Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (104 page)

“It means I’m here to fetch Sergeant Domitius back to return to the Legions. Our leave is almost up, and we’ll have to hurry to get back to the Legion on time. We can delay no longer.”

“But he’s not ready to travel, Titus,” she protested, making a move to block my way when I began to move towards Vibius’ room.

Staring down at her, I held my gaze until her defiance withered under my glare. “Don’t try and stop me, Domitia. I’m doing what's best for Vibius.”

“You’re doing what’s best for yourself, Titus,” she hissed, her anger and mother’s instinct getting the better of her composure. “You don’t care a rotten fig for Vibius, it’s your precious career that means more to you, and that’s the only reason why you’re here.”

My surprise at her words evidently was written on my face, because it clearly gave her courage. “Oh yes, don’t think I don’t know. Vibius has been writing for years, and he told us how you turned your back on him to pursue your precious career, so don’t pretend that you care what happens to him now.”

I felt like I was struck in the gut, but falling back on the discipline instilled by my years in the Legion, I kept my face a cold mask. “If what you say is true, then you know that I’ll stop at nothing to bring Vibius back,” I replied coolly, stepping past her to walk to Vibius’ room. Without bothering to knock, I kicked the door open, causing a satisfying crash as it flew against the wall. The room was dark and stank to high heaven, and I could just make out a lump lying in a bed in the corner that scarcely stirred at the noise.

“Sergeant Domitius, on your feet,” I roared, but I was rewarded only with a slight movement. Once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I walked over to the bed, seeing just the top of Vibius’ head poking out from underneath the covers. Kicking the foot of the bed with my boot, I was rewarded with a low groan.

“Go away Titus, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“There’s no Titus here,” I told him coldly, “and you’ll get on your feet when addressing your senior Centurion.”

I had hoped that this would be enough to give Vibius the needed impetus to get up, but he had always been stubborn. “Don’t pull rank on me,” his voice was muffled by the covers, yet I could hear plainly enough the beginnings of anger in his voice. Good, I thought, that's a start. Instead of kicking the bed again, I reached down, grabbing one corner to give it a good yank, turning the mattress over and dumping Vibius out on the floor. His nightclothes were stained with wine and I did not want to speculate what else, yet he got to his feet quickly enough, letting out a huge roar of anger as he turned on me. Before he could get any closer, I lashed out with my
vitus
, striking him hard in the ribs, causing him to gasp with pain. Despite the blow he kept his feet. Any other man would have buckled under that, I thought with some pride, but not Vibius. For his part, it just made him angrier and he charged at me headlong, his speed once again catching me by surprise. Even as I fell backwards, I thought with some chagrin that I always forgot how fast he really was. Tumbling into a heap on the floor, the combination of my armor and the weight of his body forced the air from my lungs in an explosive gasp. Encouraged by this sound, Vibius began to thrash at me, but I was able to block most of the blows with my arms, although a couple landed along my body, sending shafts of pain shooting through me. I was content to let him tire himself out and was glad to see that at least the slack living and moping about had sapped his conditioning, because it was only a few moments before I felt his strength flagging. Once he paused, I heaved him off of me, throwing him across the room while leaping to my feet, crossing to him before he could recover. I did not use my fists, because that would have been personal, instead thrashing him with my
vitus
, using it like he was a
tiro
in his first month of training and I did not stop until he was curled up in a ball, trying to protect himself. Finally finished I stood panting over him, and said harshly, “I won’t enter this into the official record Sergeant, since you know the penalty for striking a superior officer is running the gauntlet, followed by crucifixion,” I heard his mother gasp at this, “but I’m not going to tell you again. We’re leaving to return back to the Legion in a third of a watch. I expect you to be standing outside this house, fully packed and in full uniform, ready to go. Do you understand me?”

It seemed like forever, but was probably only a few heartbeats before he answered, “Yes, Pilus Prior. I understand. And I will obey.”

I grunted. “Very good. Now,” I turned to leave, “clean yourself up and say goodbye to your family. The 10th is waiting for us.”

Ignoring his mother’s poisonous stare as I left his room, I exited the house. I knew that there was a good chance that our friendship was now ruined beyond repair. But Vibius’ mother was right; I would not jeopardize my career for anything, or anyone.

It would be a lie if I said that I was not a little surprised to see Vibius standing outside his house, pale and looking haggard, but in an immaculate uniform. The servants must have been jumping through their own assholes, I thought wryly when Gisela and I pulled up in the wagon. This was the first that Gisela had seen Vibius since we learned of Juno’s betrayal, and I was glad that only I heard her sharp intake of breath at the sight of him.

The moment we pulled up, Vibius snapped to
intente
¸ giving his best parade ground salute, intoning in the expressionless voice that all rankers use to let their superiors know what they truly thought of them, “Good morning Pilus Prior.”

Then, with a shade more warmth he turned and said, “Good morning Gisela.”

“Good morning, Vibius,” Gisela replied in a cheerful tone that I recognized was forced, although Vibius did not seem to notice. “Lovely day to start back, don’t you think?”

Vibius shrugged as he threw his gear in the back before climbing into the back of the wagon. “Good as any, I suppose. Ready when you are, Pilus Prior.”

I do not know why I was hoping for anything other than what I was getting, yet I was disappointed nonetheless. I only hoped that things would return to a semblance of normality at some point in the near future. Once he was settled in, I slapped the reins, beginning our journey back to the base as I idly wondered whether or not my nemesis Celer had returned and been making trouble for me after arranging his father’s affairs. Suddenly, it did not seem to be so important now.

The trip back was a misery. Vibius was determined to make me feel as guilty as possible. While in the beginning he at least made a pretense of communicating with me, albeit always in an official tone, he finally dropped even that. By the end of the second day, we were reduced to using Gisela as our medium; I would ask Vibius a question, except it would be asked of Gisela. In turn Vibius would respond to Gisela, who would roll her eyes, but thankfully played along with the game. By the third day I grew tired of this and just stopped talking, at Vibius or to Gisela for that matter, my mood becoming so pervasive that they rarely spoke either. Consequently, it was a silent, sullen lot that traveled the roads back to the base. Our only relief came when we would stop for the night at some inn, where we could freely engage in conversation with strangers, and it was on the road back that we heard the first bits about what was happening in the wider world since we had been gone.

“Caesar’s a plucked and boiled chicken, that’s what I say,” we overheard an olive oil merchant from Campania telling a younger man dressed as a knight, at an inn still a few days away from Narbo. “Cato has him by the short hairs, that’s for sure,” he continued, and both Vibius and I, our differences temporarily forgotten, exchanged a glance. I raised an eyebrow in a silent signal and Vibius nodded, getting up from our table to walk over to sit next to the merchant. This was something we had long since perfected; Vibius being a much less imposing figure than I was, people warmed up to him more easily.

“Say you, friend. I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said genially, “what’s this business you speak of? What about Caesar?”

The merchant looked Vibius up and down, both of us having changed into our only civilian outfits for the journey, but we were still wearing our boots and our belts, telling everyone that we were from the Legions.

“Soldier, eh?”

There was no malice in the merchant’s tone like we sometimes ran into, and Vibius, picking up on the lack of hostility, nodded. “Home on leave down to Astigi,” he told the man, “now returning to our base.”

“What Legion are you with?” the young knight asked.

“The 10th,” Vibius responded, and even from across the room I could hear the pride in his voice. The effect on the others was palpable; the 10th’s fame was now well-known throughout the Republic and the provinces.

“Caesar’s favorites,” the merchant's tone was admiring. Then, he turned cautious, “Say, if I tell you what’s happening, you’re not going to take out Caesar’s troubles on us, are you? I mean, we’re just the messengers here.”

Vibius laughed, “No chance of that, friend. What happens to Caesar is his trouble, not mine. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

That was not exactly true, but it satisfied the two men at the table, and they filled Vibius in, either not knowing or not caring that there were two other sets of ears listening avidly to the news. The merchant was not exaggerating; Caesar was indeed in a tight spot. His old nemesis Cato had been a constant thorn in Caesar’s side for years, yet now the situation was becoming dangerous. Cato was working tirelessly to see that once Caesar’s term as governor of Gaul expired, he would be tried for a variety of crimes, most of them actions that we were involved in to one degree or another. Most troubling to the Legions was the charge of massacring the Usipetes and Tencteri those years ago, and despite not understanding exactly why we did it, I did not think it just to try to punish Caesar for it. There was a war going on for gods’ sakes, what did the fine gentlemen of the Senate expect? To forestall the prosecution, Caesar decided to run for Consul, and was working the system to ensure his election. The problem lay in the fact that the only way he could run for Consul was to give up command of his army to enter the city, yet the moment he did that he lost his imperium¸ and with it the immunity from prosecution. He attempted to have a measure passed in the Senate exempting him from this rule, but Cato and his allies blocked it. Now, just a few months away from the end of Caesar’s governorship, this was the situation he faced. A complicating factor was Pompey, the old war horse and the man who had been the First Man since Vibius and I were born, but whose primacy was being eclipsed by Caesar. Despite being bound by oath, and by the marriage of Pompey to Caesar’s daughter Julia, her death in childbirth cut the last real tie that bound the two together. Cato was continuously in Pompey’s ear, dripping all sorts of poison about Caesar into it, meaning the rift between the two was ever widening. This was the situation to which we were returning, and needless to say, it gave us a sense of urgency as we increased our pace back to the base the next morning.

Arriving back at Narbo with a day to spare on our leave I put it to good use by finding a midwife for Gisela, and making other arrangements that she deemed necessary. She tolerated the trip very well, but I could see that she was tired and needed rest by the time we got back to base. The situation with Caesar had one salutary effect; Vibius and I began talking again, albeit only on political matters, but I hoped that it was a start to repairing our relationship. Even better for me was that Celer had only gotten back a couple days before us, giving him no time to make much mischief, and his toady Niger was useless without him. The Cohort ran smoothly under Priscus; I was happy to see that the punishment list was very short, Priscus having given his report in my quarters the moment he knew I had returned.

“Excellent job, Priscus. Thank you.” He was standing in front of my desk in my quarters in camp.

He shrugged, yet I could tell he was pleased. “Just doing my job Pilus Prior,” he said modestly.

“That’s true, but it’s still good to know I don’t have to look over my shoulder when I leave you in charge.” We both laughed; he knew exactly what I meant.

The Legion was buzzing with activity and gossip and we were assailed on a daily basis with news from Rome. One of the most difficult aspects was trying to separate fact from fiction; one day, the word spread through the camp that Caesar was arrested, and thrown from the Tarpeian Rock, causing a near-riot before the culprit who spread the rumor was found and flogged until he confessed that he made it up out of boredom. Then there was the word that Pompey had gathered his Legions and was marching on Caesar at Ravenna, where he decided to spend the winter, quickly followed by a counter-rumor that it was Caesar who was marching on Rome. That, as it turned out, was the truth. Caesar crossed the Rubicon with the 13th Legion, and was moving on Rome. And Gisela went into labor a week early.

Chapter 14- Rubicon

Looking back, it is difficult for me to clearly separate the events that took place over those next weeks. What I remember are bits and pieces of memories, flashes of conversations, so once again I will be relying on the Commentaries to provide a chronological order to the events that had such a huge impact, not only on me but on the fate of Rome itself. Essentially, as I mentioned before, Caesar was on the horns of a dilemma. Despite having managed, through Pompey’s efforts, to have a law enacted that allowed him to stand for a second Consulship in absentia, making it so that he did not have to surrender the imperium that came with his governorship, his enemies were not defeated, staying very busy hatching plots to destroy him. Also, Pompey changed the law concerning the interval between which a candidate could hold a city office such as Consul or Urban Praetor, and the beginning of a governorship of a province. What this meant in effect was that a man other than a Consul of the previous year could hold a governorship. In theory this could help Caesar, except that two of his bitter opponents, Aemilius Paullus and Claudius Marcellus were elected Consul, whereupon they immediately put forward a motion to recall Caesar immediately, months before he could run for Consul. This would make Caesar a private citizen and strip him of his imperium and immunity, making it clear that his enemies, Cato being principal among them, would use that status to destroy Caesar. However, Caesar was not standing idly by, buying one of the Tribunes of the Plebs, a young rake named Curio who used the Tribunician veto to forestall Caesar’s recall. Meanwhile, negotiations were taking place to attempt a peaceful solution between Pompey and Caesar, with intermediaries coming and going between the two with proposals and counterproposals. Curio, whose alliance with Caesar was a secret at the time, put forward a proposal that garnered a great deal of support with the moderates; namely, that both Pompey and Caesar lay down the command of their respective armies at the same time. As promising as this may have been for a peaceful resolution, there were powerful men who wanted no such thing. Unsurprisingly Cato was the primary force behind those who opposed Curio’s proposal, and I place most of the blame for what happened on his shoulders. Even Vibius was uncomfortable with the developments engineered by Cato, although it was his actions that actually got Vibius and I talking again in a manner that was almost back to normal. I was visiting my old tentmates, where naturally the topic of conversation was the events in Rome, and more importantly to us, when Caesar would be calling us. To that point, only the 13th was with him, but orders had come to begin preparations to march, so I had been inspecting the Cohort’s readiness before stopping by.