Marching With Caesar - Civil War (65 page)

~ ~ ~ ~

“I’ve been thinking,” I tried to sound casual, but I had never been able to fool Gisela. This time was no exception.

“Uh-oh, I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” she said in a light tone, though her eyes studied my face carefully.

“By rights, my enlistment is up in a little more than a year.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Maybe I won’t re-enlist like I originally planned.”

The silence that followed my statement was profound, as Gisela kept looking at me, saying nothing.

“Well?”

She shook her head, her red hair catching the light from the oil lamp so that it looked like sparks were leaping from her. “Maybe? You think maybe you won’t re-enlist? What does that mean, Titus?”

As always, I found myself on the defensive with her, yet I was determined that this would not degenerate into an argument this time. “Very well, I will rephrase. I'm thinking that I won't re-enlist when my time is up.”

I could still see the doubt in her eyes, and I could not blame her. She, more than anyone, other than Vibius and perhaps Valeria, knew how much being in the Legions meant to me, so it was easy to understand her doubt.

“I have more than enough money to support you and the children in a manner better than either you or I ever knew growing up. Not counting the sale of the Bosporans that we captured at Zela, I have more money than we could spend in a lifetime.”

She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing in thought, recognizing it as the same expression she used when she was haggling at the market or with a merchant. Gisela had an amazing head for figures, much more gifted at doing sums in her head than I was, and she was obviously doing some calculations of her own.

Coming to some conclusion that she was not ready to share with me, she simply asked, “What about buying your way into the equestrian class? Do you have enough for that as well?”

I shook my head doubtfully. “Probably not,” I admitted, “but what’s more important is whether or not Vibi can when he comes of age, and what we have now can be the foundation for his elevation.”

Gisela sat silently, her gaze never wavering from me, and I began to feel the first stirrings of anger born of frustration. I had expected a reaction that, if not outright jubilant, was at least sufficiently thankful that I did not start having second thoughts. It just shows how much I know women, because her silence was not born of doubt. Suddenly, she bowed her head so that her hair hid her face from me, and I almost bit my lip to keep from shouting at her. Then, when she lifted her head, all the angry thoughts fled from my mind, seeing the tears.

“Titus, I cannot tell you how much it means to me to hear you say this, because I know how much you love the army. Thank you, my love. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

And with that, she leaped into my lap to smother me with kisses, happier than I had ever seen her. I remember thinking that at least this time when I left there would probably not be the anger and recriminations that there had been in the past.

~ ~ ~ ~

It may be true that Gisela did not put up a fuss when I departed the next day, yet the same cannot be said for Vibi, and I got to witness firsthand a full-blown temper tantrum. His face turned as red as my cloak and he threw himself onto the floor, kicking and screaming, using words that I suppose made sense to him, but which I could not hope to understand. His cries were so piercing that I felt like someone was taking an awl and punching it into my eardrums.

“Does he do this often?” I asked Gisela, who laughed.

“Only when he doesn’t get what he wants.”

“And how often is that?”

“What do you think?” she retorted. “Would you want to listen to that all day?”

I supposed not. Watching his display of temper, I felt a peculiar mixture of irritation and amusement, along with a healthy measure of guilt for being the cause of it all. When I went to kiss him goodbye, he refused to kiss me back, making a show of wiping my kiss from his cheek.

“That he gets from you,” I grinned at Gisela, who could not deny it and made no attempt to do so.

Livia was much more affectionate, slobbering on me when her mother thrust her out for me to kiss her goodbye. Gisela was crying, but she was not sobbing uncontrollably like she had the last time we parted. I gave her one last hug and kiss before I walked down the steps, determined not to look back, since I had found this always made things harder on everyone, including me, but this time I was to be thwarted.

“Tata, wait!”

I turned to see Vibi stumbling down the stairs, completely ignoring his mother’s pleas not to descend them. While I watched, he tripped on one of the last steps to fall face first into the street. I started to run to him, yet before I could take more than a couple of steps, he was up and running to me on unsteady legs, his face still streaked with tears, snot running from his nose as freely as if it were coming from a pitcher. He threw himself into my legs, wrapping his little arms around them tightly as he looked up at me, cracking my heart like an egg.

“Please don’t go, Tata. I am sorry I was a bad boy. Please stay here with me and the baby and Mama.”

This was the most painful farewell I had ever experienced. I tried to extricate myself gently from Vibi’s embrace, but he clutched to me with all the strength he possessed. I imagine we made quite a sight; there I was, in my soldier’s tunic and belt, wearing my sword and dagger, the scars on my arms and legs plainly visible, brown and weather-beaten from countless days exposed to sun, wind and rain, a veteran of Caesar’s Legions, brought to a standstill by a little boy who wrapped himself around my leg. I looked at Gisela in supplication, and she descended the stairs with the baby, laughing despite her tears, kneeling beside Vibi. Gently, she pried his arms loose from my leg, saying something to him in her native tongue that seemed to soothe him, whereupon he turned and threw himself into her arms. I leaned down to kiss him again; this time he did not wipe it away, but I could hear him sobbing the length of the street as I walked away. When I left my family standing there in Brundisium, I had made up my mind that I was not going to re-enlist, that I was at the end of my career. Obviously, I did not keep that promise. There are reasons for that, but that is to be told later.

~ ~ ~ ~

Traveling rapidly across the bottom of the peninsula to reach Rhegium, I took a ship for Lilybaeum, the last place I had heard Caesar was located. The harbor was crammed full of shipping, a sure sign that Caesar was nearby, at the least, so when I disembarked I simply followed the other Legionaries until I found the camp outside the city. I gained access to the camp by showing the guards my written orders from Caesar, impressed with his seal. Making my way to the
praetorium
, I was kept outside while the guard took my orders inside. A moment later, Apollonius appeared, smiling at me, to escort me inside. His face turned serious and before he took me to Caesar, he motioned me towards a quiet corner, which was in itself no mean feat, since clerks and aides were scurrying everywhere underfoot. Once we found a spot, I did not wait for him to speak.

“So why am I here? What's going on?”

“You’re here because Caesar wants you here,” Apollonius said coldly. “And that should be enough.”

“It is enough,” I snapped. “But if I'm going to be yanked about from one posting to the next, I'd at least like to know why.”

Apollonius’ expression softened as he placed a hand on my arm.

“It has everything to do with the 10th and what happened at Rome. Caesar wants someone he can trust back with the 10th for the invasion of Africa.”

“Surely not every Centurion in the 10th is suspect.” I was thinking of Scribonius and Priscus as I said this, not believing that they could have been part of the mutiny.

Apollonius shook his head. “No, not every Centurion, but Caesar hasn't been happy with the Primus Pilus for some time, and he believes that he should have been warned about the seriousness of the mutiny much sooner than he learned of it.”

“Torquatus.” I said the name, to which Apollonius grunted.

Despite my appreciation of the fact that he had been thrust into the role by the death of Crastinus, such is the fate of every Centurion, to move up when someone more senior than you dies. The fact that Torquatus was unworthy of the job of Primus Pilus was just another example of the gods’ sense of humor, since in the short time I was around him, I had heard Torquatus say more than once that he did not ask for the Primus Pilus spot, it had been thrust upon him. Nevertheless, he had obviously not stepped down. While it is relatively rare for a man to abdicate the position, it is not unheard of, and if Torquatus was so desperately unhappy, then he could have, and probably should have, stepped down, but pride is a funny thing. Even when one part of your mind is telling you that you are not suited for something, there is another part that fiercely protects whatever position you have arrived at, warring against the other more rational part of you that knows your shortcomings, and all this merely in order to maintain whatever station you have managed to claw your way up the ladder to obtain. Apollonius regarded me thoughtfully, his brown eyes revealing nothing as he watched me digest the matter at hand.

“What does Caesar want me to do?” I asked finally.

“That is for Caesar to say. Now come on, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”

With that, he turned to lead me into Caesar’s private office. The scene was the usual seeming chaos with men hurrying about carrying wax tablets or papyrus scrolls, whispering to each other importantly about how many buckles needed to be ordered, or how many kernels of grain it takes to feed a soldier. In the middle of it as always was Caesar, dictating to scribes while signing things brought to him, never looking at what he was signing, yet always seeming to know what it was. Seeing me, he dismissed the scribes, waving me over, so I marched over to him, saluting and reporting as he had ordered.

“
Salve,
Pullus. Are you ready to go back to the 10th?”

That was not a simple question to answer and it caused me to hesitate, something that did not appear to please Caesar at all. I was determined that this time I would not just blurt out the first thing that popped into my head, however, so I did my best to ignore his glare while I thought about it. So many thoughts rushed through my head at once and it was very confusing as I tried to sort them out.

Desperate to stall for time, I asked, “In what capacity would I come back?”

“As Primus Pilus, of course,” Caesar said impatiently, waving his hand as if the fact that there was a man already in the position was of no consequence.

I felt the beginning of an anger building, surprising me considerably. “What about Torquatus?”

“What about him?”

“Is he still Primus Pilus?”

“Yes, but that can be remedied very quickly.”

“How?”

Caesar’s eyes narrowed and I could see that his impatience was turning to anger. “What does it matter to you, Pullus? He'll be relieved of his command and you'll take his place. What do the circumstances matter?”

“Because he'll be shamed. His career will be over, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant such an action.”

“Who are you to tell me whether or not a Centurion in my command is fit for his position?” Caesar’s voice was soft but the barely controlled fury was clear to anyone within earshot, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that everyone in my vision had stopped what they were doing, instead suddenly studying whatever they held in their hands very closely as they strained to listen.

How did you get into this mess? I thought to myself. I had taken particular pains to think before I spoke, yet the tiny coal of anger was starting to glow red, and that ember always burned away my best intentions. I think that it stemmed from the resentment of Caesar’s station, not his abilities, because that was what was behind the action against Torquatus. Even if I was the beneficiary, I knew that I was just as subject to the whims of Caesar and men like him as Torquatus or any man in the ranks and I did not like it. Often was the time we talked of it around the fires, yet for the most part men just shrugged, saying that this was the way things were. They always had been and always would be. Still, I did not like it. In reality, I had less reason to be upset with Caesar because he was not like the other patricians and high-ranking plebeians, showing up for a campaign before running back to Rome to collect their accolades and honors while bragging to their friends about their tactical brilliance. Caesar had been in command of the majority of the army for almost my whole career. There was no general that I held in higher regard, then or now but I was still angry about Torquatus and his fate, though I still cannot honestly say why.