Marching With Caesar - Civil War (54 page)

In his maddeningly typical Greek way, he answered my question with a question. “What does it matter? You’re going to be living like a king, and so are the men.”

“Can you swim?” I asked this in a pleasant enough tone, but he did not mistake my meaning.

He put his hands out in a placating gesture. “
Pax,
Pullus. By the gods, you’re touchy as a Vestal about the flanks.”

I grimaced at the comparison, but he was right. “I apologize. It’s just my damn leg hurts like I don’t know what. You’d think that this was the first time I had been wounded.”

“I know why it pains you so much,” he replied, and I was in so much discomfort that I did not notice the gleam in his eye as he said this.

“Why then? Come on, out with it you miserable Greek cocksucker!”

“It happens to every man. When they get older, it takes them longer to heal. You’re getting old, that’s all.”

He was a quick one all right, and not just with his tongue, dodging out of the way when I took a swing at him.

“Old? I’m not even 30 yet!”

The moment I said it, I knew I had made a mistake, though he did not seem to notice. While I was not particularly worried any longer about the lie that had gotten me into the Legions a year early, it was still not something I wanted known, but Appolonius simply laughed. I pushed the conversation back to the original topic, repeating my question about what Caesar had planned.

He shrugged. “Nothing. Cleopatra has been at him for months to let her show him Egypt and all that it has to offer, and now that things are back in order, he’s agreed.”

“So we're on a holiday?”

“Something like that. Oh, I suppose that you’ll be called on for ceremonial duties whenever Caesar wants to give the natives a show that impresses upon them the might of Rome. And there's to be a Century on guard on the barge at all times. Otherwise, you’re free of any duties. And Caesar has ordered that the wine ration is doubled for all men.”

Now, this might seem like wonderful news, and in some ways it was, but mostly it was a boon for the men. For the Centurions, it was as close to disaster as we could get. Something that every Centurion knows from the first day they pick up the
vitus
is that idle men mean trouble in one form or another. Keeping them busy, any kind of busy, is the key to keeping them, and yourself out of trouble. The fact that they would be in close proximity onboard ships was something else to worry about, while the double wine ration just compounded matters. I sighed, knowing that this was not going to be a holiday for anyone wearing the transverse crest.

~ ~ ~ ~

We began our procession up the Nile, and that is exactly what it was, a royal procession with all the panoply and pomp that only royalty can produce. The men lined the rails to watch whenever we stopped at some village or small town, where the locals would turn out, the elders wearing their finest, dropping into the dust at Cleopatra and Caesar’s feet. All the wailing, beating of breasts and tearing of clothes when the royal couple departed was a sight to behold, at least the first two or three times we witnessed it, though it got old very quickly. What we found infinitely more interesting were the creatures that lined the banks of the river. While we had seen some of the crocodiles that the Egyptians kept as pets, we had never seen any as large as what we saw sunning themselves on the bank. I was just glad that we had been warned about entering the water when we were close to shore, but that did not stop some of the men from goading each other into leaping off the boat and swimming back before being devoured. Fortunately, not many of the men knew how to swim, so this was relatively isolated. Huge herds of large cow-like creatures with wide, sweeping horns would come to the edge of the river to drink twice a day, in the thirds of a watch just after dawn and just before sunset, and we soon learned that this was when the crocodiles would go hunting. Very quickly, this became one of the favorite pastimes of the men, lining the rails and wagering with each other on when the crocodiles would strike and which animal it would take. The roars of laughter and howls of delight or despair as the crocodiles would suddenly rear out of the water to snatch some unlucky beast rolled across the river. I must say that I participated with equal enjoyment and enthusiasm. Although I appreciated having a ship more or less to myself with only Diocles as my companion, it soon got old, so it was only a day or two into our journey that I summoned some of the other Centurions to take the small boats each ship carried to row to my vessel. Usually it was Felix, Clemens, Sertorius, and Valens, but I knew that at some point I had to deal with Cornuficius and Fuscus. However, I was not ready, because I was not yet sure what I should do about it. On the second night after we set out, Apollonius rowed over to my ship to inform me that there was going to be a victory banquet that night, with all the Centurions invited. The banquet was on Cleopatra’s barge, with over a hundred guests, which should give an idea of the massive size of the vessel. Calling a meeting for the Centurions onboard my ship, I pressed Appolonius into duty as teacher on the proper way to behave. Needless to say I was very nervous; while I had dined with Caesar in the officers’ mess more times than I could count, this was the first formal affair that I had been invited to attend. With royalty in attendance, it was even more nerve-wracking. Having to worry about 12 other men, some of whom I did not trust at all made it even more so, but Apollonius did his best to soothe my nerves.

“You'll be dining on couches, in the normal manner,” was how Apollonius started out, prompting a chuckle from some of us.

“It may be normal for you, Greek,” called out Clemens, “but there’s not usually a couch by the fire of an army camp.”

Apollonius looked slightly embarrassed, but he continued. “You'll be seated according to rank. Caesar has asked that Primus Pilus Pullus sit with his group, on the
Lectus
Summus
. Caesar is doing you a great honor, Primus Pilus Pullus.”

If he had hoped that telling me this would somehow soothe me, he was gravely mistaken, but given the nature of our relationship, I think Apollonius was taking perverse pleasure by exacting revenge for all the insults I hurled his way on a daily basis.

“Of course, you'll be sitting in the third position, but it's still a great honor.”

That it was; once I got over the shock my immediate thought was for my sisters, and I hoped that wherever Livia was in the afterlife, she could see her baby brother and how far he had come. I wish I could say that my first thought was for Gisela and Vibi, but sadly, I had not given them much thought since I left her weeping in the apartment in Brundisium. I had received a letter from her; not from her personally, she paid a scribe to write what she dictated, and the letter had arrived with the reinforcements. It was then I learned that she was pregnant again and was hoping for a daughter. Things had not been right between us before I left, but we obviously had moments where we got along, one of them resulting in the news that I was expecting another child. Now here I was, more miles away than I could count, about to have Caesar sitting, or more accurately, lying across from me, but truthfully, I was more worried about Cleopatra than I was about Caesar.

~ ~ ~ ~

Apollonius finished his class about the proper way to behave, leaving us to prepare ourselves, making sure that our decorations and plumes were in good repair and properly polished. Which meant, of course, that there were sweating Gregarii in every Century who performed the actual work of making us presentable. At the appointed third of a watch, we were rowed to the barge, where a combination bodyguard of Nubians and our own men were waiting to help us aboard the barge. One of the perfumed creatures of Cleopatra’s court was awaiting us as well, trying not to wrinkle his heavily made up nose in distaste at the sight of us, causing us to snicker as we followed him. As ornate as the palace of the Pharaohs had been, the barge was at least as much so, if not more heavily bedecked in gold leaf and silver trimming. The columns had every appearance of being made of real marble, with gold capitals wrapped in ivy, and I had to wonder how stable this vessel really was. We marched through the throne room, where we could not help stopping to gape at the throne of the Pharaohs, made of what I was sure was solid gold, with ebony and ivory carvings in the form of twisting serpents wrapped around the legs. Rising up from the back of the throne was what looked like the head of a dog of some sort, again made of solid gold by all appearances, with eyes made of inlaid lapis lazuli, by the look of it. I would have liked to spend more time examining it, but our escort was getting impatient so we continued into the dining hall. There were a series of low, Roman-style tables, around each of which were three couches, with an attendant at each one, armed with wax tablets with the names of the occupants of their particular table. The rest of my party were led to the far end of the dining room, while I was shown to my spot on the couch, the farthest point on the couch opposite Caesar’s spot, with Cleopatra in the place of honor to his left. Neither of them had arrived, but most of the other guests had, and I was distinctly uncomfortable to find myself next to a member of Cleopatra’s court on the couch to my immediate left, though I cannot remember the creature’s name or title. I was just aware that he was of the same nature as the late Pothinus, one of those men called a eunuch, smelling of perfume and oils, and I did not like the way he looked at me. The only relief was that on the opposite side was General Hirtius, who for the most part was a good sort, for a patrician snob anyway, and was at the very least a Roman. Once we sat down, servants appeared to start pouring wine, served unwatered. I immediately signaled for a servant to add water to mine, ignoring the warning hiss and shake of the head I got from Hirtius. I was determined to keep a clear head, and had ordered my Centurions to do likewise, though I had my doubts whether some of them would obey. After we were seated for several moments, long enough for many of the guests to down more than one cup of wine, there was the sound of horns, all of us rising at this signal. Cleopatra and Caesar made their entrance, and I imagine it would have been more impressive if Cleopatra had not been so pregnant and forced to waddle more than walk to their places. To her credit, she did not seem in the least embarrassed by her condition, and while she was very plain as I have said, I must say that the pregnancy gave her something of a glow that made her more attractive. Still, I would not have given her a poke with my stick, if you take my meaning. Nevertheless, Caesar was so obviously taken with her, making no attempt to hide it, something that some men scoffed at but for which I admired him. I was becoming more aware of how important the opinion of others was to me, so I envied his self-assurance and whatever quality it is that allows a man to do as he pleases while not worrying about what others think of him, and this quality Caesar had in abundance. The couple took their seats, our signal to do the same, and immediately the first course was brought out. Normally I am indifferent to food, but I vividly remember most of what was served that evening, especially the first course, which were crocodile eggs. But these were not eggs that I, or any Roman for that matter was accustomed to, for the eggs had been fertilized so that when the shell was broken, half-formed baby crocodiles awaited our consumption. I felt my stomach lurch, taking a quick glance around at the other Roman guests and was pleased to see that they looked as disconcerted as I was. Wise enough to know that a refusal to partake of what the Egyptians obviously considered a delicacy would be a mortal insult I hardened my heart, and stomach, then popped one into my mouth, swallowing it quickly, with a minimum of chewing. Surprisingly, what little I tasted was not that bad, though I decided against chewing the next one more thoroughly. My Egyptian counterpart had no such hesitation; he chewed and smacked away, and I caught a glimpse of a tiny tail protruding from his oily lips before it disappeared with a slurping sound. I leaned back to shoot a glance over to General Hirtius, who caught my eye, rolling his while giving me a sympathetic smile.

“So, Primus Pilus, what do you think of our cuisine so far?”

It took a moment for it to register that I was being addressed, slightly longer to make the connection that it was a woman’s voice, and that Cleopatra was the only woman at our couch. By the time I realized what was happening, every other set of eyes, including Caesar’s, were staring at me and I could feel the heat shooting up from my toes.

“It’s . . . it’s very . . . interesting, Highness,” I stammered, then I saw Caesar’s eyes narrow ever so slightly, making me even more uncomfortable, but Cleopatra laughed, and it was a very pleasant sound.

“Put like a diplomat, Primus Pilus.” Her eyes became mischievous, and she pressed, “But what exactly does that mean, interesting? Is that good or bad?”

I gulped, trying to choke the mouthful of baby crocodile past the lump in my throat. “Well, Highness. The taste isn't so bad. I guess I’m just not accustomed to the idea of eating something that normally would be eating me.”

I cannot describe the relief and pride I felt at the whoops of laughter this evoked, and Caesar rewarded me with a brilliant smile and a mouthed “well done.”