stop him.”
He looked at me for a moment, saying nothing. Then, “You have that much faith in him?”
“Yes.” I was about to continue, but decided against it.
“Well, that’s understandable. You’re his client, he’s your patron.”
I felt a surge of anger well within me, but I pushed it aside, forcing myself to think about it from someone else’s perspective. I recognized that it was a logical conclusion for one to draw, and in fact could be true, but I just had not realized it.
“I understand why you think so, Felix,” I said carefully, trying to decide how far to go. “But it’s not that simple. Caesar’s my general; in fact, he’s the only general I’ve ever followed for any length of time, except for that bastard Labienus. I was part of his dilectus when he raised the 10th. And say what you want, nobody can argue with what we did under Caesar because it’s never been done in the history of Rome. We conquered more territory and people in Rome’s name than any other time in our history. Through all that time, I’ve come to one conclusion. Caesar is blessed by the gods; he is truly their favorite. I’m not a particularly religious man, but there are things that even I can’t ignore, and all the signs are that Caesar will go down in the history of Rome as its greatest man.” I turned to look him in the eye. “Greater even than Pompey.” I could tell that he did not like my words about Pompey, but he said nothing. Turning my head back forward, I continued, “The simple truth is that I’ve never seen Caesar fail, and over the years I’ve simply come to the conclusion that it’s wiser to be on his side than against him. As you and the rest of the men should well know.”
He liked that even less than my remark about Pompey, but I was speaking nothing but the truth, and I saw that he understood that. He did not like it, but he accepted it.
There was a silence between us for some time before he shrugged. “That makes sense, Primus Pilus. I understand what you’re saying. It’s just . . .”
He looked away, and I could tell he was torn about what he wanted to say next. “Go ahead, Felix, speak your mind.”
“It’s just that while I may understand what you say about Pompey and Caesar, I don’t think the men are ready yet to accept that reality. Just like you, they were part of Pompey’s dilectus and view him as the father of the Legion.”
I nodded, and I replied, “And I understand what you are saying, Felix, and I’ll bear it in mind. Thank you.”
By the time our conversation ended, we had reached the gates of the palace enclosure, home of the boy king Ptolemy. We halted, waiting for Caesar to make his way to the front of the formation so that he could be the one to ask for entrance, and I had to suppress a smile when he was preceded by his lictors. He strode up to the very nervous looking Nubian guards, big brutes of my size with skin so black it looked very much like a ripe plum, but before he could say anything, one of them turned to open a small door inset into the huge gate, disappearing from sight, drawing a chuckle from us. A moment later, the door opened and a creature that could have been the twin of Paulinus stepped out, although if anything he was more richly attired, wearing an elaborate wig, black as night. His face was made up in the same style of Paulinus, and when he spoke, I was shocked because it was as if this thing and Paulinus shared the same voice. His name, he said, was Pothinus, and after listening to his oily blandishments for a moment, I felt in desperate need of a bath. However, Caesar behaved with impeccable courtesy, showing none of the impatience he had displayed at the dock. After a brief exchange that I could not clearly hear, Pothinus turned to the guards, who in turn put their weapons down to begin straining against the gates. Ponderously, and with much shrieking protest from hinges that did not seem to have been oiled in my lifetime, the gates opened up, giving us a glimpse into what would turn out to be our home for the next several months.
~ ~ ~ ~
We marched into the enclosure, and thank the gods that the palace compound was so large, given what would take place. There was still not enough room for everyone to assemble in formation, so I was ordered by Pollio to send one Cohort back to the docks, accompanied by Nero, who was going to arrange billeting for the men. Choosing the Seventh to remain in the palace complex, there immediately arose another complication, with Pothinus haughtily informing Caesar that we were not allowed to remain under arms while inside the palace compound.
There was much back and forth over this, but Caesar ended the impasse by saying simply, “If you think your men can take their weapons, Pothinus, by all means order them to do so.”
We kept our weapons, although Caesar did have us stack our arms and allowed us to take seats on the ground while he entered the palace proper. He also ordered that his two Primi Pili, meaning me, and the Primus Pilus of the 28th, a man named Gnaeus Cartufenus, to accompany him and his senior officers into the palace. Gnaeus Cartufenus was about ten years my senior, but he had spent most of his career in garrison or frontier postings and did not have a fraction of the combat experience that I had,. Thankfully, Cartufenus recognized his lack of experience and despite being technically senior, he usually deferred to me over questions concerning tactics. That was how Cartufenus and I were present for what happened next. Caesar formed us up, with Cartufenus and I naturally bringing up the rear, then marched into the palace. It was hard not to gawk and I was relieved that at least Cartufenus had the same problem. We had never seen anything so ornate; it seemed that everything was covered in gold, with even the most common objects made of precious metals and encrusted in jewels. That, however, was not the strange part. All around us were statues of the most bizarre creatures I had ever seen before, or since for that matter. A man’s body with the head of what looked like a dog was just one example, and as I looked more closely, I felt my skin crawling. If that was indeed a statue, it was made out of a substance I had never seen before, making me queasy as I wondered if what I was seeing was a real man. There were several stuffed crocodiles, their eyes replaced by gems like emeralds and rubies. We were marching down a very long passageway, and if I squinted, I could just make out what appeared to be a throne at the far end, and I recognized that this was all for the effect of overawing visitors like us. Lining the walls were dozens of men and women, most of the men dressed in the same style as Pothinus and Paulinus, while the women were wearing almost nothing at all, most of them lounging on couches. They all had their faces painted in what I was quickly learning was their fashion, and they were engaged in a variety of activities. Some of them were puffing on what I took to be some sort of pipe, although it was more elaborate than anything I had ever seen before. Meanwhile, others seemed to be engaged in some sort of sexual activity, and only the discipline of many years, along with a healthy fear of drawing Caesar’s displeasure, kept me from openly staring. Cartufenus was not quite so successful, and I had to nudge him a time or two. Now that we were closer, I saw that the throne was empty, but arrayed before it stood Pothinus and a number of other creatures like him. Caesar ordered us to halt as he stood a few feet away from Pothinus, and I saw that one of the creatures next to Pothinus held a small wicker basket.
Caesar spoke, “Greetings to the House of Ptolemy. I am Gaius Julius Caesar of the Julii, direct descendant of the goddess Venus, Consul of Rome and I hold the imperium granted me by Rome, which gives me the authority to engage in treaties and adjudicate disputes. I am here to see Ptolemy XIV and pay my respects.”
Pothinus’ heavily made up face was a mask, making it almost impossible to read his expression, which, as I would come to learn, was one of the main reasons they did as much.
He bowed when Caesar was finished, and said, “Alas Caesar, I am desolate.”
Caesar raised an eyebrow. “And why, may I ask, Pothinus are you made desolate by my visit?”
Pothinus held his hands out and while his voice throbbed with emotion, it was disconcerting to see the completely blank expression as he said, “It is not your visit that is so distressing Caesar. It is that our glorious Pharaoh Ptolemy, Lord of the Two Ladies Upper and Lower Egypt, Master of Sedge and Bee, Child of Amun-Ra, Isis and Ptah is not here.”
For the second time in a day, Caesar was nonplussed “Not here? You mean not in the palace?”
Pothinus shook his head. “No, great Caesar. I mean that he is not in Alexandria. He is with his army, a few days’ march away from here.”
“Very well, then I will see his wife. Or his sister, however which you wish to style her.”
Now I was confused; it was not until a day or so later that I learned the custom of the Ptolemaic dynasty that brother and sister also be man and wife, which I find despicable. But Pothinus knew exactly what he meant and for the first time I thought I detected a crack in his mask, matched by a tone of uncertainty when he answered Caesar.
“Alas, Caesar, that is not possible either.”
“Ah, so she is with her husband then?”
I had been with Caesar long enough to recognize his tone; he was asking a question to which he already knew the answer. Since this was undoubtedly one of his many tests that he subjected people to, I felt a glimmer of sympathy for Pothinus, but it passed. Now Pothinus began fidgeting with his hands, and despite his face still looking serene, there was no mistaking the distress when he answered, “No, not exactly, Caesar. It would appear that our beloved queen Cleopatra has fallen prey to listening to evil counsel. She has raised an army in rebellion against her husband.”
“Ah,” Caesar repeated, then said gently, “that’s not very good, is it?”
Pothinus shook his head vigorously, agreeing with Caesar that it indeed was not very good.
Caesar spoke again, his voice becoming brisk. “Rome cannot afford to have strife in this region since it will impact our grain supply. Therefore, I will adjudicate this dispute between the two and come to a decision about how to resolve it. You will send for Ptolemy at once, and I will send for Cleopatra and have her escorted here safely.”
Pothinus’ body went rigid, whether it was from anger or fear I do not know which, but his voice was controlled. “I will send word immediately, Caesar, but that is all I can do. Ptolemy is sovereign and this is his kingdom. I do not think he will take kindly to being summoned.”
“If he knows what is best for his people, he will come,” Caesar was curt. He turned to us, indicating that we were leaving. Turning back, he said, “I will of course be your guest here at the palace while we wait. I assume that meets with your approval?”
Pothinus bowed, and I marveled at his self-control as he said smoothly, “I would have it no other way, Caesar. We would be most honored if you availed yourself of these quarters, humble as they may be.”
I fought back an urge to laugh, but only just and I could see I was not alone. Before we turned to leave, Pothinus asked us to wait. “While I am sorry that we could not accommodate everything you requested at this moment, Caesar, I do have a gift that I think will help put us in a more favorable light.”
Caesar turned back, eyebrow lifted. “Oh, and what would this precious gift be?”
Turning to the creature next to him, Pothinus took the basket from his hands, holding it out to Caesar. Caesar took a step forward and at Pothinus' signal, the creature next to him lifted the lid of the basket with one hand, and with the other raised the object inside so it could be viewed by all. Caesar recoiled in horror, although it took me a moment for what I was seeing to register, before shooting a quick glance at Cartufenus, who was standing, mouth agape, as dumbfounded as I was. For as you probably know, gentle reader, that precious gift was the head of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, preserved in some sort of oil.
Caesar quickly gathered his composure, his face becoming a mask very much like that worn by Pothinus, but one did not have to know Caesar well to hear the barely controlled rage in his voice when he spoke.
“Put his . . . him back in the basket,” he spoke through clenched teeth, whereupon the creature dropped Pompey's head back in with a thud, almost causing Pothinus to lose his grip. “This act brings great shame on the house of Ptolemy. Shame! Do you understand me?”
Pothinus was clearly taken aback, along with all the other creatures, their expressions mirroring ours from a moment before as they looked at each other in shock and confusion.
“But he was your enemy,” Pothinus protested, “I thought you would be pleased!”
“He was a Consul of Rome,” Caesar roared more loudly than I had ever heard him. He shook his head, his voice suddenly sounding tired and I saw his shoulders slump. “You had no right or cause to meddle in internal Roman matters. You have shamed not just yourselves, but you have shamed me.” He took a deep breath before regaining control of himself. “This changes nothing,” he declared. “You know what you must do. And I know what I must do.”
With that, he turned away, but before I faced about to wait for him to pass, I am sure that I saw a glimmer of tears in his eyes.
The news of Pompey’s death angered the men greatly. Fortunately, their anger was not aimed at Caesar but at the Egyptians because of their treachery. It also told Caesar that he had to watch himself while in their midst; if they would murder Pompey, it was not out of the realm of possibility that they would try to murder Caesar. Now that Pompey was dead, there was really no need to linger where we were so clearly not wanted, at least as far as the men were concerned, but we were staying put while Caesar waited for Ptolemy to answer his summons. However, Caesar was not idle; he commanded his admiral Cassius to set sail as quickly as possible with orders to retrieve the 27th Legion, along with two new Legions he had ordered to be formed out of Pompey’s veterans, numbered 36th and 37th. Meanwhile, we set up our quarters inside the compound in a series of buildings near the royal theater, and I was ordered to bring the rest of the 6th within the enclosure, with the 28th setting up camp on the quay. Our presence was still a festering sore to the Egyptians, and they had taken to making daily demonstrations expressing their displeasure. At first, they contented themselves with gathering in a crowd to hurl insults and an occasional rotten vegetable or small dead animal. Then a couple boys from the 28th wandered too far from their Cohort area, evidently in search of some of the fleshly delights they had heard so much about, winding up with their throats cut and dumped in an alley. Their Centurion took his Century out in search of them; while they found the two men, they also found themselves surrounded very quickly by a mob, and this lot was not content just to throw fruit and whatnot. According to the Centurion, it started out in the usual manner, but then out of the crowd came one of the bricks that the Egyptians use to pave their streets, striking a man in the chest and knocking him down. An instant later, the air was filled with bricks, stones, and whatever else the crowd could get their hands on, with several men struck and injured, a couple of them seriously. That in turn ignited the rage of the men, who were already eager to lash out because of their two dead comrades, and without receiving any orders, they rushed the crowd, striking a few dozen down before the crowd ran for its collective life, whereupon the Century marched back to the camp carrying their dead and wounded. That was the beginning of daily riots before Caesar finally ordered first Century-sized, then Cohort-sized sorties out to disperse the crowds, with orders to stop just short of deadly force. However, this merely served to escalate the violence, and soon there were pitched battles going on between our men and the Egyptians. It was not until Caesar finally allowed us to unsheathe our weapons that a semblance of order was restored. I do not know how many Egyptians were killed, but it was in the hundreds, although we did not survive unscathed. Since both of my Cohorts were now at the enclosure, we were not involved in any of these actions, but I suspected that if we stayed much longer, we would see more than enough action, and it appeared that Caesar had every intention of staying. The question was, what was he staying for?
~ ~ ~ ~
I know that there has been much speculation about the true reason for Caesar’s time in Alexandria; some men who claimed to have inside knowledge have even said that it was for love. These men are at best fools, and at worst liars. I know why Caesar chose to stay and wait for Ptolemy to answer his summons, although I also know firsthand that he was very well aware that when Ptolemy finally did come, it might be at the head of an army that outnumbered us by more than ten to one. While I cannot claim that Caesar told this to me directly, we had enough conversations where the subject came up and he made some sort of comment that now leads me to be as sure as I can be that I know the real reason that we stayed in Alexandria, and love was not it. However, before I impart what I know, I cannot deny that there might be a partial grain of truth that Caesar had feelings for young Cleopatra, although I can say with certainty that she was not the driving force behind his decision. No, it was more mundane and as a result more pressing reason than love; Caesar needed money. I have already detailed the agreement Caesar struck with the men of the 6th, yet the 6th was just the tip of the javelin. Caesar had made similar promises to his Spanish Legions to quell their revolt, and had just formed new Legions from the Pompeian survivors who chose to fight for him. As a result, he knew that to renege on these promises would bring on his destruction more surely and more quickly than Pompey or his minions ever could. The amounts we are talking about were massive, and that was just for the troops; Caesar also had to rebuild a Republic torn apart by civil war. Although his Gallic conquests would go a long way towards providing the kind of income he needed, the cash that he had accrued through the sale of hundreds of thousands of slaves was long since expended and it would be years before the new provinces started providing the kind of revenue needed. The wealth of Egypt was well known, even by people as lowly born and uneducated as me, and it was this that Caesar planned on using to keep his enterprise going. What I do not know was whether he planned to take the contents of Egypt’s treasury outright, or if his goal was more subtle, by placing Cleopatra on the throne, knowing that she would be a pliant ally. First though, he had to settle the question of the squabble between brother-husband and sister-wife, but before that could begin, he had to find Cleopatra. Especially now that, after several days of waiting, we received word that young Ptolemy was returning to the capital.
~ ~ ~ ~
Surprisingly, the young king chose to leave his army behind, bringing only his immediate entourage. His retinue included Pothinus, whom I have already mentioned, and was left behind to manage matters in his absence, along with an old toad by the name of Theodotus, who was a tutor of some kind. I thought it the height of irony, and not a little amusing that Ptolemy had to come to his own palace seeking an audience with Caesar, despite Caesar taking pains to avoid the appearance of Ptolemy being a supplicant. I was not present at the meeting, but Caesar’s secretary Appolonius was friends with Diocles, so I heard of what took place in a matter of a watch. During the time Caesar waited for Ptolemy to arrive, he had Appolonius and the rest of the staff turn the palace upside down looking for a document, which in a palace the size of Ptolemy’s, crammed full of a few hundred years' worth of documents was no small feat. But they did find it, and Caesar had this document in front of him when the young Ptolemy finally made his appearance.
“He’s a spindly, weak-looking thing,” sniffed Appolonius, sipping the wine Diocles had poured.
He was sitting in my quarters, but in the front room that served as the Legion office where Diocles spent most of his time. I was in my private quarters, but the walls were thin, the door open, and I suspect that he knew full well that I was listening. Something that I was learning from Diocles was that much could be learned, and one’s life could be made much easier, if one treated their slaves and servants well. As quick as slaves are to swap tales of woe about cruel masters with each other, they are just as quick to speak well of kind ones, and when all is said and done, slaves run Rome and the Republic. Also, when one has a reputation for kindness to his own slaves, he finds that the slaves of others are much more willing to do small favors for him, though I do not really know why, so I know that what Appolonius was saying was as much for my ears as it was just two slaves gossiping.
“Of course, it’s hard to tell what he really looks like with all that horrid makeup; he even had a beard made of wool on his face,” he exclaimed. Taking another sip, he laughed at the memory. “Oh, he tried his best to be regal and very solemn, but it was clear from the first moment that he's little more than a puppet and it’s Pothinus and that other one, Theodotus, that are pulling his strings. You should have seen their faces when Caesar produced the will of Ptolemy XIII; even through the makeup you could see their faces go white as bone.”
“What does the will say?” asked Diocles, I knew for my benefit.
“That the Senate and People of Rome should help ensure that Ptolemy XIII’s last wishes were carried out, and that Caesar was the duly appointed representative to arbitrate the dispute.”
“And what were his wishes?”
“That Ptolemy XIV and Cleopatra share the throne of Egypt equally, as co-regents.”
“That seems fair enough,” Diocles commented, and I thought so as well.
“Oh, it’s fair. But it became clear very quickly that the real source of conflict is less between Ptolemy and Cleopatra than it is between his advisers and their queen. I think that they’re worried that she’ll have more influence over her little brother-husband than they will. And from what I gather, she’s quite intelligent and sees those two for what they are. I have a feeling that they’re also worried that their respective heads may not stay on their respective shoulders if she returns.”
“Does anyone know where she is?”
“We don’t know exactly; all we know is that she’s hiding somewhere along the coast. And certainly Pothinus and Theodotus don’t know or she’d be dead.”
Of course, when dealing with the Egyptians, as we were to learn, nothing is ever that straightforward. After seeing that Caesar found the will and heard his decision, Ptolemy and his toadies asked for a day to discuss matters, which in itself was not unfair. But one day stretched to two, then three, then four before Caesar finally had enough, ordering an audience, this time making no pretense that he was not the one in control. It was at this meeting that the farce that young Ptolemy was in charge finally became exposed for what it was, when Pothinus and Caesar engaged in a shouting match. Appolonius’ hands were still shaking, this time gulping the wine Diocles offered instead of taking his usual sips.
“Well, that went to cac,” he gasped, shaking his head. “It started out with the normal ‘how do you do’s,’ then Caesar informed them that he was calling in the loan taken out by Ptolemy XIII, which they were none too happy about, but when they asked how much the amount was and Caesar told them, Pothinus hit the roof!”
“How much was the loan?” Diocles asked.
“Seventy million sesterces.”
Diocles’ gasp was audible through the wall, and I was thankful for it because it covered the sound of my own. It was fairly easy to understand why the Egyptians were so put out, I thought.
“What did Ptolemy say?”
Appolonius scoffed, “Say? He didn’t say a word. He just sat there like a lump. It was Pothinus who did all the talking from then on.”
There was a pause as Appolonius took a drink, but it soon became clear that he was enjoying building the suspense.
Finally, Diocles burst out, “Well? What did he say? Or are you just going to sit there swilling wine?”
Appolonius laughed, clearly enjoying tormenting Diocles, and I smiled at the thought as I sat working on ration requests at my desk.
“Well, I would say that I’d rather just sit here and drink your wine, but I know that you wouldn’t just let me be, so I guess I’ll have to. Where was I? Oh, yes, so Caesar tells them the amount, and Pothinus jumps out of his seat and suddenly gets all haughty and says, ‘I suggest that you go and attend to your other affairs, Caesar. You won’t be getting any money from us now; we’ll pay you at some other time.’”
The astonishment in Diocles’ voice was clear. “And how did that go over?”
Appolonius gave a shaky laugh. “How do you think it went over? Caesar jumped up and said, ‘When I need an Egyptian woman to be my counselor, I will keep you in mind, Pothinus. Until then you should hold your tongue!’ You would have thought Caesar had struck him he was so shocked. Then Caesar threw the lot of them out of the room.”
“So now what?”
Appolonius did not answer, so I assumed he just shrugged. Finally, he said, “I have no idea.”
Appolonius may not have had any idea but thank the gods Caesar did. It was time for him to introduce the third actor in the drama that was playing out, and she was more than eager to be used by him for whatever he had planned, while I would have a minor role in his production.
~ ~ ~ ~
I was summoned to headquarters in the palace without being told why, and I hurried over from my quarters. It was shortly before midnight, but I had not retired yet, making it only a moment to throw on my uniform and get there. Sertorius was the Centurion of the guard, and when I arrived, he was standing with a man wrapped in a nondescript cloak, his head covered by a cloth wound round it, with one end pulled down to partially obscure his face. I had seen many Egyptians wear this style of clothing, but for some reason I did not get the impression that the man with Sertorius wore these clothes naturally. His bearing was haughty, and when he pulled the veil from his face as I approached, I could see that his demeanor matched his posture. At his feet was what looked like either a large carpet or bedding rolled up, but I gave it only a passing glance.
Sertorius spoke to me, indicating the man, “Primus Pilus, this man claims that he bears a gift for Caesar and is seeking an audience. I thought I better inform you.”
I turned to the man, who spoke in flawless Latin. “My name is Apollodorus. I am an adviser to Queen Cleopatra, and I come bearing a gift for Caesar from my liege.”
I looked at him, then down at the bundle, and I remember thinking that it seemed like a paltry gift from a queen whose skin needed saving. Nevertheless, I indicated that he should pick it up and follow me. I probably should have been suspicious when he did not protest at being told he had to carry the gift on his own, since palace types like Apollodorus are about as pampered a lot as you will find, but knowing now what the true nature of the gift was, I can see why he did not protest. Leading him into the palace complex, I guided him towards the wing that served as a combination of Caesar’s private quarters and headquarters, alerting Appolonius to fetch his master. Hirtius and Nero were already there, sensing that something was afoot, and the room used as the headquarters suddenly filled up with the rest of Caesar’s staff. Caesar entered the room, and I had Apollodorus wait at the entrance while making my report. He had set the bundle down again at his feet, but otherwise did not make any move as he stood waiting. Giving my report to Caesar, he told me to allow Apollodorus to enter, indicating that I should wait nearby in the event that there was some treachery afoot. I returned to tell Apollodorus that Caesar would see him, and he bent down to pick up the bundle, then approached Caesar while I waited by the door. Apollodorus spoke, his voice pitched so that all in the room could hear, his tone that of a herald announcing the presence of some important personage, which as it turned out was exactly what he was doing.
“Oh great Caesar, I bring you greetings from Queen Cleopatra, Pharaoh, Lord of the Two Ladies Upper and Lower Egypt, Mistress of Sedge and Bee, Child of Amun-Ra, Isis and Ptah. My mistress has asked that I, Apollodorus, her loyal servant, present you with this humble gift as a token of her esteem and appreciation.”
With that, he untied the ends of the bundle then unrolled it, while all the men in the room crowded around, blocking my view of what was contained in it, but gasps of astonishment and surprise brought me running as I pulled my blade. I was the only man of Centurion rank there, meaning I was the only one fully armed, and I ran to the group of men surrounding what appeared to be a very small person. Getting nearer, I saw that it was indeed a person, and that person was a woman, a very tiny woman, the sight causing me to sheathe my weapon sheepishly. A very tiny, very ugly woman, with a great big nose and hardly any chin at all, although her eyes were large and expressive, even through all the makeup. On her head was a huge wig, and while she wore a gown that I heard described as diaphanous, I do not know what that means. All I know is that you could see through it, and what I saw was not much to my taste. She had curves in the right places, but she was not very well endowed, having almost a boyish figure. Yet Caesar stared down at her in frank admiration and appreciation, and I was struck by an unwelcome thought that perhaps all that talk about he and King Nicomedes was not just malicious gossip. Then I heard her laugh at something he said and even as I watched, her face transformed, and while I cannot say that I suddenly saw her as beautiful, I could see how some men might find her attractive. It has been my experience that high-born men tend to like their women on the frail, pasty side, except I have to think that there might be a link between their women’s physical frailty and the fact that more high-born women seem to die in childbirth than those of the lower classes. Caesar, spotting me, waved me over and I marched to him, rendering a salute.
He returned it as he said, “Pullus, may I present Queen Cleopatra. Your Highness, this is Primus Pilus Titus Pullus of the 6th Legion. As of this moment, you are under my protection, and it will be the Primus Pilus and his men who provide that protection.”
She turned her large brown eyes up to me, smiling at me. This caused me to go weak in the knees, as I realized I had no idea the proper way to behave, never having met a queen before, so all I could think was to bow and mumble, “Highness. It is a great honor.”
“Thank you, Centurion. I know that I am in good hands just by looking at you!”
I felt the heat rising to my face and I honestly do not remember much of the rest of the exchange, such as it was. Quickly enough I was dismissed back to my place by the door while Cleopatra and Caesar talked, with his generals sitting nearby and listening. They talked for at least two thirds of a watch, before Caesar stood and beckoned me.
“You are to escort Cleopatra and her servant back to her quarters. She's going to take up residence in her wing of the palace, since that will be where she'll be most comfortable, among her own things. You will post a guard; use however many men you see fit, but I think it should be at least two sections per entrance. Nobody is to be allowed in, except for me, or one of my secretaries. No exceptions, do you understand, Pullus?”
I saluted, saying that I did. I had sent for some men to come to headquarters when I brought Apollodorus so that I would not have to reduce the guard in the event I needed them, and they were waiting outside for us. Forming them around Cleopatra and her servant, I was about to give the order to march when I realized that I had no idea exactly where we were going, since I did not know where her quarters were.
Embarrassed, I turned to her and mumbled, “Er, Highness? If you would be so kind and point the way to your quarters, we’ll get under way.”
She laughed, and pointed the direction. “It’s down this way. Follow me.”
And without waiting, she marched away, leaving us running after her as I cursed under my breath.
~ ~ ~ ~
Cleopatra was installed in her wing without incident, and after examining the layout of the building, I realized that in order to secure it to the standard that Caesar required would take almost a whole Century per shift. Cleopatra’s quarters were actually a wing of the palace in name only; it was, for all intents and purposes, a separate building, consisting of two sections separated by a central passageway that served as an audience chamber. One wing was for Cleopatra’s private use, with perhaps a total of 40 or 50 rooms. The other wing was split into two stories, with the lower floor dominated by a huge formal dining room, the upper story containing the living quarters of the servants belonging to Cleopatra. There were two staircases leading to the upper floors on the outside, one on each side, with a covered veranda running the length of the upper floor, again on each side. There were entrances at each end of the building, but what made it difficult to control were the half dozen small, secret doors scattered all over the building, each of which had to be covered by at least a section. We used the standard watch length, with a Century taking each watch and their Centurion the commander of the watch, who reported to me at the end of each shift, or sent for me in the event of an emergency. The only event of any note was the fact that Caesar came to Cleopatra’s quarters that first night, his appearance being reported to me with a leer by Annius. His departure shortly before dawn was also reported to me, this time by Cornuficius, his face carefully expressionless, but there was no mistaking the amusement in his eyes, and I was forced to swallow my irritation. It was in this manner that the next several days passed; Caesar did not miss spending a single night with Cleopatra, so she must have had something going for her that was not readily apparent to the eye.
“Maybe there’s something to be said about all those tricks Egyptian women supposedly know,” I mused to Felix one night as we shared some wine.
He laughed, then shrugged. “I’d like to find out, though not with her. She’s really not much to look at it, is she?”
I shook my head. “No, she’s not. But I overheard her talking with Caesar when they went for a walk around the grounds the other day. She’s got a pretty good sense of humor, and she doesn’t miss a thing. She said a couple things that caught me by surprise, I can tell you that.”
“Oh, what was that?”
I looked at him, suddenly embarrassed, realizing that I had said too much. As curious as I may have been about what he saw in her, I was also reluctant to be seen as gossiping about my general, so I just shrugged and mumbled, “I don’t recall exactly. It was just interesting.”
Fortunately, he did not press, and we continued sipping our wine in companionable silence.
~ ~ ~ ~
The day after Cleopatra arrived, Caesar called a meeting of brother and sister, ordering both Cohorts to be present, so we formed up, lining up against the walls of the main palace to watch the fun. We were there to remind Ptolemy, and more importantly Pothinus and Theodotus, who held the whip, and to discourage them from doing anything as silly as trying to argue. At the assembly, Caesar announced that Ptolemy had thought things over and decided that Egypt would be best served by the restoration of Cleopatra to her throne, and that they would once again co-rule their kingdom in peace and harmony. It was very hard not to burst out laughing, looking at the faces of Ptolemy and his toadies as Caesar spoke, but they were smart enough not to argue the point. That night Caesar ordered a banquet held, with Ptolemy, Cleopatra and their retinues as the guests of honor. I was ordered to keep a Century standing by outside the palace, but within hailing distance, taking command myself. During the banquet, the Egyptians drank themselves silly, exactly as Caesar had planned, counting on the loosening effect on their tongues to provide him with useful information. And it worked; during the festivities one of Caesar’s staff, the barber as it turned out, one of the faceless, nameless masses that upper classes and palace types think of as part of the furniture, managed to overhear of a plot by Pothinus and the general of the Egyptian army still at Pelusium, a man named Achillas, to kill Caesar. I was called to Caesar, who informed me of the plot and ordered me to surreptitiously bring some men in and scatter them about the palace, ready to spring to his defense should it be more than just drunken talk. Caesar stayed up the entire night, which of course meant that we stayed up as well, but nothing happened, at least that night.
~ ~ ~ ~
It was only a day or two later when word arrived that Achillas was now bringing the Egyptian army from Pelusium. Even with leaving a garrison force behind, Achillas was marching with 20,000 infantry and 2,000 cavalry, which we could meet with not even two full Legion’s worth of troops, and only two Cohorts of those hardened veterans. The men of the 28th, while not tirones, were certainly not what I considered seasoned veterans, so I honestly was not sure exactly how they would react. One of the difficulties facing us, besides overwhelming numbers, was the fact that our command was essentially split, with the 28th securing the docks and the 6th securing the palace. Cartufenus, and sometimes his other Centurions, came in for staff briefings, yet for the most part, we ran our commands separately, having little contact with the other. Now we were about to see what we were all made of, but as usual, Caesar was not content to wait. Caesar summoned me to headquarters to brief me on what he had planned and I had to suppress a smile when I walked out, not wanting the Egyptians always hanging around to get a whiff that something might be up. Later that night, I marched out with the Century that was relieving the one on guard. Fortunately, I had done this often enough that it was not cause for any suspicion on the part of the Egyptian guards in the towers and on the walls, although when I did it before it was more to keep my own men on their toes than any attempt to lull the Egyptians. Approaching the guard Century, I was challenged by Considius, giving him the watchword, then went about the process of changing the guard, with only one slight variation. Instead of the relieved Century now marching back to their quarters, they stayed put and we immediately began to move, knowing that we only had a matter of moments before the Egyptians noticed that a Century of Romans was not marching back down the street. They did start off like they were doing so, but very quickly they veered across the Canopic Way to Ptolemy’s wing, where I dispatched a section to rush the two guards standing at the entrance we had chosen, catching them completely by surprise. We did not kill them; Caesar had been very explicit that we were not to shed blood unless absolutely necessary, but speed was essential and when the men went through the door, I had every other section go to the left, the rest in the opposite direction. Taking a section with me, we headed down a long hallway towards where we were told Ptolemy’s private bedroom was located, running almost full-out, trying to beat anyone sounding the alarm. There were a few sharp cries, but there was not enough of a commotion to fully alert people who were, for the most part, sound asleep. Finally taking a left down another long hallway, at the end of it we could see two Nubians, armed with axes.
Immediately ordering the men to stop running, I slowed to a walk myself and as I approached, I said in my most commanding voice, “Caesar needs to see Ptolemy immediately!”
Of course, neither of them spoke my tongue, and I did not speak theirs, but I knew they would recognize Caesar and Ptolemy’s names, and I hoped that would be enough to allow me to get close. Turning to the men with me, I told them to stand there as I approached more closely, then repeated myself. They were both looking at each other and grasping their axes, clearly unsure of what to do, and then I smiled and shrugged.
“Upper classes, neh? Never know what they’re up to, right boys?”
While it did not put them completely at ease, I could see them relax somewhat, but they were both still too alert for me to try anything on both of them without running the risk of getting myself hurt or killed. Shaking my head again, I paused like I was catching my breath, unstrapping my helmet, and making a show of pulling up my neckerchief to mop my brow.
“I had to run all the way here,” I explained, knowing that they had no idea what I was saying but I just kept chattering like this were nothing but routine.
Finally, I saw them relax, and that is when I struck. Using the helmet as a weapon, I lashed out with it, catching one of the guards flush in the face, dropping him like a stone. Before the other man could react, I swung my left fist, catching him in the face as well, except he did not go down, instead staggering back a step before he swung his axe at me, barely missing me as I leaned back, feeling the blade whistle past my ear. In the instant that it took him to recover, I leaped on him but he was by far one of the strongest men I had ever fought, so that in a moment we were rolling on the floor, grabbing at each other’s throats.
For a moment I thought he had me, his hands closing around my windpipe until I started seeing stars, as I barely managed to croak out, “What are you bastards waiting for?”
Suddenly, the weight lifted off me, his hands finally jerked from my throat as the men pulled him off me, knocking him cold.
Staggering to my feet, I glared at the others, all of them looking ashamed, and one of them said, “Sorry, Primus Pilus, we thought you had him.”
“I’ll sort you out later,” I growled, then kicked the door open, stepping quickly inside.
There was a startled squeal that I thought was from a woman, but it turned out to be one of those creatures like Pothinus who slept at the foot of Ptolemy’s bed. Ptolemy was just sitting up, and without any of that ludicrous makeup he looked exactly what he was, a teenage boy. I could see the resemblance between him and his sister, once more striking me with revulsion at the thought that Cleopatra was more than his sibling. He was blinking the sleep away as I strode to his bed, saying exactly what I had been instructed to say.
“Your Highness, there are matters of utmost urgency that Caesar has deemed requires your presence for consultations with him. I am to escort you to headquarters immediately.”
He looked up at me, clearly confused. “Can’t this wait until morning?”
“No, Your Highness,” I said firmly. “In fact, we are already running late. Please rouse yourself and come with me.”
“Without getting dressed?”
Now he was getting indignant as his mind started working. I had been warned by Caesar not to be swayed by his youth.
“Ptolemy has been raised on court politics and intrigue. You’ve seen yourself how treacherous these people are, so don't let him have time to start thinking,” Caesar told me, and I had this in mind as I watched Ptolemy frowning.
Before he could say anything, I spoke in a commanding tone. “We don't have time for that Your Highness. I'll make sure that men bring proper attire but we need to leave . . . now.”
I do not think he had ever been talked to like that. His jaw dropped as he looked at me in astonishment, but then I saw his face color and I could see he was getting angry. I took a step towards the bed, causing him to call for the guards.
“They’re not coming, Highness,” I told him calmly. “They’ve been . . . detained.”
“How dare you,” he hissed, and now he was getting really angry, though he did rouse himself from the bed.
I remember thinking that even his nightclothes probably cost more than every stitch of clothing I owned, yet they did nothing to enhance his royal dignity. That did not stop him from drawing himself up to his full height, such as it was, as he looked up at me.
“I am Pharaoh! I am lord of the Two Kingdoms and I will not be spoken to as if I were a vassal!”
“I mean no disrespect, Highness,” I replied, “but I have my orders, and they are specific. You're to accompany me right now. Now,” I turned and indicated my men, “we can do this one of two ways, and I think we would both prefer that you come with us under your own power.”
That took all the wind out of his sails, his shoulders suddenly slumping, and he came with us, giving no further trouble except when we first stepped through the door and he saw the inert bodies of his guards.
“You’re going to kill me,” he shrilled, making a move to try and run, forcing me to grab a handful of his nightclothes, picking him up off the ground so his feet could not get traction, though that did not stop his feet from moving like he was, a comical sight, I can assure you.
“That's not true, Highness. These men aren't dead; they're simply knocked unconscious. Look.” I nudged one of them with my toe, eliciting a low moan. “See? They’re just out cold. They'll wake up with a headache and nothing more.”
That settled his nerves, but just a bit, although he did not give us any more problems and we brought him to Caesar as ordered. The other sections had also collected his younger siblings, a girl named Arsinoe and another Ptolemy who was a few years younger than the king. Cleopatra had also been brought to Caesar, albeit more gently than her other siblings, but nonetheless the entire Egyptian royal family was now located at Caesar’s headquarters. I was standing in a corner of the room when Caesar appeared to face the confused and angry youngsters. I do not know if Ptolemy XIV appointed himself the spokesman for his siblings or just took it upon himself, but he angrily confronted Caesar.
“What is the meaning of this?”
By this point, he was almost apoplectic with rage. Whatever timidity he felt when I roused him from his bed had been washed away with anger, but Caesar did not seem put out in the slightest.
“Your Highness, I have received reports that your general Achillas has decided to move his army against my forces. This is merely to ensure your and your family’s safety.”
“Our safety? We have nothing to fear from Achillas! You’re the only one who has anything to fear!”
“That remains to be seen,” Caesar said coolly. “But regardless, the situation is very dangerous and I'm doing this for your safety.”
“You are doing no such thing,” Ptolemy scoffed. “We're nothing but hostages!”
I do not know if I was the only one who saw the corner of Caesar’s mouth twitch as he suppressed a smile.
“I can certainly see how you might see it that way, but nothing could be further from the truth, Your Highness, I assure you. I have only your welfare and the welfare of your family as my goal. We will do everything we can to make your stay as comfortable as possible, but I'm afraid that space is at a premium and your accommodations may be more cramped than you're accustomed to.”
Ptolemy was clearly unhappy, but was intelligent enough to know that there was nothing he could do about it. With the royal family secure, my men and I were dismissed for the time being to return to our quarters. I went looking for Diocles to talk over all that had transpired and to find out what he knew of the situation from Appolonius. Meanwhile, Caesar had a use for Ptolemy, and he put the next phase of his plan into operation.
~ ~ ~ ~
Caesar ordered the boy king to summon two of his advisers, named Serapion and Dioscorides, giving them instructions to go find Achillas and order him to turn around in the king’s name. Not only did Achillas not listen, he tried to kill both of them, succeeding with Serapion while seriously wounding Dioscorides, who barely managed to escape. He made his way back to Alexandria, carried in a litter by his servants, only being allowed back into the city gates because of his status as Ptolemy’s ambassador. The City Guard had learned of Caesar’s taking of the royal family, but they were too poorly organized, trained, and led to do anything other than shut the city gates and wait for Achillas’ army. I was summoned shortly after Dioscorides came back to find that all of Caesar’s staff was already present, all of them looking grim.
“What’s going on?” I whispered to Apollonius.
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think it’s good news.”
“I can pretty much tell that, thank you,” I snapped, moving off towards Caesar and his generals. Caesar saw me, indicating to take a seat, which I did.
“Cartufenus should be arriving shortly,” he announced, “so we'll wait for him before we begin.”
He arrived a few moments later, taking his own seat.
Without waiting any longer, Caesar began. “As you all know, Achillas approaches with his army. That's no surprise. However, what poor Dioscorides has informed me about that is a surprise is the composition of the army of Achillas. Do you remember how it was something of a mystery what happened to the bulk of Gabinius’ army?”
The generals nodded their heads, but I was only vaguely aware of the story of Gabinius and his trials for extortion and corruption, nevertheless, I nodded along with the rest of them.
“Well, it appears that a good number of his former men joined the army of Ptolemy, and have been acting as cadre for the rest of the army. They've been training the Egyptians in our tactics, although I do not know to what extent. What I do know is that they're battle-hardened veterans.”
“Any idea of their numbers?” This came from Pollio, I believe.
“Approximately four thousand.”
Someone let out a low whistle.
“That’s almost a quarter of their total numbers.”
“Thank you for that lesson in figuring sums,” Caesar snapped, somewhat peevishly. “The question at hand is how we handle this information.”
“Bribe them,” Hirtius said immediately. “They’re Roman, after all. It shouldn’t be too hard to bring them back to our side.”
“That may have been true at one time, but there are a couple of factors that I think would make that impossible. First, these men have been here for many, many years. From what Dioscorides said, most of them have gone native, taking wives and raising families. Besides that is the fact that they were originally raised by Pompey. I don’t think they would be well disposed to serving the man who brought their original patron down.”
“The men of the 6th did, as well as the ones who formed the 36th and 37th,” pointed out Nero, and despite the truth of what he said, I felt a flash of irritation at his smug tone.
“The men of the 6th were at the point of a sword, and the rest of them had just been defeated. These men haven't tasted defeat yet, and they're not likely to be well disposed towards the man who conquered their patron.” Caesar repeated, looking around at us. Seeing that we accepted this, he continued, “So we must determine whether or not we leave the walls and meet them in open battle, or if we wait for them to come to us.”
Pollio spoke immediately. “If you have any hope of employing my cavalry, we’ll have to meet them on open ground. We’ll be practically useless inside the walls of the city.”
“But if we move to meet them on open ground, they can bring their numbers to bear on us,” protested Hirtius, and I for one agreed with this assessment. “We need to find a way to negate their numbers, especially now that we know that they have Roman veterans in their ranks.”
“We don’t have enough men to man the walls of a city this size,” Pollio pointed out, and this also was true. This was the nature of the argument back and forth for some moments, during which time Caesar only listened. Finally, he lifted a hand to silence the others, looking to Cartufenus and me.
“Cartufenus, what do you think?”
All eyes turned towards Cartufenus, who shifted uncomfortably, shooting me a sidelong glance before clearing his throat. “Well, Caesar. I don’t think we can face such a large host in open battle, especially with my boys.” The men around him gave him sharp looks, and he hurriedly continued, “I’m not saying they’re not good men, but you all know that they’re not the most seasoned troops. So I think anything we can do to give them every advantage, we must do if we’re to have a chance.”
Caesar turned to me. “Pullus?”
“I agree with Cartufenus, but I’d take it even further. I think we need to choose one point in the city to defend and pull all of the men in to give us the best chance.”
“The only problem with that is that if we do that, we give up access to the docks,” Nero spoke up, and I had to admit he was right.
“We can’t abandon the palace and concentrate on the docks,” Caesar decided. “So we'll compromise and defend both points. The palace complex is too large to defend completely, so we'll form a perimeter around the buildings south of the Canopic Way. I have already sent Mithradates in one of the thirty’s to get help in the form of more naval vessels, and he's bearing messages for the provinces to supply troops and supplies. Since I haven't heard from Cassius, I have to assume that he didn't make it through for some reason, so now we must rely on Mithradates.”
We discussed a few more details before we were dismissed to make preparations, and I had a lot to do before Achillas showed up.
~ ~ ~ ~
We learned very quickly that Achillas was a competent general, not overawed in the slightest by facing Caesar. I believe that the destruction of Curio and his Legions a couple years before had shown him that we could be beaten, and he did not dawdle on his march, arriving at the city gates barely a day after our meeting. Caesar had hoped that Achillas’ actions against the two envoys would show that he was acting against the wishes of Ptolemy, causing the people to rise up against Achillas and his army, but no such thing happened. In fact, Achillas was greeted as the savior of the city, the eastern gate where he approached thrown open to him without any resistance. Immediately after entering the city, Achillas divided his force into two, sending one column to the docks, while taking the other to our position at the palace. We were alerted to their approach, first by the cheers of the people crowding the streets, then by our own pickets running back to warn us. A series of barricades had been erected, made of wagons turned on their sides then loaded down with anything we could get our hands on that weighed a good deal and was not flammable, so that even in the event they fired the wagons, the contents would still provide protection. Another part of our preparations consisted of knocking down the interior walls in the buildings fronting the street, allowing for men to pass from one end of a building to another without being exposed to fire. Our scorpions were positioned on the flat roofs of the part of the palace that we were defending, and I was thankful that we did not need to worry about fire, since the buildings of Alexandria are almost completely composed of stone, with very little if any wood being used in their construction. The Egyptians made the focus of their first assault the breastworks at the junction of the Canopic Way and the street that ran north to the harbor along the eastern edge of the palace compound. They marched several men abreast, forming a solid wall of men, completely filling the avenue. I was standing with the Fifth and Sixth Centuries of the 7th, next to Felix and Clemens, watching as the enemy stopped to dress their lines in preparation for their attack. I selected these two Centuries because I had the most confidence in them, although it was confidence based on nothing more than a feeling in my gut, since we had not done any fighting to this point. Felix stood calmly, calling to one man or another, giving them last-minute orders and encouragement, while Clemens was bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, but I could tell that it was from eagerness and not from a lack of courage or resolve.
Felix turned to me, indicating the front rank of the enemy. “They don’t look all that formidable. I thought you said that they were veterans.”
I looked over the edge of the barricade, and Felix was right. The men in the front ranks were lightly armored and wearing the traditional garb of the Egyptians, though some of the men wore a helmet of a sort.
I frowned as I thought about it, then a notion struck me. “I think that’s because Achillas isn't convinced that he can dislodge us and he doesn’t want to waste his best troops yet. Or,” as another thought came to me, “he’s using his best men somewhere else. Like down at the docks.”
Once I said it, I became more certain that this latter idea was indeed the case, but there was nothing I could do about it, because the Egyptians finally launched their attack. They came pounding down the avenue, their voices in full cry and waving their weapons above their heads. We had brought extra javelins so that the men could throw at least three and maybe four volleys, and I told Felix to give the order to loose the first one. The air filled with missiles, slamming into the packed mass of men, knocking a dozen in the front rank down. Immediately, the momentum of the attack stalled, with the men in the rear ranks stumbling over the bodies of their comrades. Most of these men carried shields, except they were much smaller than ours, appearing to be made of wicker like our training versions, and the men who were not struck bodily by the volley had them knocked from their hands. The enemy milled about as they tried to reorganize, providing a stationary target for the second barrage. This time they were a bit better prepared, but a number of the men in the front who managed to dodge the first volley by sacrificing their shields were not so lucky the second time. All we could do was delay them, however, and it was a credit to their officers that they reorganized and resumed the charge so quickly, preventing us from hurling the extra javelins that we brought at them.
“Draw swords!”
Even over the roars of the charging men, I heard the rasping sound of the blades of two Centuries being drawn then our own men added to the din with their cries of defiance as the front ranks of the Egyptians threw themselves at the barricade. Dust flew from the loaded wagons from thousands of pounds of angry men slamming into them, briefly obscuring the action. Egyptians began throwing themselves at the wagons, clawing at the sides, trying to pull themselves up to where my men were standing, ready to thrust down at them. The enemy possessed no missile troops to try scouring us from the makeshift parapet, making it short work of chopping men down as they clambered up. It took the enemy a couple of moments to realize that they had no chance of dislodging our men from their position, and by the time they withdrew, the area immediately around the breastworks was covered with the bodies of their dead and wounded, the latter being finished off as my men jeered at the retreating Egyptians. They re-formed down the avenue, out of range of the javelins, and we waited as their commander tried to decide what to do. During the respite, Clemens walked down the avenue to the next street that gave an unobstructed view down towards the harbor. Hearing him cursing, I trotted over to him, and when he pointed to the north, and I followed his finger, I began cursing as well. Huge clouds of black smoke were billowing up from the direction of the harbor, the sounds of fighting carrying to us on the wind, blowing from the north at that time of year. Because of the buildings in between it was impossible to see exactly what was taking place, but the signs were not encouraging, since our men were defending the docks and the structures around it. I assumed that anything set alight had to be done by the enemy, incorrectly as it turned out, but there was no way of knowing that then. All I knew for sure was that was where Caesar had chosen to go and assume command, meaning I had to trust that he had things well in hand, despite the signs to the contrary. Also, there was nothing I could do about it anyway, so I turned my attention back to the immediate situation, walking back to see what the enemy had decided to do.
~ ~ ~ ~
The Egyptian commander, who I do not believe was Achillas, ordered his men to turn their attention to a postern gate opening onto an alley running between two of the buildings we were defending, and was used to deliver supplies. They had fashioned a crude battering ram, using what looked like a carved column, to which they had attached a series of ropes to act as handles. When the men carrying the ram moved forward, they were surrounded by comrades carrying their shields high above their heads to protect the ram from our men on the roofs of the buildings. Hurrying over to the new point of attack, using the holes in the walls we had opened, I found Salvius in command, meaning that Porcinus was actually in charge. The Optio had two sections bracing against the gate, their bodies shuddering with every impact of the ram, as splinters flew with each blow.
I waited a moment to see if Salvius would do anything, but after a couple of moments where he seemed content to watch his men desperately struggling to brace the gate, I finally spoke. “Salvius,” I snapped. “Don’t stand there with your thumb up your ass. Get some of your men to find something to brace the gate. These men can’t do it alone. Hurry, damn you!”
You would have thought I poked him in the ass with a red-hot javelin, and he scurried off with several sections of his men looking for something suitable, and I wondered if he would be smart enough to bring something that would be of any value. Ordering another two sections to relieve the men at the gate, the relieved men gasped their thanks as the others took their place. The gate seemed to be holding, but there was no telling how long it would last, because now small chunks of wood were starting to come off with every blow from the ram. It seemed we could either hope the gate held, or we could try to do something about the ram, and with that in mind, I went up onto the roof of one of the buildings. Favonius had his Century on the roof, the men standing away from the edge until they were ready to throw a javelin down onto the heads of the Egyptians. The scorpions were useless because we could not depress the angle enough when they were this close. Although the javelins were causing casualties, we needed a more concerted effort, and something more effective, so I told Favonius to start using the combustibles that we had piled there, small pots filled with pitch stoppered with a rag soaked in oil to set alight. It’s a really ugly way to die, but we could not allow the enemy to affect a breach. In a few moments, the men were raining fire down on the heads of the Egyptians, the horrific screams of men set alight and becoming human torches filling the air. It did not take long for the smell of sizzling meat to reach our nostrils, and no matter how many times one smells that odor, it still causes the stomach to turn. Before another few moments passed, the ram was on fire, forcing the Egyptians to drop it and retreat once again, this time leaving scorched, smoking corpses behind. Once they moved back up the avenue, I left the roof, going back down to check the gate, and I was pleased to see that Salvius had managed to find heavy timbers to wedge against it, bracing the timbers with a number of heavy crates. To that point, we had managed to inflict a fair number of losses on the Egyptians and so far had not suffered one man killed, with only a couple of minor wounds. The enemy was forced to regroup again, their commander then apparently deciding a change in tactics was required. Instead of trying to force one point of entry, he sent detachments of a few hundred men ranging around the compound, looking for weak spots in our defensive line. At the sound of a horn, the detachments went rushing at the points they had selected, the air suddenly split by the answering sound of our own cornicen from each Century calling the alarm. It was a cacophony of sound, and I was forced to decide very quickly where I was most needed, choosing to go to the southern side of the enclosure to see if there were any problems.
I had put Valens in charge of this sector and found him at the southern gate of the enclosure, where the Egyptians apparently decided on a slightly different approach. Instead of trying to beat down the gate, they constructed about two dozen ladders, and as I trotted up, I saw what looked like Egyptian troops fighting with our men on the parapet. Valens was on the ground directing his men, and I was about to chastise him for not being up on the wall but held my tongue, recognizing that this was one of those times where a Centurion was better off leading from a position where he could more easily see what was going on. The enemy was attempting to scale the wall at several points, and if Valens rushed to one spot that he thought was in trouble, he might not see a more serious breach occur elsewhere. Instead, I told him to continue as he was before, climbing the stairs up to the wall, heading towards a spot where a couple sections of men were trying to stop more of the enemy from adding to a pocket that four or five of them had managed to secure on the parapet. It irritated me that it seemed to be taking my men a long time to dispatch a handful of the enemy, but when I got closer, I saw the cause of the problem. The enemy commander had committed some of those veterans who we had taken to calling ‘Gabinians,’ to this assault, meaning that we were facing men trained in the same manner as we were.
Their fighting style was the same, but that is about all; pushing my way through the men, I grabbed a shield from one of the boys in the rear as someone yelled, “Make way for the Primus Pilus, boys! He wants a piece of these cunni!”
When I got to the front, standing a few feet away from me was a man who at first I would have said was a native Egyptian, judging by the darkness of his skin and style of dress, but he called out to me in perfect Latin, “Primus Pilus, my ass! This boy is barely able to shave!”
It had been a long time since anyone had said that of me, and the flash of anger was immediate. “If you want to try and give me a shave, you prick, come here and see what happens.”
He laughed. “You aren’t a pimple on the ass of some of the men I’ve bested,” and as he said that, he lunged at me.
He was very quick and I barely blocked his thrust, then he bashed me a good lick with his shield that rocked me, wicker though it may have been. My arm ached from the blow, but I was determined to take the offensive, although I had to be wary not to get too involved with this man and not be alert to his comrades on either side.
Without taking my eyes off the man, I whispered to the Gregarius next to me, Papernus, I believe it was, “When I make my move, you take the man to his left.”
I heard him grunt, then made my own move, closing with the man, knocking the breath from him in a great whoosh when I barged into him behind my shield. Sensing Papernus striking immediately after me, I engaged with the man to my undefended side, allowing me to concentrate on my own opponent without worrying about getting stuck, or so I hoped. There was always the possibility that Papernus would be bested by his man but once you start thinking that way, you are already beaten. We pushed against each other and I was grimly pleased to hear him gasping for breath, trying to get the air back into his lungs that I had knocked out. Despite him putting every bit of energy into pushing back against me, my size and strength began to tell, and I felt him start sliding backwards towards the parapet and the ladder. If I could get him all the way back to the parapet, he would be blocking the ladder, thereby keeping any other enemy from ascending. That is the key to defending a wall: not giving your foe enough space where he has any kind of numerical advantage. I looked over the rim and into his eyes. I saw them widen in desperation once his back heel hit the edge. His strength was failing him and in desperation, he made an overhand thrust that almost got me, the point hitting just below my left collarbone but not having enough force behind the thrust to break the links of my mail. It still hurt like the fires of Hades, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. I quickly let up, pushing against him, and throwing him off balance because he could not compensate for the sudden change quickly enough. He stumbled forward, just a step, but it was enough and we both knew it, my blade immediately flicking out at his exposed throat, the point punching in at the base of his neck, emerging on the other side for an instant before I recovered.
“Not laughing so much now, are we?” I spat as he crumpled to the ground.
His sudden absence immediately exposed the man to his right, who was already being pressed hard, so I ended him quickly. As I had assumed, Papernus had won his own battle, and just that quickly the breach was contained as we pushed the ladder away from the wall, heaving it as hard as we could because there were men on it. They all went tumbling down, the men almost to the top having the worst of it from the combination of the height and falling onto the raised weapons of their own comrades. Turning to look down at Valens, he pointed to another point on the wall where there was a fight, and I ran over to where he directed.
~ ~ ~ ~
That was how the time passed, until the enemy finally had enough and retired, taking their wounded, but leaving their dead behind, to retreat down the avenue one last time. I was too busy to pay any more attention to what was happening down by the docks, but by the time we were done, it was impossible to ignore, since the smoke had now drifted over to cover us in ash, leaving us coughing, with runny eyes and snotty noses. Any exposed skin was covered in soot, the sweat attracting the ash like a moth to a flame, making the men look like Nubians. After making an inspection, I ordered half of them to remain in place while the other half were allowed to get some rest and eat. We dragged the bodies a short distance down the avenue and dumped them, and fortunately, they were gone the next day. Caesar returned at nightfall, and we learned what had taken place at the docks and the immediately surrounding area, which was still burning fiercely. The Egyptian attack on the docks was in fact led by Achillas and had almost been successful, forcing Caesar to take drastic action. In order to avoid the Egyptians capturing, or recapturing as it were, their fleet of more than 70 ships of a number of different classes, he ordered them all fired. Because the wind was blowing stronger than normal from the north, it sent the flames across the water, catching everything flammable on fire. Unfortunately, one of the things that caught was the great library, for which Caesar has been blamed, I suppose with good reason, although it was never his intention to do so. The fire at the library held an unexpected benefit in forcing Achillas to devote a good number of his men to combating the blaze instead of us. Fighting around the docks was fierce, ranging from one street to the next, but from all accounts, the boys of the 28th did a good job, pushing the Egyptians back several blocks from the dock area before they were ordered by Caesar to withdraw with him. When the next day dawned, we now controlled the Royal Quarter of the city, but only from south of the Canopic Way to the southern end of the palace enclosure. Caesar put us to work, creating a series of fortifications linking everything together so that we could move men and supplies from one part to the other. He also ordered us to push our lines out across the road on the southwestern side to give us access to the large marsh that rings the Lake Harbor on that side. The men worked throughout the night, illuminated by the fires that continued to burn, but which also kept the Egyptians occupied so that we were not harassed. The largest building within our position was the royal theater, now designated as our combination hospital and assembly point for our morning briefings. Any building that stood in the way of the fortifications was razed, the stone used for the wall while we extended the work of battering holes in interior walls of buildings so that men could move almost completely under cover from one end of our redoubt to the other. During the battle at the docks, Caesar had ordered a detachment, armed with several artillery pieces, to board a boat that took them to Pharos Island, where they seized the lighthouse. Because of the shoals extending from the lower part of the jaws that guard the harbor entrance, the only clear channel deep enough to allow large ships to enter the harbor passes closer to Pharos Island and the upper part of the jaws. Having artillery emplaced at the lighthouse gave us command over any ships entering the harbor, although I do not know what Caesar was expecting, since we had burned the entire Egyptian fleet. Meanwhile, the Egyptians invested the western side of the city, the eastern side containing a group of people called Jews, who I had only heard mention of before this and who were mainly left alone. As busily as we worked, the Egyptians were just as busy, although they had a great deal more hands to do the work.
~ ~ ~ ~
While we worked through the night, another event occurred that would come to cause us grief. Since Caesar could not spare any of my men to guard the royal family, he used his cavalrymen, dismounted, of course, to watch over them. In the confusion of the night, the princess Arsinoe and her tutor Ganymede managed to escape, making their way to Achillas, where she volunteered to be the symbolic leader and focal point of the resistance, an offer that he gladly accepted. With the major part of the fortifications finished by daybreak, the men collapsed the instant they were given permission to put down their tools. There were minor improvements to be made over the next few days, but the major bulk of the work was done, and walking behind Caesar as he inspected the lines, I could see he was pleased. All in all, it was a good position, but still there were more bad things than good about our situation. Despite extending our works so that the canal carrying fresh water to the city was within our lines, we did not control the source, meaning it was only a matter of time before it was cut off. Because of the rapidity of our work in fortifying our area, the people living in the area were unable to flee, giving us more mouths to feed, thereby exposing the biggest weakness of our position. The only way we could be resupplied was by sea. Although Caesar had removed the threat to our resupply being intercepted before reaching Alexandria by destroying the Egyptian navy, even when it did arrive, we would have to march in force down to the dock area, under fire from the rooftops and the towers that the Egyptians were building surrounding our position. It was not a good situation to be in, and on top of these difficulties, Cartufenus and I now had to deal with the men from two different Legions being thrust into close proximity to each other. One would think that the rankers would have more on their minds than getting into quarrels and fights with each other, but that has never been the case and I suspect it never will be. What made these circumstances slightly different was what the men were fighting about, and it was not the usual of whores or gambling. I first became aware that a problem existed when I was told by Diocles that Cartufenus had come to see me. I went out into the outer office, and could tell immediately by the expression on Cartufenus’ face that something had happened.
Indicating my private quarters, he said tersely, “This is better spoken of in private, Pullus.”
Once we were settled, he sat looking at his feet for a moment, obviously trying to decide the best way to begin.
Finally, he looked up, his expression strained. “We’ve got problems, Pullus.”
“So I gathered. What happened?”
“Some of your men have beaten one of mine almost to death. The doctors don't think he’s going to survive.”
This was indeed serious, but the punishment was straightforward and I said as much. In the back of my mind was the belief that because of the circumstances, Caesar could be persuaded to suspend punishment, but I was puzzled by Cartufenus’ discomfort.
“It’s not quite that simple.” He shifted in his seat. “It’s why the man was beaten that's the problem.”
This got my attention, and I leaned forward, indicating that he should continue.
“Apparently your boys overheard some of my men talking about the situation.”
“And? I don’t understand. So, some of your men were moaning about our circumstances.”
He looked uneasy, but continued, “They were doing more than moaning. The man who was beaten was apparently the ringleader of a group of men who were talking about deserting over to the Egyptians.”
That made me sit up, I can tell you. As bad as that was, I sensed that there was more, and I was right.
“They weren’t going over empty-handed. They were going to offer the Egyptians information about our defenses in exchange for safe passage, and some money.”
“Do you know if they had made contact with the Egyptians yet?”
Cartufenus shook his head. “I don’t know. The man that yours beat is unconscious, so I couldn’t question him.”
“What about the others? You said there were others.”
“They scattered to the four winds. Your men didn’t get a good enough look at them to identify anyone. I already asked.”
“Where are my men now?”
“They’re outside the theater under guard.”
I sat thinking for a moment. Cartufenus was right; this was a very sticky situation, and was one of those matters better off staying among the ranks and not reaching the ears of Caesar or his generals. I got up and went with Cartufenus to where my men were standing, watched by a section from the 28th. I was about to make a sharp comment to Cartufenus about using his men to guard mine, but I realized that if he had called the provosts there would have been no way to keep this quiet, so instead I quietly thanked him. His only reply was a nod. Even as we walked down the narrow back street towards the theater, the idea formed in my mind about whom I might find under guard, so I cannot say I was very surprised when I saw that two of the men were the brothers Tetarfenus. There were four of them all together. They watched us approach with expressions ranging from apprehension to defiance, and the brothers bore the latter look on their face. Despite myself, I sighed, not wanting any part of this, but knowing that it had to be handled delicately. No matter the reason, the men could not escape punishment for what they had done, yet if I made their penalty too harsh, they had the right to seek an audience with the Legate, and if they were still not satisfied, with Caesar. That, of course, would be the exact opposite result that Cartufenus and I were trying to achieve, making me just as apprehensive as the men, but unlike them, I could not let it show. Sergeant Tetarfenus was the ranking Legionary, and it was to him that I addressed my first question.
“Sergeant, what do you have to say for yourself and these men?”
Tetarfenus was standing at intente, along with the other three men, and his tone was emotionless as he gave his report.
“Primus Pilus, we overheard some of the men of the 28th plotting to desert to the Egyptians. In exchange for safe passage, they were offering information about our defenses and dispositions. Oh,” he added, “and they wanted money as well.”
“I know all that,” I said impatiently. “My question is, why did you think it was the right thing to do to take matters into your own hands and beat one of the men half to death without going to your Centurion, or to me?”
He shrugged. “We knew that you and Hastatus Posterior Clemens had other things on your minds.”
“Well, thank you very much for your concern, Sergeant,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “But thanks to your little stunt, now it’s not just Clemens and I that are involved, but the Primus Pilus of the 28th as well. And you’ve dumped us in the cac up to our necks.”
Tetarfenus shifted uncomfortably, and I saw the other three men shooting glances at each other. It was clear that they had talked things over among themselves, but apparently, matters were not going the way they thought they would.
“Er, yes sir. Sorry about that, sir. We just thought . . .”
I cut him off. “And now we come to the kernel of the problem, Sergeant. You've been in the army long enough to know that of all the things a ranker should be doing, thinking isn't one of them. That's what your Centurions and Optios are for. And because you had ideas above your rank, now here we all are with our asses hanging in the air. So, since you decided to think for yourself, what do you think I should do with the four of you? Please, enlighten me.”
I crossed my arms, looking down at Tetarfenus, who looked back at me, his expression becoming calculating, though he said nothing. After a moment, I realized that he was unsure how freely he could speak, so I told him that he could speak his mind and I would not hold it against him.
He looked first at Cartufenus, then at me, and finally said, “Well, sir, as I see it, there’s not a whole lot you can do. Officially, I mean,” he added hastily, seeing my eyes narrow in anger at the suggestion that I was powerless, “but I know that there are . . . other ways that you can punish us. Sir.”
I said nothing, just nodded for him to continue. He eyed the others, and I caught an almost imperceptible nod from his brother.
His tone was shrewd as he continued, “But as far as official punishment, I don’t think either of you are particularly anxious for the boys and me to tell any of the generals why we beat that prick.” I saw Cartufenus’ lips thin in anger, but he said nothing. Taking our silence as recognition of the truth in what he was saying, which indeed it was, he went on, “So you’re somewhat limited in what you can do to us. But, I also understand that we must be punished in some ways.” I saw the faces of his companions turn to him in surprise and not a little anger, but he shook his head, saying firmly, “So, we'll accept whatever punishment you deem fit. The only thing I would add is that I do think that the reason we beat that . . . man should be taken into consideration.”
He looked at Cartufenus when he said this last part. The message was unmistakable, and both Cartufenus and I knew it. I could not help admiring Tetarfenus; he had done us both very neatly. If I ignored what he said and punished them harshly, no matter how unofficial it was, the word would get out not just about the punishment but why they were being punished, and my tenuous hold on the 6th would be gone, although it would appease the men of the 28th. Conversely, if Cartufenus pushed for a harsh punishment, there is no doubt that the planned treachery of his men would become common knowledge throughout the army. While his men might appreciate his attempt to exact revenge for their comrade, he would lose Caesar’s confidence that he had control of his Legion. Now all that was left was to determine exactly how the men should be punished, but I decided that since we had gone this far, it made sense to continue.
“Very well, Sergeant,” I finally replied, my tone as neutral as I could make it. “I understand what you're saying. I’m not saying I agree, but I understand. So if you were me, how would you proceed?”
He suddenly looked uncomfortable; obviously, he had not planned on being forced to come up with a suitable punishment. If it had just been for himself, I doubt it would have been a problem, but now he had to worry about how the other three men, including his brother, would take whatever he proposed. Now, he was in a tight spot, and as he looked at me, I smiled, except it was not a pleasant smile. See how you like it, you little turd, I thought.
He did not speak for a moment, then finally said, “I don't think a flogging or any reduction in rank would be appropriate, nor would any punishment that had to be entered in the Legion diary, like reduction of rations. Besides, unless I miss my guess, we’re all going to be on reduced rations before long.” He smiled grimly. “I think extra watches for a week, and extra fatigues for the same length of time.”
“A month,” I responded instantly, and he opened his mouth to protest, yet stopped himself, his mouth reducing into a thin line the only sign that he was angry. The other men did not do as good a job of hiding their displeasure, but I was unmoved. I knew that he would only propose a punishment that the men would laugh about later around their fire because it was so light. And while it may sound trivial, extra watches and extra fatigue duty meant that these four men would be dead on their feet, getting perhaps one watch’s worth of sleep a night for the next month. By the last week of their punishment, they would be more dead than alive. Besides, I reasoned, the way things looked, they might very well be dead long before the month was up. The matter settled, the men were dismissed and as they walked back to their quarters, I watched them go, thinking that Sergeant Tetarfenus would bear watching. He had potential as a leader, but he also had a clever streak that might get him into trouble.
~ ~ ~ ~
Just as the doctors had predicted, the man in the 28th died without ever regaining consciousness, creating another problem because of all the paperwork that is involved when a man dies in something other than battle. If he had died just the day before, during the fight for the docks, no questions would be asked. But since there had been no skirmishes taking place anywhere when the man died, we would have to come up with a reason for his demise. Actually, Cartufenus would have to come up with the reason, but since we were more or less bound in this together, I was not surprised when he showed up in my quarters, a stylus and wax tablet in hand, ready to write down what we came up with.
“We can’t list him as a fever because it'd be too sudden. Besides, he’s beaten from head to toe. If any of the Tribunes or Legates got curious and saw the body, there'd be too many questions.”
I nodded, thinking about it. “Why don’t we just dump him over the wall? He was going to desert anyway; we can just say that he disappeared.”
“I already thought of that,” Cartufenus said glumly. “The problem is that the doctor is chummy with our Tribune. He might not say anything, but I can’t be sure. If he hadn’t been brought to the hospital, that would have worked.”
“Who brought him?” I asked, annoyed that some ranker had complicated matters.
Cartufenus shrugged, indicating that he did not know. We sat there disconsolately, not even able to suck down wine because it was being rationed. Finally, we decided to say that he had been found beaten and unconscious, but had no idea of the circumstances. This fiction had the advantage of being partially true, and was completely deniable. Oh, there would be a raised eyebrow, and perhaps even suspicions, except matters like these occurred all the time in the army, and our superior officers were all experienced men who had been under the standard for several years. They knew that there were things that they did not know, and that they did not want to know. I think they may have been surprised about how much they actually were not aware of, even Caesar, although he was better informed than any of the other generals I ever served with. The other thing in our favor was that Caesar and his entire staff had much more pressing problems than the death of a single Gregarius, no matter what the circumstances, meaning that we made our report, then heard nothing more about it.
~ ~ ~ ~
In the larger world, the Egyptians had sent out a call for a dilectus of their own, this one going out to the whole kingdom of Egypt. Men began streaming into the city, drawn by the promise of booty, glory, steady meals, or whatever motivated them. Standing on the roofs of the buildings, we watched the Gabinians put the new men through their paces, while the rest of the Egyptian army continued to build towers and walls, constructing them to a height that overlooked our own positions. From prisoners, we learned that Achillas had ordered the conversion of every local smith and metalworker into a military endeavor, where they were churning out weapons and ammunition. Woodworking shops were similarly working on ballistae and scorpions; in short, the entire city had been mobilized to destroy us. With thousands of mouths to feed, along with more than 900 horses, only the horses were eating well, thanks to the marsh grasses that men went out to gather under cover of darkness. The salt grass of the marsh was so rich and plentiful that not only did the horses not suffer from hunger, they actually filled out some, indirectly ending up as a help to the men later. The Egyptians also were focusing their efforts on exacting revenge for the loss of their fleet by attacking ours, moored in the Great Harbor. For their first attempt, they sent small boats loaded with men through the arches from the Inner Harbor, and Caesar’s foresight in placing a detachment with artillery on Pharos Island was fulfilled, with every boat destroyed. Undaunted, they tried again, this time sending boats loaded with combustibles that were set afire, except the wind was against them, causing the boats to do more damage to Egyptian shipping than to ours.
It was also about this time that the snake Pothinus was discovered sending secret messages to Achillas, urging him to maintain his pressure on us and not lose heart. He also included what information about our dispositions he had gleaned from his own spies, so it was with a great deal of happiness that the men gathered in the theater to watch Pothinus’ head leave his shoulders. True to his nature, he acted like a woman, shaking and crying, having to be dragged onto the stage, where one of Caesar’s Germans did the deed. The men cheered lustily at the sight of his bald head rolling across the stage, spraying blood in a trail across the stone floor. His head came to rest not far from where I was standing, and I could plainly see the look of terror and surprise still plastered on his face, his eyes sightlessly staring into the void. I noticed that for once, his face was devoid of that horrid makeup, and remember wondering if he had thought that to be some sort of punishment, not being allowed to paint his face before he died. These Egyptians with their customs are a strange lot, and I have no idea if there is some deeper meaning to all of the paint, but I suspect there is. Unfortunately, but not surprisingly, the death of Pothinus did not deter Achillas in the slightest, the Egyptian general continuing with his training and manufacturing all day and night. He was an implacable foe, with his army gaining strength every week. Consequently, the men grew more worried watching the progress his army made in both their training and their investment of our position. That is why what happened next was further sign of the gods’ favor of Gaius Julius Caesar.
~ ~ ~ ~
“Achillas is dead!”
Appolonius came immediately after hearing the news, ostensibly to tell Diocles, but knowing that I would want to hear the news as well. That I did; this time I did not even pretend to be busy in my quarters, coming straight out into the outer office.
“What happened?”
Appolonius looked smug, as only the bearer of news that he knows others wants to hear can, and said, “It appears that our young Arsinoe and her man Ganymede have a bit more ambition than just being a figurehead.”
That was indeed interesting, my expression giving him all the encouragement he needed to continue.
“Well, as you know, Arsinoe volunteered to set herself up as the symbol of Egyptian resistance against the Roman oppressors, a role which Achillas was more than happy to give her. But something changed; Caesar thinks that the real string puller is that Ganymede, and that he convinced her that she, or more likely he is just as capable of leading the army as Achillas. So she had Achillas murdered.”
Even though we had heard that a rivalry had developed between the two that split the army, we had no idea that it had grown so bitter that one of them would kill the other. From our spies, we were informed that the division in the army was between the Gabinians and the rest of the professional arm of the army, consisting mainly of Cilicians and a few other nationalities, who understandably favored Achillas, against the provincial levies and native Egyptians, who rallied around Arsinoe. Now that Achillas was dead, it was a fair question to ask just how hard the professionals would fight now that the general they favored was gone. The Gabinians in particular had developed a reputation for choosing inopportune times for demanding pay raises, usually by threatening to turn on their masters, so perhaps they would choose this time to do the same to Arsinoe. When word of Achillas’ death became known to the men, there was a period of optimism at the idea of facing a 15-year-old girl and her tutor. Unfortunately, that optimism was as short-lived as it was unfounded, because we quickly discovered that while Ganymede may not have possessed the military experience of Achillas, he more than made up for it in other ways.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ganymede began by attacking our most precious resource, our water supply. Despite having done all that we could to secure a supply of fresh water, we were unable to secure the source. Accordingly, Ganymede attacked this source. There were a number of wells in the private residences of the people who were unlucky enough to live in our sector, but the main source of supply was the canal. Blocking the conduits from the canal carrying our water was a simple enough business, except Ganymede was not content with that. Using large capacity pumps that were powered by men turning huge wheels, he began pumping seawater from the Inner Harbor to flood the streets of the city at night. With our redoubt situated in a part of the city a few feet lower than the surrounding area, the water naturally flowed in our direction. It was not long before one morning there was a rap on my door, and I opened it to find the duty Centurion Sido, his face pinched with worry.
“Sorry to disturb you, Primus Pilus, but I think you better have a look at this.”
His tone was sufficiently urgent that I did not bother donning my uniform, grabbing only my vitus to follow him outside. Standing there was a section of men, each of them carrying two buckets, their expressions a mirror of Sido’s.
Indicating the first man, he turned to me and said simply, “Taste the water.”
I dipped my hand in, took a sip, then spat it out. It was salty, not completely fouled yet, but close.
I kept my expression neutral, indicating the other buckets. “Are these all from the same well?”
Sido shook his head. “No, Primus Pilus. When we tasted the first bucket, I went to every well that’s in the 6th’s sector and had a bucket drawn. The results are pretty much the same.” He waved his hand at the buckets the other men were holding. “You can check for yourself if you would like, sir, but they’re all the same.”
I shook my head. “No, that won’t be necessary, I trust you. Very well; I'll go to headquarters and see if the 28th is facing the same problem. You’re dismissed.” As they turned to go, I called out, “Sido!” He turned to stand at intente. “Good work. That was good thinking.”
His face turned red, but I could tell that he was pleased, opening his mouth, probably to thank me before thinking better of it, then saluted and turned away, following his men. I did not bother telling them to keep this quiet because I knew that there was no way that the men would not find out. Returning to my quarters, I put on my uniform before heading over to headquarters to see if the news was any better.
~ ~ ~ ~
Fortunately, only the water in our sector was contaminated, at least at that point. But while that was good news, it was still going to pose a problem for us, since we now had to draw our water ration from the wells of the men of the 28th, whereupon the numen of that dead Gregarius came back to haunt us. Tensions were still high between my men and the 28th. While Cartufenus and I had managed to keep a lid on things, succeeding in avoiding drawing the attention of Caesar or his staff, the fact that we would now have to send detachments into the 28th’s sector to take some of their already-rationed water was not going to sit well with them. Compounding the tension was the attitude of my men towards the 28th, who they thought of as a bunch of scared boys. That this was not far from the truth did not help matters for anyone. Cartufenus and I met, agreeing that our water-carrying parties would be escorted not only by a Centurion of the 6th, but of the 28th as well, and we would only do it once a day, in the morning. Calling a meeting of my Centurions to inform them of this agreement, I stressed that there would be no exceptions; we would draw water once a day and that was all. If the men ran out before the next morning, that would be too bad; perhaps it would teach them to ration their water more carefully. However, as it turned out, I need not have worried. These men of the 6th had been part of Pompey’s army under Afranius in Hispania when we had cut them off from water, meaning this was not the first time they were thirsty. In fact, they found the whole situation grimly amusing.
“The first time we went thirsty was because of Caesar,” I heard one of the men joke to his comrades, “and now this time we’re going thirsty because of Caesar. The only difference is that now we’re on the same side.”
I had to smile; the gods certainly did have a perverse sense of humor.
The 28th’s respite from fouled water was short-lived. Barely three days later, I heard another rap on my door, only this time it was Cartufenus who came to bring me the news. When he told me, I was not surprised, but he was not through.
“It gets worse,” he said, his face grim. “My men are panicking. There are all sorts of wild ideas being thrown around about the cause. Some of the men say that it’s one of the Egyptian gods who's favoring Ganymede and his bunch.” He saw the look of scorn and disbelief on my face, and waved a hand wearily at me. “Oh, they're very much in the minority. It’s the other idea that worries me, and that seems to be what most of the men believe. There’s talk that this has to be the work of some of the Egyptians trapped in here with us, that they’re working as spies for Ganymede and they’re poisoning the water.”
“But it’s not poisoned,” I protested. “It’s only salty.”
He nodded, but said, “I know that, but I just wish we knew why it’s happening.” He shrugged. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe it IS one or more of the civilians with us.”
I should point out that our knowledge of what Ganymede was doing with the pumps and seawater only came after the fact. When this was happening, it was a mystery to everyone, including the officers.
I sat thinking about what Cartufenus had said, then shook my head. “I don’t think so. If it were one well, or two, and in the same immediate area, then I might see it. But this is now every well, throughout the entire redoubt. We would have noticed something if any of the civilians had been involved, I’m sure of it.”
Cartufenus sighed, then stood up. “I don’t know. All I do know is that it’s getting ugly with my boys. I need to get back before they do something foolish.”
A chill ran down my spine, and I looked at him sharply. “What do you mean, ‘do something foolish’? What do you think they’ll do?”
He shook his head. I could see the weariness and pain in his eyes, causing a pang of sympathy. The rank of first grade Centurion is what so many of us aspire to, and we work hard to achieve it. But then when we get there, suddenly it does not seem that being a Primus Pilus is as much fun as you thought it would be. That was true if you had a good group of men like the 10th or the 6th. When you got a bunch of scared rabbits like the 28th was turning out to be, it could be a nightmare from which you will never woke up. Without thinking, I walked to Cartufenus to put my hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t worry.” I spoke with as much confidence as I could muster. “Whatever comes, you’re the man to handle it.”
He gave a tired smile, but shook his head. “Thanks, Pullus, but I know you’re just saying that to help me.”
I could not help laughing. “Maybe,” I admitted, “but you wouldn’t feel so great if I told you that you were fucked, would you?”
He chuckled. “No, I suppose not.” He squared his shoulders before turning to leave. “Well, let me go find out what my boys are up to now.”
With that, he left me to sit wondering what could go wrong next.
~ ~ ~ ~
What the 28th had in mind was to demand a meeting with Caesar, the whole lot of them. Once that became known, Caesar obliged by ordering a formation that evening at the theater, with all but the guard Centuries in attendance. I sent a runner to Cartufenus asking him a question, and when the runner came back with the answer that I needed, I called a meeting of my Centurions to discuss what I had in mind.
“We're going to hold the men until the last possible moment,” I announced.
Nobody said anything at first, yet their faces wore puzzled expressions. At least, all of their faces save one. I looked at Cornuficius, who regarded me steadily, his eyes revealing nothing but I saw a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Deciding to confront whatever he had in mind head on, I called on him.
“Cornuficius? Do you have any thoughts on what I just said?”
“Thoughts?” An eyebrow lifted, and I realized that he was considering the question, trying to find some angle that I might be taking of which he had not thought. Finally, he continued, “I don't know that I'd call them thoughts, Primus Pilus. But I think I know why you're doing it.”
“Very well. Tell me and I'll let you know if you're right or wrong.”
He shrugged, then nodded. As he spoke, he took great pains not to look at me, preferring instead to examine his fingernails, which I could not help noticing were caked with dirt. Well, I thought, we are under water rationing.
“I think you want to keep our men separated from those . . . boys of the 28th who are causing all this commotion, given what's taken place between our two Legions in the recent past. I think that your reasoning is that if we get there early, and spend any time waiting for Caesar to appear, that every moment that goes by increases the likelihood that someone will say something that sparks a riot.”
Now he looked at me, his smile clearly evident. You smug bastard, I thought, but I tried to make sure my thoughts were not visible on my face.
“Absolutely correct, Cornuficius. That is my thinking precisely. So, to that end we're going to hold the men on the opposite side of the theater. I've arranged for Apollonius to let my slave know when Caesar departs his quarters, and only then will we march in. Does everyone understand?”
Heads nodded, and I was pleased to see the looks of relief on most of the men. Clearly, they were worried about the same thing as I, taking this as a good sign. Forming the men up as planned, we waited for Diocles to come running to give us the word. Just a short time later, I saw his slight figure running around the corner to give me the signal. I called the men to intente. we marched into the theater, where the men of the 28th were standing, and even over the tramping of feet, I heard their mumbling. While I could not hear what was being said, the tone was clearly ugly, and I was struck by a feeling that I have had before and since, of reliving a moment in my past once again, this particular feeling like that day on the plains of Pharsalus all over again. With the noise from our boots subsiding as the men halted, a voice carried from the ranks of the 28th.
“About fucking time they showed up. I guess they think they’re too good for us.”
Before any of the Centurions could say a word, there emanated from the entire 6th a low, guttural growl, the men too disciplined to speak out, still managing to convey their contempt for their comrades across the floor. That growl was more effective in shutting up the 28th than any threat from a Centurion or Optio and I smiled broadly, though my back was turned to the men so they could not see it. Fortunately, Caesar arrived at that moment and we were called to intente as he mounted the stage. Standing there for a moment, looking down at us, it suddenly made me feel old. How many times, I wondered, had I been standing here, looking up at Caesar? The only thing that had changed was my vantage point, since I had started out in the rear ranks. Now I was standing in front, all by myself. But it was always up at Caesar that I was looking, and the question that crossed my mind was, how much more of my life would be spent in this fashion? While I held little doubt that I would be standing here looking up at some general, what intrigued me was the question of whether or not it would ever be anyone other than Caesar. And after Caesar, if there was an after Caesar, would I ever find any general worthy of following again? These were the thoughts crowding through my mind as we waited on the great man to speak.
“Comrades,” he began in his customary style, “I have been told by my officers that some of you are discontented. Never let it be said that Caesar does not care for his men, nor listen to their complaints. That's why I am standing here. What do you have to say to me?”
To the men who had been complaining the loudest, that was like a bucket of ice water thrown directly into their face and I fought back the urge to laugh. They were being called out in front of their comrades, and being told to make their complaints public. That is a very daunting task, especially if you are a spineless, gutless cunnus to begin with.
For several moments, nothing was said, then Caesar spoke again, “Very well. I have given you the opportunity to speak, but now it seems that nobody has anything to say. Then if there is nothing more, we must return to our duties.”
He turned as if to go, causing a panicked buzz in the ranks of the 28th, men whispering fiercely to the man next to them, each of them demanding that the man they were whispering to speak up.
“Why do you refuse to leave this place?”
I do not know who said it, but immediately there was a roar of agreement from the men of the 28th. I turned to look at the ranks of my men, pleased to see that they were standing silently, looking over at the 28th in open contempt.
“We do not leave for a number of reasons,” Caesar replied, his hand raised for quiet, “not least of which is that I have never yielded the field to an enemy yet.”
Now, that was not exactly true; I vividly recall moving away from Gergovia and Dyrrhachium, but as disgruntled as the men may have been, none of them were crazy enough to bring that up to Caesar, so his statement went unchallenged.
“More importantly, however, is the fact that we can't leave this province in the hands of forces that are hostile to us. Rome relies on the grain grown here; without it, our people, your families and friends would starve. Until we can secure that supply of grain, leaving is not an option. And the only way to secure the supply is to defeat the Egyptians.”
They did not care for this, and in the muttering that followed, I heard the name Cleopatra several times.
Then another voice called out, “That’s all well and good, Caesar. But how are we supposed to defeat the enemy when we have no water?”
This challenge was met by another roar of agreement, continuing unabated for several moments as men added their own cries of despair to the hue. Caesar stood there, seemingly impervious to the things that were being called out, his face completely expressionless. After a moment, he held both hands up, and finally the men, now little more than a mob, settled down enough so that he could speak. I had looked back again at my men, and while they still had not made any sound, I could see that they were as interested to hear what Caesar had to say next about the water as the rabbits in the 28th.
“So your major concern is the lack of water?”
The men all cried out that this was so, then Caesar held his hands up again.
“If I provide the means to end this problem, so that water isn't a concern, are you willing to stay and fight without further complaint?’
Oh, he had them boxed now, and the quicker ones among them knew it immediately. There were whispered conferences as men argued among themselves. After a couple of moments, the buzzing subsided, followed by a period where nobody spoke. Finally, some men began to mumble their assent, but a blind man could tell that they were not happy about it.
But Caesar was not going to quibble about the quality of their agreement, and he spoke again, “I have your agreement then? Good. Then that is all.”
He turned to leave, but stopped at the howls of protest, and now I could definitely see that ghost of a smile playing at his mouth.
“How do we find water, Caesar? You said that you'd provide us with water!”
He affected a look of surprise as he said, “Why, you dig for it, of course.”
There was total silence, the men standing in stunned disbelief, and I must confess I was as shocked as the rest of the men. Dig for it? Could it really be that simple? A storm of protest burst forth as the men overcame their shock, their anger at perceiving that they had been tricked by Caesar very real, and very dangerous. However, Caesar was not cowed in the slightest; he merely stood there once again, letting the men spend their fury, waiting for the moment when everyone paused to catch their breath before howling anew.
When it came, he said in his command voice, “Centurions, you will form the men into working parties composed of two sections apiece. Each working party will dig a well, starting in the courtyard of every private residence in our sector. Only the guard Centuries will be relieved of this duty; however, they will stand watch all three night watches while the rest of the men work. No working party will be excused until they have dug a well that produces water. Once they do, they are relieved and can return to their quarters to rest. You have your orders, Centurions. Carry them out.”
He turned to leave, but someone shouted after him, “And if we don’t find any water?”
As he dismounted the stage, he called over his shoulder. “Then we will leave.”
~ ~ ~ ~
At first, the men were not enthused at all about their task, even my men. Walking from one working party to the next, I could hear their bitter complaints about what they viewed as a folly by Caesar.
“He’s just making us sweat as punishment for those cunni in the 28th calling a meeting,” a ranker from the Fifth of the Tenth said, standing waist-deep in a hole and tossing out another shovelful of sandy dirt, his comrades heartily agreeing with him.
This was more or less the tone of every working party as they dug, and these were men of the 6th. I could only imagine what Cartufenus was dealing with from his boys, I thought. I resigned myself to a whole night of complaining, but it was barely a third of a watch into work when I heard a great shout coming a block over from my spot at that moment, where I had sent some men of the 7th to work. Running down the street, I turned the corner to find Valens standing in the middle of the street, but covered in mud from the waist down. He was laughing with some of his men as I ran up, and he managed a salute despite his ear to ear smile.
“We struck water, Primus Pilus. Not more than six feet down.”