Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 25
"You know what to do," Ventidius told the younger man.
Saluting Ventidius, the Tribune took the javelin offered to him, on which had been affixed a white cloth, then went trotting toward the assembled Commagene.
"Now we'll see how badly this bastard wants to save his city," Ventidius said, although I do not know who he was talking to.
It did not take long for Antiochus to reply, acceding to every demand made by Ventidius, for which I was thankful. Their sudden and complete capitulation meant that the Legion was released from standing in the square and could head towards a section of the city designated as ours for the taking without too much time being lost, while Ventidius detailed one of the other Legions to handle the prisoners. We hurried down streets that were rapidly filling up with Legionaries staggering about, some from the loot they were carrying, others from the women slung over their shoulders, and still others who had found the wine supply. Reaching the part of the city marked with the number of our Legion, there was a provost waiting to show me the boundaries. I was happy to see that most of our section seemed to be in a relatively prosperous part of the city, home to merchants and landowners, I assumed. Not home to the nobility, but frankly better than I expected given how Ventidius had been acting towards me. Again, he was a better man than I gave him credit for. While the overall boundary was determined, it was up to me to assign individual blocks and streets to each Cohort, a chore that I detested because nobody ever was happy with their assignment, a sign that I took to mean that I was fair. Being Primus Pilus meant that not only did I get the first choice for my Century and my Cohort, but the whole Legion, yet I was careful not to abuse this and, in fact, I probably did not take as much as I could have, mainly because I had already become extremely wealthy between my time in Gaul and all the bounties paid to us during the civil wars. I did not gamble much, for a Roman anyway, nor did I drink or whore much. What expenses I did incur that were not reimbursable, like the money I had laid out for the enlistment of more immunes and for which Pollio had been good to his word in reimbursing me, were extremely low otherwise, so I did not need much. However, I also knew if I took nothing then it would be viewed as a sign of weakness by the other Centurions, so I always took something.
The morning after the capture of Samosata saw men holding their heads, throwing up, or poking through their hoard of loot, just a normal day in camp, but this was not to last long. Shortly before midday, there was a sound of a bucina from the guard Cohort that alerted us that a party was approaching the gates of our southern camp, where Ventidius was flying his red pennant and his personal emblem in honor of his victory. It did not take long for one of Diocles’ slave friends to come running up to breathlessly announce that the Triumvir Marcus Antonius was approaching.
The Centurions of the Cohort were in my tent having a meeting, and I believe it was Asellio who said, “Oooooh, he is not going to be happy to see that the city has fallen.”
“That’s too bad,” Laetus said curtly, poking his finger in the direction of the gate where presumably Antonius was entering. “He should have gotten his muscled ass here sooner and not been lying about Athens and Brundisium all these months, getting his wife pregnant.”
“I’m sure he had pressing business.” I felt that I had to make some sort of effort at defending Antonius, though my heart was not in it, and the others knew it.
“You did your duty, Primus Pilus,” Balbus said with a grin. “Now tell us how you really feel.”
“That he should have gotten his muscled ass here sooner.”
This provoked a laugh, which was cut short by the sight of the runner from the Praetorium.
“General Ventidius requires the presence of all Primi Pili to the Praetorium immediately,” he announced.
I sent him back with word that I was coming immediately, then looked at my comrades, who were clearly enjoying the thought of my ordeal.
I sighed as all I could think to say was, “This should be interesting.”
The other Primi Pili and I were kept sitting in the outer office, but while the walls of a Praetorium tent are surprisingly resistant to sound, when men are yelling, they are not enough of a barrier, particularly when it is Marcus Antonius doing the yelling. The Triumvir was bellowing at Ventidius, but much to our surprise, Ventidius was giving as good as he got. Essentially, the gist of the disagreement was what we had all surmised; Antonius was not in the least bit happy that Ventidius had been so successful, accusing him of trying to steal all the credit for victory against the Parthians. Ventidius responded just as heatedly that he was merely doing what Antonius had ordered him to do, and that while he had no desire to make Antonius look bad, he could hardly be blamed for trying to do the job he was given to the best of his ability. Antonius apparently had no rejoinder for this, instead changing the subject to the thousand talents promised by Antiochus, whereupon Ventidius reminded him that he had been ordered to refuse the thousand talents by Antonius himself, which Antonius denied doing. There was a period of silence, I assume because Ventidius was shuffling through his papers, then with a shout of triumph he obviously shoved the order in Antonius’ face, practically daring Antonius to deny the authenticity of the written order. There was a mumbled exchange, then the shouting started anew when Antonius said that written orders were all well and good, but he was still sending Ventidius home for disobeying orders. Corbulo and I exchanged looks that conveyed our shock, while it apparently rendered Ventidius speechless as well. Finally, after several heartbeats, he began speaking again, not shouting, but the intensity in his voice was clear to all of us, though we could not make out what he was saying.
“He can’t be serious,” I whispered to Corbulo, who was sitting next to me, with Balbinus of the 12th on the other side of me.
“Who knows with him?” Corbulo grumbled. “I used to have a lot of respect for the man, but these last few years, he’s changed.”
“Or his true nature is finally showing itself,” Balbinus interjected, surprising me a great deal.
He had always been an Antonian man from the very beginning, something I could understand to a point because Antonius had commanded the 12th for periods of time when we were in Gaul. My face evidently showed my surprise because he shrugged defensively.
“What? I’m not blind. I see it too. But I saw signs of it as far back as Gaul, though they were few and far between.”
“It didn’t keep you from hanging on to his paludamentum,” Corbulo snorted, but Balbinus did not seem to take offense, just shrugging.
“I had to pick somebody in this mess, and he seemed like the best bet.”
I shot Corbulo a sidelong glance, seeing that he had not missed it either. Balbinus had used the past tense when describing Antonius’ chances, and I suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. Was Balbinus one of Octavian’s men, I wondered? Was he going to record our conversation to send back to him, my mind racing as I tried to think of all the things I had said in Balbinus’ presence that I might have to explain. Corbulo looked uncomfortable as well, but while we were friendly, I was not about to broach such a sensitive topic with him. Sitting there, I was hit with the realization that for all intents and purposes, I was Octavian’s man; the fact that he had not yet called in his debt did not make me one of his creatures any less, and my stomach churned at the thought. All I wanted to do was command my Legion, fight who we were told to fight and live to a ripe old age, but the times were such that it was a practical impossibility to do anything of the sort. However, there was nothing I could do at that moment so I turned my attention back to the confrontation between Antonius and Ventidius. I could hear that Antonius was speaking now, though he was not yelling, making it impossible to hear what was being said.
“So do you think it was really Antonius who had us come here?” Corbulo whispered.
I considered the question for moment, then nodded. “Yes. I think he's planning on relieving Ventidius in front of all of us.”
Corbulo nodded his own agreement, adding, “I think you’re right. What a pathetic thing to do. I like Ventidius.”
“So do I.”
That brought a chuckle from Balbinus, who said, “Well, he doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
I was about to make an angry retort, then thought better of it. I did not know if Balbinus would be busily writing away that evening, yet I was not willing to take any chances, so I just laughed it off. Finally, the flap that served as a door to the general’s inner office was pulled aside then both men stepped out, and I heard more than one man’s sharp intake of breath at the sight of the Triumvir.
The months away from the army had not been kind to Antonius. Though he was still trim, he was not the physical specimen he had been not even a year before. I am not ashamed to say that Antonius had the only physique of which I was jealous. Despite the fact that he was nowhere near my height, nor as large through the chest and arms as I was, his muscles were so well defined that he looked as if he was carved of marble by Phidias himself. He certainly made the women swoon, though I believe as much of that was due to his status as his looks, but try as I might, I could never seem to exercise enough to make my own body look like his. His face was even puffier than the last time I had seen him, but I believe it was the sight of his hair that caused the reaction, his mass of curls now liberally spiced with gray. Antonius was growing old before our very eyes, striking me particularly hard because he was not much older than I was. His eyes were red-rimmed, which could have been from hard travel, but I suspected that it was from other causes. Still, his gaze was sharp, while his mouth was turned down in an expression with which I had become all too familiar. Ventidius looked surprised to see us, confirming our suspicions, whereupon he looked at Antonius with undisguised anger, but I sensed that all had not gone the way Antonius had planned.
“I’m glad that you're here,” he said without any other greeting. “I've traveled a great distance because I was concerned with the way things were going. But I'm happy to see that the reports I received were erroneous.” In fact, he looked anything but happy, as he continued. “Now that I've seen for myself that I had nothing to worry about, I'm sending Ventidius home immediately . . . to celebrate his triumph.” He finished his statement through gritted teeth, his mood clearly not helped by our spontaneous cheer. “Yes, yes,” he said irritably once the noise died down. “It’s well deserved and all that, which is why I've decided that Rome should see her victorious general as soon as possible. Ventidius will leave immediately, and I will take command. Between us we'll decide who will be going with him, but I warn you, your work here is far from over and you are needed. I can't guarantee that we'll be able to release any of the Legions in this army to march in the triumph, though Ventidius and I are going to discuss this as soon as I have refreshed myself. That is all.”
And with that, he stalked out, his aides in tow, all of them mirroring the expression of their commander. Once he and his bunch were gone, we walked to Ventidius to offer our congratulations. He offered us a tired smile, making me wonder what had taken place that made Antonius change his tune.
I was not surprised in the least when Ventidius informed me that the 10th would not be going to Rome with him, but I knew the men would be disappointed. Marching in a triumph is the pinnacle of a Legionary’s career in terms of honors, though the prospect of being allowed to stay drunk for days on end without spending a sesterce of one’s own money is probably a bigger enticement. The one consolation was that none of the Legions would be going; Ventidius would have to make do with some of the Legions stationed in Italia that belonged to Octavian. This was just another slap at Ventidius by Antonius, who was doing what he could to minimize Ventidius’ accomplishments. He knew that men who had been there would speak glowingly of Ventidius’ accomplishments since it would allow them to bask in the reflected glow, making their own contribution more heroic, which Antonius certainly did not want. He also did not want Ventidius lingering about, but the old general knew Antonius too well, insisting on staying until the spoils that had been collected and were designated to be part of the triumphal parade were catalogued, packed up and ready to go. As it would turn out, the triumph of Ventidius would be the only one celebrated for victory over the Parthians, but at the time I imagine that Antonius thought that there was less harm in letting Ventidius celebrate his triumph because his own plans would bring about a triumph that would dwarf anything ever seen before, even Caesar’s. Antonius was nothing if not ambitious and he had very big dreams. For perhaps a week, Antonius was all business, holding meetings several times a day with Ventidius’ staff and all of the Centurions, picking their brains about facing the Parthians, as he gave every indication that we would be invading Parthia as soon as the weather broke. Ventidius departed with much sadness on the part of the men, and despite our soured relationship, I was sorry to see him go as well.
Antonius ordered us to break camp, leave Samosata, and march back to Damascus, where he intended to spend some time handling matters pertaining to the governing of the province before putting us in winter quarters. None of us were sorry to leave that bleak place, while the men were looking forward to some time in Damascus. Arriving in Damascus, we moved into our old camp, making the necessary repairs and sweeping out the sand that seems to get in every crack and crevice. It felt as if we had hardly settled in when the Primi Pili were summoned to the governor’s residence where Antonius was staying.
“I have pressing business that must be attended to,” he told us, and while his tone was brusque, I noticed he refused to look any of us in the eye, preferring to gaze at his signet ring on his finger. “In Italia. I'll be leaving immediately and I don't know when I'll be back. Plan on being ready to march in the spring. I'll continue planning with my staff while I’m in Italia.”
I stifled a groan, as did the others I suspect, thinking that I had heard this from the man before, but knowing that there was nothing that could be done about it. The next morning he left for the coast. We did not see him again for almost two years.
That period in Damascus waiting for Antonius was one of excruciating boredom, lightened only by our periodic forays out into the region when the locals acted up, which at least did happen with some frequency. The governor left behind by Antonius, a man named Sosius, loaned out the 10th and the 3rd Gallica to that toad Herod, who marched us into Judaea to Jerusalem, intent on expelling Antiochus, not the Antiochus of Samosata, who was currently sitting on the throne of Judaea. Antiochus, trying to avoid being pinned down, scurried out of Jerusalem with his army, but we brought him to ground outside the city of Jericho. It was not much of a battle and this Antiochus was captured and promptly executed by Herod, giving him the throne of Judaea. I could not keep track of the different tribes and who each was quarreling with, since they all seemed the same to me in their customs, manner of dress and tongue. The people of that region are the most fractious I have ever come across, always arguing with each other and with us about anything and everything, whether it is over the price of a cup or a point of law. They seemed to enjoy being unhappy and only content when they made us feel the same way. Many men picked up relationships where they had left them when we marched off; others did not, which did not sit well with the spurned lover, particularly if they took up with someone else.
During that first winter, I received a letter from my sister Valeria, concerning her son Gaius, who I had last seen ten years before. As I read the part where she brought up Gaius, I tried to calculate how old he would be, supposing him to be perhaps 13, so I was very surprised when she informed me that he was planning on joining the Legions. . . . at the next dilectus, which meant he had to be at least seventeen. I sat with the scroll in my hand, staring off into space as I absorbed what I had just read. Where had the time gone, I wondered? The last I had seen him, he had been like a puppy tumbling about my heels, full of questions about the army, something I had put down to normal boy’s curiosity, yet now Valeria was telling me in no uncertain terms that I was to blame for this development. She maintained that since I had visited all those years ago, Gaius had never shown any interest in his father’s farm, instead talking incessantly of the army. Since it was my fault, she said, it was up to me to fix things by making sure that Gaius did nothing so foolish as to join the army. Like most civilians, my sister had no idea about how the army really worked, assuming that since I was relatively high in the ranks, all I had to do was speak to the right people. How I was to do that in Damascus I was not sure, but what I was sure about was that she would not care about such details. I wrote a letter to a man I knew in Rome who was in charge of selecting men for recruiting parties, a plum assignment that men paid a lot of money to procure, partly for the easy duty but mainly because of the opportunity to squeeze new recruits for a variety of “fees”. My goal was to find out who was assigned to manage the dilectus in the part of Hispania where Valeria and her husband lived, though I did not really know what I would do when I found out.
In Italia, Antonius and Octavian continued their struggle for supremacy, but because of their agreement, it was a clandestine war as they openly cooperated with each other in Octavian’s struggle against Sextus. In the past, Antonius had been lukewarm in his support of Octavian’s quest to stop Sextus’ stranglehold on the people of Rome, but finally Octavian found the one lever that worked on Antonius every time by offering to equally share in the proceeds of Sextus’ treasury. For the last several years, Sextus had been extorting Rome for every modius of wheat that he, through his fleet, had stolen from Sicily, Sardinia, and Africa, charging more than double the going rate, thereby bankrupting Rome in the process and making him the wealthiest man in the world. Meeting for what seemed like the hundredth time, this time at Tarentum, the two Triumvirs renewed the Triumvirate for another five years, with Antonius promising up a large part of his fleet, mostly the warships, for Octavian to use in his war against Sextus. Of course, it was not as simple as I describe it. The two were in Tarentum for more than a month wrangling over all the details, so that there was no way that Antonius could make it back to Syria because of the winds. Instead, he went to Rome, while Octavian, and more importantly, Agrippa prepared to defeat Sextus. It was a monumental undertaking, and will surely go down in history as not just a great military feat, but one of the greatest accomplishments of engineering in Roman history. Agrippa did nothing less than create an inland sea, linking the lake named Avernus with the Lucrine by a canal, the Lucrine being separated from the sea by a strip of land so narrow that barely more than two wagons could pass each other.
