Marching With Caesar - Civil War (4 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

Once more, we were at a stalemate; our army commanded the ground through which the Pompeians must pass, and now
they
were cut off from their supplies. The only thing in their favor was the fact that they had chosen a hill with steep sides, meaning that assaulting it would be difficult but not impossible. Despite the challenges, the senior Centurions went to Caesar in a group, urging him to allow us to assault the hill, thereby stopping this war once and for all. Caesar listened politely, but he refused to give in to our pleading, saying simply that he believed he could win this war without losing another drop of blood, either from his own men or from those of the enemy. For the first time since I had marched under the eagle, and marched with Caesar, men openly disagreed with him, and while I do not remember exactly who said it, I do remember hearing something that shocked me to my very core.

“Caesar, remember this moment,” the voice rang out. “The next time you call on us to fight for you, you may find that we’re not as willing as we are today.”

I was stunned, but what was even more shocking to me were the mumbles of agreement from a large number of the other Centurions. While I might have expected such sentiments from the rankers, I was completely taken aback that the most senior members of Caesar’s army would dare to say something so brazen, or to openly agree with it. Almost immediately after the words were spoken, the very air seemed to change, the import of what was said immediately hitting all of us, and you could almost hear the intake of breath sucking the air out from around us, the grumbling immediately ceasing as all eyes turned to Caesar. Whether or not that was how some of us felt, we also knew that to openly disagree in such a manner was an invitation to the harshest punishment available to a commander, and Caesar would have been well justified to order the Centurion who made this threat seized and executed on the spot. However, Caesar did not appear to be in the least perturbed, instead saying gently, “I understand your frustration, comrades, but these are my orders, and I know that you won’t let your personal feelings interfere with your duties. As far as the next time, and whether you choose to take up arms at my command,” he finished dryly, “I’ll have to cross that bridge when I come to it. I’ve already crossed the Rubicon, so one more won’t make much difference.”

His words had the desired effect; despite the tension, his attempt at humor was met with appreciative chuckles, and in that instant, the situation was defused. Returning to our areas in small groups, I chose to walk alone. I was extremely troubled by what I had just heard, on a number of levels. It had not even occurred to me to question Caesar’s judgment, but it obviously had to several of my comrades, men that I respected a great deal. Was my loyalty to Caesar blinding me? I could see the sense of what the others wanted him to do; what better way to end this war but to march up that hill and end it the best way we knew? Nevertheless, I had such faith in Caesar’s judgment that I never stopped to question whether he might be wrong. That was something that my comrades obviously had done, and it worried me. Would they really carry out their threat the next time he called for us to come to arms?

~ ~ ~ ~

We spent another entire day waiting for the situation to develop and thanks to our cavalry, who had gone back to our original camp to escort our supply train back, we were not in the same predicament that the Pompeians were, stuck on their hill, and cut off from their own supply base. The other problem for the Pompeians was water, more accurately the lack of it, and they began sending out Century sized detachments out to try finding the precious liquid. We were in the part of the country that is exceedingly dry in the summer months, and almost all of the streams that fed into the nearby Sicoris were completely dry. The natives used man made reservoirs to catch rainwater, and the Pompeians located one such reservoir some distance from their camp on the hill. Rather than risk continual capture of their detachments, they made the decision that it was ultimately safer and more secure to dig a ditch and throw up a rampart leading all the way from their camp to the nearest reservoir, a reservoir that we ourselves were using. This ditch traveled more than a mile in length to the reservoir, terminating on the opposite side, but our camp was situated in such a manner that the water was a distance of just a few paces from the gates of the camp. Therefore, we were on one side of the reservoir and the Pompeians on another, yet it was a matter of not much time before some of the men began talking to each other. As we had known all along, acquaintances and kin were discovered in each other’s ranks. What happened next marks the tragedy of civil war more than any other event that I saw or heard about during that period, at least in my mind.

Some of our men invited their friends on the other side to come into camp, under their protection. Normally, a Roman Legionary would never accept such an offer, but these were not normal times, and besides, the Pompeians still had fresh in their memory Caesar’s refusal to send us in an assault on their hill the day before. I was sitting in my tent, which had arrived with the relief column, when Zeno announced that Vibius requested entrance into my tent. I gave my assent, and he came in with a grin from ear to ear. Looking up, I saw there was a man behind him and I swallowed my irritation; I did not feel like having a party in my quarters at that moment because I was swimming in paperwork that needed to be caught up.

However, my displeasure did not last long, as Vibius announced, “Pilus Prior Pullus, I have a surprise for you.”

He stepped aside, and I saw as I rose that it was indeed a surprise, and a great one. Dressed as I was, in the uniform of a Centurion, stood none other than Cyclops, my former brother-in-law, and the instructor of our youth. I was speechless. He had disappeared since my sister, Livia, with whom he had been very happy in marriage, had died in childbirth. Nobody around Astigi had any idea of his whereabouts. I assumed he had either died or gone off to some far land, except here he stood in the flesh, a little older and grayer at the temple, but otherwise unchanged, his one good eye staring at me, with the other still the puckered hole surrounded by scar tissue.

“Well, it’s good to see that you’re still no good at small talk,” he said by way of greeting.

In truth, I did not trust myself to speak, instead stepping forward, ignoring his outstretched hand to grab him in a bear hug, and for once I was not ashamed of my tears. Neither, I suspect, was Cyclops.

~ ~ ~ ~

We sat at my table and caught up. Cyclops told us that once my sister had died, his desire to be a farmer had died with her.

“The only reason I was content to stay on the farm was because of her,” he said quietly, both Vibius and I staring into our cups.

I was lost in memories of my sister and how happy she was with Cyclops; I know not what Vibius was thinking, but I suspect that Juno was involved in some way. Cyclops spoke with the tone of a man whose pain has dulled to the ache of an old wound that will never truly heal, yet is no longer fresh and raw.

“So I went back to the only home I knew, outside of the farm and Livia, and here I am.”

I suspected that there was much more to his tale, but Cyclops was as miserly with his words as my father with his money. Both Vibius and I exchanged amused glances, knowing that no amount of prodding would get much more out of him than that.

Changing the subject, he said, “So, can your man Caesar be trusted?”

Before I could speak up, I was surprised when Vibius answered, “Absolutely. Caesar may be a lot of things, but he’s an honorable man. You and the rest of the men who came into our camp are safe, that I can promise you. Right, Titus?”

By rights, I should have been the only one giving such assurances, but I did not begrudge the breach of protocol, so surprised was I that Vibius would defend Caesar. My feelings were obvious, since I saw the color rise to Vibius’ cheeks.

Before we could get into an argument, I simply said, “What Vibius says is true, Cyclops. You and the rest of your comrades will come to no harm.”

He nodded with some relief at our words. “Good, I thought as much. I’ll be honest, I don’t know about you boys, but none of us are really all that eager to keep on fighting.” He looked at us to gauge our reaction, yet neither of us spoke, so he continued. “It’s just that we look across the field at you, and we don’t see the enemy, we see men just like us. Men that we know, and are related to, both by blood and marriage.”

Despite my attempts to remain impassive, I was touched that Cyclops still thought of me as kin, since in reality his bond with me had died with Livia.

With that knowledge, I lowered my defenses, and agreed. “We feel the same way, Cyclops. Although I will say that yesterday, there was some sentiment among the senior Centurions that we should go ahead, assault the hill, and get it over with. I can’t help but wonder now if they still feel the same way.”

“Why’s that?” Cyclops asked, looking at me in a speculative manner.

“Because I assume that there are reunions of this sort happening in a lot of tents in this camp,” I said honestly. “And it’s one thing to want to end the war with one final battle when we look across the distance at your camp. But now that you’ve come, you’re flesh and blood, you’re all too real, and I think that there are going to be some men who see things differently in the morning.”

“I hope you’re right, Titus,” Cyclops said, raising his cup in a toast, which we joined.

~ ~ ~ ~

I was more right than I knew. The very same men who had been openly questioning Caesar’s decision not to attack were now singing his praises and commending him on his vision. Still, I did not hear many of them taking themselves to task so much as they were praising Caesar, but I did not push the point. There were reunions going on all over the camp and before long, men were going in both directions; our men went into the Pompeian camp under the supposed protection of Afranius, many of them carrying loaves of bread in search of hungry friends and kinsmen who had not come into our camp. Meanwhile, some of the senior Centurions in Afranius’ army had gathered, asking to approach Caesar to request of him that he promise the same sort of leniency to their generals and officers that he was showing to the rankers, to which he readily agreed. As he had told us the day before, there was nothing to be gained by further bloodshed of men who were the same as us. His attitude was a great relief to the Pompeians, some of whom agreed to join our standards, so great was their admiration of Caesar. It was a festive atmosphere in the camp to be sure, and soon any attempts at maintaining some sort of discipline about who went over to the Pompeian camp to visit fell apart. In my own Cohort, some 20 men were given permission to visit, and I suspected there were at least as many who had simply just slipped away to go with their friends.

I asked the Primus Pilus what was to be done, and he just shrugged with a wry grin and said, “Just hope they get back in one piece. I don’t want to have to flog half the Legion.”

Looking back, I realize that it never occurred to either one of us that we could not trust the Pompeian generals; after all, what did they have to gain by harming our men? That is a question I am still asking.

~ ~ ~ ~

Piecing the events together, after the proverbial dust had settled, this was what we learned happened in the Pompeian camp, leading to one of the darkest episodes of the civil war. While Afranius had acquiesced to the actions taken by his men in reaching out to Caesar, and indeed, according to some prisoners who worked in the headquarters, had actually instigated the delegation of Centurions who went to Caesar, the other general Petreius harbored no such feelings. Completely ignoring the safe conduct offered by Afranius, he armed his personal slaves while summoning about a Cohort's worth of his lackeys, those men who fawn all over a general in order to gain his favor. He deputed these men to do his dirty work. I was alerted to the change in the situation by alarmed yells, followed by the screams of our men who were caught, the first few of them completely unaware that they were betrayed. Most of the men were mingling in the area of the reservoir, but a fair number of our men had actually gone all the way into the Pompeian camp. These men were the first to fall, butchered where they were found, some of them dragged out of the tents of the friends and kinsmen whom they were visiting. Once the alarm was raised, a large number of our men rallied together, forming a makeshift
orbis
, using their
sagum
as makeshift shields wrapped around their left arms. They had gone into camp bearing only their swords and daggers, as regulations prescribed, but they presented enough of a defense that they were able to move slowly towards our camp. Our guard Cohorts were summoned and had sallied forth out the nearest gate, where they absorbed the refugees into their midst before retreating into the camp. There was complete pandemonium inside our camp as everyone tried to determine exactly what had happened. Cyclops was standing with us outside my tent as men came running up, shouting that we had been betrayed by the Pompeians and that every man of ours in the camp, except for the group who had formed up, were slaughtered. Despite not knowing if that were indeed true, it certainly seemed possible, and I looked at Cyclops, his face gone gray with shock.