Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 29
That was the first time she had ever said she loved me, and despite not knowing what to say, I could see that she was right.
“Besides,” she went on, “if I were to leave with you, I could never come back to my people. Naomi and Hashem would never accept me back in their home.”
This made absolutely no sense to me, and I said as much.
“They’re all right with you living with me as long as it's here in Damascus, but if you go with me to Antioch, it’s somehow different?”
“If I were to leave with you, then return by myself, it would mean that you never had any intention of marrying me. The only reason that Naomi and Hashem, and the rest of my family have tolerated what has gone on between us is that they expect that you will marry me. That, and they liked seeing that I was happy.”
“You mean they’ve been expecting me to marry you?”
I was incredulous, and I suppose my tone was what prompted Hashem to make a step forward, holding his knife by his side, but in plain sight. Miriam gave him a look then a quick shake of her head, saying something to him that got him to step back towards the back of the stall, though he still glowered at me.
“But you know I can’t be married; it’s not allowed,” I told her. “I told you that from the very beginning. Didn’t you tell them that?”
Now she looked completely miserable as she shook her head in answer.
“Why not? Why didn’t you tell them when we first started seeing each other?”
“Because if I did, they never would have allowed me to see you again,” she replied quietly, completely dousing the embers of anger that had started to glow inside me.
“They’re going to know now,” I said softly, to which she only nodded.
“Yes, and they will not be happy, Hashem in particular.” She gave a sad smile. “I think he rather liked the idea of having a Roman Centurion as a brother-in-law, no matter what he says about not liking Romans.”
A sudden thought crossed my mind, a horrifying image of what I had seen happen to a young girl who was involved with one of my men, done to her by her own family.
“Will Hashem do something to hurt you?” I demanded, but she shook her head, firmly and with no doubt.
“No, he will just yell. Hashem would never do anything to physically harm me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I am not related to him by blood, for one thing. For another, I was not a maiden when we met. I was a widow, and the rules are not the same.”
That did not make me feel much better, and I said as much, but she was adamant that she was in no danger. The way things were left between us at that moment was that she would stay with me for the remaining time before we left for Antioch, then would return to the home of Hashem and Naomi, which made none of us happy.
We broke camp a few days later and made the journey to Antioch, where Antonius had brought the reinforcements, and where the rest of the army was already making preparations to begin the invasion, and it was after we settled in that I got a second surprise. One of the Legions that came over with Antonius was the new draft of the 14th, raised in Cisalpine Gaul in anticipation of the 14th under Lepidus being disbanded, though as it turned out later, had not been done. Therefore, when Diocles told me that there was a Gregarius from Antonius' 14th Legion requesting to see me, I assumed that he was a runner sent on some errand by their Primus Pilus, who I had not yet met. I was scratching away on some report, so I did not bother looking up, instead just giving a grunt that from experience Diocles knew meant I was giving permission for entrance into my office. I could tell that the Gregarius entered by the shadow he cast on my tablet, yet I did not bother looking up or acknowledging that I knew he was there, because that is just not what a Primus Pilus does in these situations. Continuing tallying up figures, the Gregarius then made the worst mistake a man in his position could make; he cleared his throat in a clear signal that he was standing there, thereby ensuring him another several moments of standing at intente. I remember thinking irritably that I would have to have a talk with the Primus Pilus of the 14th to give this impertinent youngster a few whacks of the vitus to remind him of his place.
“Uncle Titus?”
At first, I did not think I had heard correctly. I certainly did not recognize the voice, my stylus freezing in position above the tablet as I slowly looked up, while my mind tried to absorb the scope of those two words. Standing before me was a young man in the uniform of a Gregarius in Rome’s Legions, devoid of any decorations and still showing signs of its newness. Yet what caught my breath in my throat was his face. Looking back at me was a face from my childhood, except while familiar, at the same time it was different; the chin firmer, jaw a bit squarer, not to mention both covered with a fine stubble that Valeria never had. Otherwise, the eyes staring back at me, the mass of curly hair, though much shorter, even the nose belonged to my oldest and dearest sister. Such a storm of conflicting emotions washed over me, I dropped my stylus, sitting back in my chair as my mouth tried to find the words.
Finally, I could only think to say, “Gaius? Is it really you?”
When he smiled at me, any lingering doubt vanished, as one thought lanced through my mind; Valeria was going to kill me. I suppose this showed on my face because his smile became more uncertain, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another. When I saw that I remembered this from my visit as a habit of his when he was a young boy, in trouble for some mischief, rocking back and forth as his mother scolded him. Shaking the thought from my head, I stood, walking out from behind my desk, not exactly sure what to do, since it would not be seemly for a Primus Pilus to hug and kiss a young Gregarius. Thinking that I was in my own office and only Diocles was even in the tent, I in fact embraced him, kissing him on both cheeks before holding him at arm’s length to examine him more closely. I noticed with approval that while he was not as tall or as broad as I was, he had a muscular physique, and when I commented on it, he blushed to the roots of his hair.
“I remember you saying that it was important to be strong if you wanted to succeed in the Legions, so I began exercising every day when I turned twelve.”
I do not know why, but I felt absurdly pleased at this, though I covered it up by saying gruffly, “Well, as long as you know that you’ll never be as strong as me. How about your sword work?”
He did his shuffle again as he looked at the hard-packed dirt floor, mumbling, “Not so good. I try hard, but I just can’t seem to pick it up like the others.” Looking up into my eyes then, his jaw clenched as he said, “But I'll work harder than anyone else to make sure that I'm better than anyone in my Legion.”
“That’s half the battle right there,” I said encouragingly, wondering just how bad he was. “Have you asked for extra help from your Century weapons instructor?”
He grimaced. “Yes. He says I’m hopeless.”
Gaius heaved a sigh and I could see how troubled he was, his brow creasing as he doubtless was recalling the smacks of the rudis he had received, at least if his instructor was any good. Realizing that we were still standing there, I stepped away, pointing to a stool while I sat back down in my chair as my mind turned to more unofficial matters.
“So, Gaius, I can’t imagine that your mother is very happy with you.”
Despite the subject, he gave a weak chuckle, replying, “Only slightly less than with you.”
“She told you she wrote me?”
I was surprised, though I do not know why, and he nodded.
“Oh yes, she was so sure that you'd stop me just because of who you are,” he said with a combination of pride and embarrassment. “You’re the most famous man to come from Astigi, Uncle Titus, and probably in that part of Hispania. Everyone knows who you are and what you’ve done. Mama was sure that all you had to do was write a letter and the recruiting officers would treat me as if I had the plague.”
Now he was looking distinctly uncomfortable as his feet shuffled back and forth, despite being seated.
When he continued, he looked apprehensive, but his tone was defiant.
“That’s why I went to Cisalpine Gaul, where I knew that there was a dilectus for the 14th going on.”
I frowned, proud of the boy’s determination, but there was something troublesome about his story.
“But you have to have your father or someone who's known you all your life to swear that you're a Roman citizen. Did your father go with you?”
I could not imagine that Gaius’ father, Porcinus, that placid gentle farmer, would risk the wrath of my sister, who in her mind was just protecting her only son. Gaius confirmed my suspicions, shaking his head, but said nothing, obviously reluctant to say any more.
“Then who provided their testimony?” I asked.
He looked at the ground, shrugging before mumbling something about a friend. I gave a grim nod, not needing him to provide any details, knowing what had happened. As I have mentioned, men claw and scratch to get assigned to a recruiting party because of the many and varied opportunities to squeeze money out of the men joining the Legions, first when they are prospective recruits, then afterward, when they are raw probatios still under their command, before they are officially enrolled in a Legion. One of the most common methods is when a young man like Gaius shows up, apparently of age and being a citizen, but unable to prove it. Then a “family member” or “lifelong family friend” would be produced who would sign the required document and make the oath, all for a fat fee.
“How much did it cost you?” I asked, enjoying seeing his eyes widen in surprise.
Watching his face as he was clearly calculating whether or not to try and lie, he finally gave a shrug and named the sum. Despite myself, I let out a gasp.
“Where by Pluto’s thorny cock would you get that kind of money?”
His face flushed, though I do not know whether it was the language or the question, but his tone was steady.
“I got it from you, Uncle Titus.”
At first, I thought he was lying to me. I began to get angry, before I realized that he was right, or at least that what he was saying was possible. I had used Caesar’s bankers to handle the money I received for my service in Gaul, and I remembered authorizing them to send a large sum of money to Valeria, with specific instructions that a portion of it be given to Gaius, to be spent as he wished. Obviously, Valeria had respected my wishes, and inwardly I winced at one more piece of ammunition that Valeria would no doubt use as proof that I had failed her.
“Well,” I tried to say it lightly, “you've dropped my fat in the fire, young nephew.”
His face fell, clearly upset that he had disappointed me in some way, and he replied miserably, “I'm sorry, Uncle. I didn't mean to get you in trouble with Mama. It’s just been my dream since I was eight years old to be in the Legions like you. I know I'll never be as good a Legionary as you, but I want to be one of the best and I'm sorry if that causes problems for you, but I'm 18 and I won’t go back no matter what anyone says or tries to do to me.”
He had risen from his seat, his face suffused with the kind of fire and determination that only the very young are gifted with by the gods. I could not help smiling as I held my hands out in surrender.
“Pax, young Porcinus, pax. I can see that you're determined, and as I said, that’s half the battle right there. We'll figure out how to deal with the problem of your mother, but let’s both give an offering of thanks that she’s on the other side of the world right now.”
Turning serious, I motioned him to sit back down, and he sat on the edge of the stool. I must say that it was good for my spirit to see someone as passionate as I had been about the Legions.
“The first thing we need to do is to get you transferred to the 10th where I can properly supervise you.”
As I had expected, his face lit up at the prospect of being in the same Legion as his Uncle Titus, but what I said next was like a bucket of cold water in his face.
“I promise you one thing; that before I’m through with you, you'll wish you had never walked in this tent and looked me up. When we're outside of this tent, you're not my nephew; you're a Gregarius, and a green one at that, being brought under unusual circumstances into a veteran Legion. The men in the Century and Cohort I place you in are going to resent you because there are no secrets and they'll know you're my nephew, and they're going to make your life miserable. You'll wish you had never been born, and that’s before you work with me, because I'm going to train you myself, and when I’m done you'll wish your father had never been born either. Do you understand me?”
I will say that he was a quick study, as he jumped to his feet to come to intente, giving me a perfect salute.
“Yes, Primus Pilus,” he said crisply. “I understand perfectly.”
I stood as well, indicating that the audience was over, then we both moved to the flap leading to the outer office.
There was still one thing puzzling me, however, and I asked Gaius, “You said that I'm famous in Astigi?”
“Not just Astigi. Through the whole district,” he said proudly.
“But how?” I asked. “It’s not like I wrote home bragging about the things I’ve done, and I've only gone home a couple of times in the last twenty-odd years. It just seems odd, is all.”
“Vibius,” he said, looking a little worried as he mentioned the name of my oldest friend. “Whenever people stop at his inn, he tells everyone of the things that you did, all the men you killed, and how you saved his life those times. He says that you’re the bravest man he ever met, and the best Legionary in the army.”
How does one respond to that, I wondered? So I said nothing, sending Gaius on his way before heading to the Praetorium to start the business of transferring Gaius Porcinus into the 10th Legion.
Transfers of the nature that I was executing were a bit unusual, but hardly unique in those days, and my status as Primus Pilus ensured that it would happen without any undue trouble. I paid a visit to the Primus Pilus of the 14th as a courtesy, explaining the situation, but he had a green Legion that was still in need of training and could not worry about one lowly Gregarius, though naturally he expected a payment for the administrative trouble. This is customary, and the price was fair so I paid it willingly. The next question was where to place him. While the natural spot was in my Century, for a youngster as green as Gaius was, going into his first campaign, with the Parthians in the bargain, putting him in the First Century of the First Cohort, even in one of the last sections, would be akin to a death sentence. However, I was not willing to put him so far out of the action that I could not keep an eye on him. Besides, I had higher aspirations for young Gaius above being in the Tenth Cohort. Really, I decided there was only one real choice, so I summoned Scribonius. When he arrived, he instantly knew there was something afoot; we had been friends much too long to be able to fool the other.
“What’s on your mind, Titus?” he asked as soon as he sat down.
“You remember my dilemma with my sister and my nephew?”
He frowned as he thought about it, then nodded and laughed.
“Oh yes. She told you that if her baby boy enlisted she would do to you what so many others have tried to do and skin you alive.”
“Close enough,” I grumbled. “Well, guess who showed up in my tent yesterday?”
His eyes widened in surprise, then he began laughing harder. I must say his amusement at my predicament did not help my mood.
“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” I snapped. “Because I’m putting him in your Cohort.”
That stopped him laughing. He even began frowning when I finished, “And in your Century.”
“No,” he protested. “You can’t put a green man in a senior Century just before we start on campaign.”
“I can, and I just did,” I shot back, still nettled at his laughter.
Realizing that I needed Scribonius to do more than just obey orders, but to fully accept the role I was telling him to fill, I softened my tone.
“Scribonius, I need you, and you know I can’t put him in my Century, or even my Cohort. But there’s nobody else out of all the Centurions I trust more than you.”
“What about Cyclops?” he countered, and in truth, I had not thought of this, despite how obvious it seemed. I considered it; Cyclops was now the Pilus Prior of the Eighth Cohort, which would be as high as he rose, both because he wished it to be so and because he was now in his fifties, and was one of the oldest men in the Legion. He was able to march as well as any of us, yet I could see that he was tired at the end of the day, so that asking him to take on the responsibility of spending his spare time training a new youngster would tap into his reserves, perhaps too deeply. Reluctantly, I shook my head, explaining my reasons. Equally unwillingly, he nodded that he understood, heaving a sigh. For a moment, nothing was said.
Finally, with a shake of his head, he agreed. “Fine, I'll do it. I just hope that this works out.”
“It will,” I said with confidence. “Because if it doesn’t, Valeria won’t have to kill me. I’ll do it myself.”
Almost as soon as Antonius arrived in Antioch, he sent his newest toady, a patrician named Fonteius, who replaced Quintus Dellius in that role when he switched sides to Octavian, to see Cleopatra, demanding her presence. While he waited on the queen of Egypt, he took care of other matters on the political front, making appointments and confirming a series of kingships of client kingdoms, filling them with men he trusted to keep their respective territories peaceful and stable while we marched on the Parthians. He confirmed Herod’s throne in Judaea, put Amyntas on the throne of Galatia, Polemon over Pontus, and Archelaus-Sissines was given Cappadocia to run. Naturally, each of these petty kings was expected to provide their share of troop levies to march as auxiliaries in our army. The Parthians were similarly busy, however, when their king Orodes, father of Pacorus, could not summon the energy to rule any longer after the death of his favorite son. Orodes abdicated his throne, passing it to his eldest son Phraates, who promptly repaid the gift by murdering his father, other brothers, and anyone he deemed to be a threat to his own reign. His bloody-mindedness prompted the defection of several Parthian nobles, including one Monaeses, next in line to the throne of the surviving nobles, over to our side. Antonius welcomed him and as a show of good faith, gave this Monaeses character three towns in Syria to rule as a client of Antonius. Phraates, through his emissaries, claimed that it was all a misunderstanding, that he had murdered everyone he was planning on and that Monaeses had nothing to worry about, sending lavish gifts and promises to entice Monaeses back to his court. Monaeses went to Antonius, asking Antonius what he should do, unwittingly presenting Antonius with an opportunity to lure Phraates into believing that peace with Rome was possible. Antonius replied that Monaeses was free to go back to Phraates if he desired, with Antonius’ good wishes, on the sole condition that he carried a message to Phraates that all Antonius desired to ensure peace between Rome and Parthia was the restoration of the Legion standards that were lost by Crassus at Carrhae. In this act, Antonius showed his cunning, because he had no intention of calling off the invasion. However, if he could convince Phraates that peace was possible at a time when the Parthian was more concerned with consolidating his own power, this gave us an advantage. In fact, this brief interlude at Antioch showed Marcus Antonius at his very best, as he prepared both militarily and politically to embark on the greatest invasion in the history of Rome. Then, Cleopatra arrived.
