Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 4
“Doesn’t that bastard ever get tired?” I heard someone mutter as I trotted down the column to smack a man, who looked as if he were about to fall out, with my vitus, to encourage him to try a little harder.
“No,” someone replied. “To get tired means you have to be human, and he’s some sort of beast sent from Hades.”
I did not let them see me smile as I ran by, just snapping at them to shut their mouths instead.
As expected, the first three or four days on the march were the most difficult, and we had stragglers staggering into camp until well after dark. I believe that if Lepidus had not been so tired himself he would have tried to have the stragglers flogged, which for once I might have agreed with, though I still would not have done it because I did not want men riding in the wagons. It was somewhere along the way when a dispatch rider came galloping in carrying the latest news from Rome, and this was news indeed. The Tribune found me during a break, squatting down by me as I sat sucking down the contents of my canteen.
“Trebonius was murdered by Dolabella,” he said quietly.
I looked at him in shock; Trebonius had been a governor of Asia. While Dolabella was Proconsular like Antonius, it was still a huge risk for him to kill a governor, even if he was one of The Liberators, particularly since Cicero wielded so much influence and was an avid supporter of Brutus, Cassius and the rest of The Liberators.
“How? When?” I asked.
The Tribune shrugged. “I don’t have many details, but apparently Dolabella was convinced that Trebonius had a lot of money locked in the vaults of his residence in Asia, and Dolabella came looking for it on his way to Syria. He took Trebonius prisoner and tortured him to find out where the money was, because it wasn’t in the vaults.”
“I doubt that worked,” I commented, because as much as I loathed Trebonius for his role in Caesar’s murder, he was a tough man.
The Tribune nodded in agreement. “You’re right; it didn’t work. So Dolabella got angry and sawed off Trebonius’ head, supposedly very slowly. Then he nailed his head to a post in the forum of the town.”
I sat, digesting this news. This was the first of the assassins to die, out of the 23 who either had stepped forward to claim responsibility or had been named by others, and I took some satisfaction in that knowledge.
“That’s not all,” the Tribune continued. I looked at him, waiting for more. “Brutus took Gaius Antonius prisoner as soon as he arrived in Macedonia, and he's staying put, saying that Antonius had no right to strip him of the governorship appointed to him by Caesar.”
I could only shake my head, it no longer being possible to surprise me at the duplicity of the upper class in their fight for power. Here was Brutus, claiming legitimacy to his governorship because the man he helped to murder, indeed Brutus was the one who delivered the killing blow if some people were to be believed, had appointed him. It was this kind of thinking that I found positively baffling, because it seemed that only the upper classes were capable of the kind of mental gymnastics that such thinking required.
We made it to Narbo, where we marched to the permanent camp there, which by this time had grown into a place with stone walls and sturdy wooden huts, a far cry from our first winter there, when Narbo was still a frontier town where everything was raw wood and rawer people. There were still the operators and tricksters, the whores, the wineshops selling stuff so raw that you were hoarse if you drank it, all of them cheering the sight of a bunch of youngsters marching through the gates of the camp, excited at the prospect of plumping up their purses. The night we arrived, I called a meeting of the Centurions and Optios, reminding them of what it was like when we were youngsters, much like the men now. Although we had been blooded by the time we came to Narbo, we were still all raw country boys, and many of us, including me, had been taken in one sham or another.
“Watch the men for the first couple of weeks until they learn what it’s like to be in a big military town,” I reminded the Centurions, and there were a few chuckles at the memories. “We're going to be busy keeping the boys out of trouble,” I continued. “And I don’t have to remind you that Lepidus will look for any excuse he can find to flay a man. So be alert, and don’t let the men get too far out of hand.”
With that admonition, I waited to see what kind of mayhem and havoc the men would wreak, but fortunately, Narbo was by then an old military town. Its inhabitants were accustomed to dealing with Legionaries of all stripes. They had to contend with us after a few years in Gaul, so the raw youngsters that composed the 10th at this point did not pose them any problems. There were the usual transgressions, and we had a few men flogged, but fortunately there were no incidents like what happened with Atilius those years ago, for which I was thankful, even if none of the rankers were close friends except for Vellusius and a couple of others. It was certainly not anything that required me to make trips into town with a full purse as in years past, and I was happy about that as well, though it was not destined to last.
In the larger world, the junior Consul Pansa raised another three Legions then marched to join Octavian and Hirtius who were slowly but methodically working their way north to confront Antonius, who still besieged Mutina and Decimus Brutus. While we had marched with Lepidus, he had also sent for the other Legions in Hispania, and they were arriving in Narbo, ending the interlude of relative peace for the Centurions. Over the next two or three weeks, Narbo saw another six Legions arrive, which is when trouble really began for us, since it is inevitable when Legions get together and there is no enemy directly in front of them that they will turn on each other. The status of the 10th as a new Legion guaranteed that the men of the other Legions would mark our men as fresh meat for any variety of mischief, from games of “chance” to wineshop brawls, whereupon the Centurions would find themselves fully occupied trying to keep the men separated and not killing each other.
It was at the end of April when a dispatch rider came pounding into camp on a lathered horse, heading straight for the headquarters building. Within moments, the bucina call for all Primi Pili to assemble sounded, and I hurried over to the Praetorium. Lepidus was waiting, holding a scroll in his hand, and as soon as we were all there, he gave us the news he had received. It was a sign of his agitation and excitement that he did not start with his usual barbed comments about tardiness on the part of Centurions.
“There's been a battle at Mutina,” he announced, “and Antony has been soundly defeated and forced to retreat. He's heading for Transalpine Gaul now with what's left of his Legions. According to this,” he waved the scroll, “he lost half of his force. Since he's heading in this general direction, I've been ordered by the Senate to head him off if possible.”
There was a complete silence as we digested this then waited for actual orders. He looked back down at the scroll again, frowning as he seemed to remember something.
“Oh yes. There's more. While the forces of the Senate and People were victorious, it was not without cost. Both of the Consuls Hirtius and Pansa died in the battle, so Octavian is in command.”
As he spoke Octavian’s name, his lip curled up, his distaste for the young Caesar plain for all of us to see.
“Be prepared to march in the morning,” he said, but he was stopped short by the protests of the Primi Pili, with my voice among them.
Will he never learn? I wondered. Now that we were marching into probable battle, we would need even more time to prepare, and this time when he was told that it would take a week, it was going to take that long to get everything ready. He relented with his usual snarling bluster, then turned and stalked off, leaving us to our business.
The week flew by as we prepared to march to what we thought would be some sort of fighting. There did not seem to be enough watches in the day to get everything done. Rations had to be drawn, and things like the torsion ropes of the artillery had to be examined, while the artillery itself had to be checked to make sure that the wood had not cracked. Gear had to be mended and strengthened for the march, all the myriad tasks that men like Lepidus seem to think just magically take care of themselves but are actually only seen to by hard work and attention to detail. However, as promised, the army was ready to march at the exact moment we had told Lepidus it would be. We stepped out of the gates of Narbo heading east, in the general direction of where Antonius was last sighted. It was on the march that the talking began around the fires about what would happen when we finally came face to face with Antonius. It was quiet, at least in the beginning confined to the lower ranks, but it did not take long for what they were saying to reach my ears, and it was disturbing to say the least.
“I don’t want to fight Antonius or his men,” they were saying. “And I hate that bastard Lepidus. I'd rather fight for anyone else but him.”
As unsettling as that kind of talk was, the worst part was that I agreed with them. I was not any more willing to risk the lives of my men for Lepidus against Antonius than they were to do it, so for the first time in my career, I was not sure what I was going to do if the moment came. It soon became clear that the other Centurions felt the same. Further complicating matters was the news that Antonius was being reinforced by a man named Bassus Ventidius, who had served Caesar as quartermaster, master of the livestock and rolling stock of the army. He was a tough old bird, coming to a military career relatively late in life yet nonetheless excelling. Ventidius was the kind of man that a Lepidus would have no use for, but Caesar saw the potential in, and now he was joining forces with Antonius.
“Do you think we’re on the wrong side in this?” Balbus asked me one night, finally saying what I had been thinking for some time.
Still, I had a duty to perform, so I looked at him for a moment before I said sharply, “We’re on the side that the Senate has deemed to be the right side, Balbus.”
Balbus was not cowed, and he knew me too well.
“Don’t give me that, Titus. I asked you a question.”
I sighed. “Well, the men certainly think so, and I for one think they might be right. It wouldn’t be as much of a question if it weren’t for Lepidus.”
“So what are we going to do?”
All I could do at that moment was shake my head and say I did not know, that we would have to ford that river when we got to it.
Ironically, it was at a river that we could no longer put off a decision. We came to the river that serves as the border between Transalpine and Cisalpine Gaul, with us on one side and Antonius’ army on the other. By the time we arrived at the spot we were currently occupying, I had learned through contacts of Scribonius that Lepidus had not been ordered by the Senate after all, that he had taken it upon himself to move closer to the action. As a result, he was made inimicus like Antonius, which took away the last little hold he had over all of us because he carried the same status as the former Consul. Since it seemed that we would not win either way we went, it became a much easier decision to choose Antonius. Now the question was how we did it. Fortunately, the river was more a stream so it did not take much to send men across who were known to Antonius and make overtures to him, to which he was extremely receptive. I had sent Diocles to the other Primi Pili of Lepidus’ army, and I was not surprised to learn that they were doing much the same thing, albeit each in a slightly different way.
By the time the sun rose on our second day next to the river, the transfer was complete. Antonius sent a messenger telling Lepidus that he no longer had an army who would fight for him, so he might as well join Antonius, which of course Lepidus did, though he was none too happy about it. Lepidus avoided the Centurions of his former army as if we had the plague, absenting himself from every meeting held with the command group. I do not believe that it ever occurred to him that it was his actions and attitude towards the men that led him to be in the predicament in which he found himself, but given how things turned out, he deserved everything he got.
One happy event, at least as far as I was concerned, was the appearance of Pollio, with the two Legions he had been dragging through the hills of Hispania. Now that Sextus Pompey was forgiven, Sextus was given command of the Roman fleet in Our Sea, all while keeping his partisans on the payroll in the event that things turned sour in his relationship with the Senate. Now, with hostilities ceased, Pollio was getting bored sitting in Hispania, so one day he and his Legions showed up in our camp. I for one was happy to see a friendly face. While the men, both rankers and Centurions preferred Antonius, I had never warmed to him the way they had, viewing Pollio as more of an ally and a man worth following than Antonius, who I thought to be fickle and too changeable from one day to the next. Oh, he was brave enough, yet both his generosity and his cruelty did not seem to have any reason behind it. Instead, he seemed subject to some whim that I could not see any sense to, and for that reason, I did not care for it. Do not mistake me; as many misgivings as I may have had about Antonius, I had no regrets about choosing him over Lepidus, but in my mind neither was a great choice; it was just that Antonius was the best bad choice facing us. The final blow to Decimus Brutus, and by extension to the Senate, who was backing him, was the defection of Munatius Plancus. He had been marching to join Brutus when he received a letter from Pollio inviting him to join Antonius’ forces. Plancus immediately accepted, changing his course, joining us at the river, now giving Antonius a huge army of 23 Legions. With all these developments, Decimus Brutus threw up his hands. Leaving his bewildered Legions with no commander, he decided to leave and join up with Marcus Brutus in Macedonia. However, he did not make it, being captured by Camillus, the chief of the Brenni, who sent to Antonius asking for instructions as to the disposition of his prisoner. Not surprisingly, Antonius sent a fat purse of gold coin along with the instruction to execute Decimus Brutus, which Camillus was more than happy to do. It was in this way that the second of Caesar’s assassins died. The third to perish was Lucius Minucius Basilus, a minor player in the assassination. However, he died at the hands of his own slaves, who finally had enough of his habit of torturing them for his own pleasure, tearing him to pieces in his own home.
For the time being, Antonius was content for us to sit in place as he waited to see what would happen next, and it was early in the month now named for Octavian, or Augustus as he is better know now, that word came that the young Caesar had marched on Rome again. This time, there was nobody to oppose him. Actually, he had been preceded by a large number of his Centurions and Optios, who surrounded the Senate building while the senior Centurion, a man named Barbatus entered the Senate to inform them of Caesar’s demands. When he told them what Octavian wanted, a Consulship for himself along with the money for the bonuses he had promised his troops, the Senate told Barbatus a flat, unequivocal no, asking Barbatus by what right Octavian made demands of the Senate of Rome?
Supposedly, Barbatus tapped the hilt of his sword, replying, “This is what gives him the right, and it’s this that will give him what he asks, one way or the other.”
I do not know that this actually happened, but it made a good story to tell around the fire at night. However, the Senate still refused, until Octavian called their bluff, actually marching on Rome, arriving at the gates of the city on the 17th of August, whereupon the Senate panicked, immediately giving in, promising Octavian that he would be Consul, and the troops paid their bonuses. Two days later, the young Caesar was made the senior Consul, with his cousin Quintus Pedius the junior.
Once Octavian was in power, it did not take him long to move against the two men he perceived to be the principals among The Liberators: Brutus and Cassius. It would not be accurate to say that Octavian was without a blemish, however. After the battle at Mutina, where Antonius had been soundly defeated, word began to circulate through all of the Legions, on both sides. The talk was that it was Hirtius and Pansa, both now dead, who were the true architects of the victory, and that Octavian had been too frightened to participate, choosing instead to hide in his camp. I do not know how much truth there is in this tale. The time we talked, Octavian had been forthright in his lack of martial ardor, at least compared to his adoptive father, but I never got the sense that he was a coward. Whatever really happened, that tale would dog him for years, with Antonius the prime mover behind the tale, making sure that his own agents kept it alive for all the years that they were contending with each other. Once Octavian was in power, the lex curiata confirming his adoption by Caesar was quickly ratified, removing the last obstacle for taking his inheritance. His next step was just as predictable; through his confederates, trials were held, where Brutus, Cassius, and the rest of the conspirators in Caesar’s assassination were found guilty of murder in absentia, with sentences of death confirmed for all of them, and all their property confiscated. Also, the fortunes of Sextus Pompey took yet another reversal, as Octavian made it clear that he was to be considered nefas, an outlaw. The problem was that it was one thing to declare him an outlaw, quite another to actually capture him, since he had a firm control of the fleets in Our Sea, and of Sicily. Finally, Octavian made sure that the men in his army were paid a part of their bonuses, which ordinarily would have not made the men happy, since they were expecting to be paid every sesterce that they had coming to them, but it was here that Octavian demonstrated his true genius. By promising that the remainder of their bonus would be paid, with 10 percent interest, Octavian guaranteed the men a future income. Given most men’s propensity to blow through their money on gambling, whores, and wine, the lure of that guarantee was too much for them to resist, so they sang Octavian’s praises to the skies. The news of this development caused Antonius untold problems, as the men were already unhappy at the parsimony of Antonius when compared to Octavian. It was a sign of his arrogance that he refused to match Octavian’s generosity, either with the amount or the conditions of what he was paying. Once Octavian disposed of the most pressing matters in Rome, he gathered his army, now 11 Legions strong, then headed in our direction.
