Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 41
This was such a bald-faced lie that it almost took one’s breath away, in all of its particulars, other than the fact that this had been described to me as an approved venture to punish the Triballi. To that point, we had not seen a Triballi, as far as I knew, and our first contact with the Serdi had been when we had attacked the fortress outside Serdica.
“That is a lie!” The Serdi spokesman raised his voice for the first time, and his companions were clearly as outraged. “We have made no such attack on you! You attacked us, without any provocation from any member of the Serdi tribe and now you are standing outside the gates of our city with an army!”
“You have your version, and we have ours,” Primus countered, completely unruffled by the outburst. “And it is Rome’s version that counts. You, the Serdi, must be punished for your crimes.”
“Haven’t you punished us enough?” the Serdi asked bitterly. “You have killed thousands of our warriors or taken them prisoner already. There is hardly a home in our lands that has not suffered a loss of some kind, men that will never be seen by their families and loved ones. What more can you take from us?”
That was a stupid question; at least, that was the first thought that ran through my mind.
I could see the corner of Primus’ mouth twitch, but he managed to sound regretful when he replied, “That is a fair question, a fair question indeed. In fact, I demand the payment of ten talents of gold, delivered immediately, or we will take this city and put everyone in it to the sword.”
My eyes were actually on the Serdi when Marcus Primus spoke, and despite hearing gasps from the Tribunes and out of my own mouth, there was no such reaction by any of the Serdi at the mention of this exorbitant sum. Oh, they reacted, just not with any real surprise. It was like they had expected him to name such a huge sum, I thought, and I was suddenly aware that there was something going on much deeper than I, or any of us, for that matter, had expected. I recalled Masala’s conviction that there was something about Serdica in particular that had prompted Marcus Primus’ seeming obsession with this city. Perhaps this was it, perhaps Primus knew, or thought he knew something about some sort of hidden wealth that the Serdi tribe possessed. The Serdi spokesman said nothing for several moments, regarding Marcus Primus with a tight smile, but there was nothing friendly in it.
“And how is it that Marcus Primus thinks that we could possibly have that much money on hand?” he asked finally, his eyes boring directly into Primus’.
“What I know and how I know it is nobody’s business but my own,” Primus responded coolly.
“That may be true, but whatever information you have that the Serdi have anywhere near that much money is woefully inaccurate. So, you may as well do what you will. Just know that we will fight to the last breath of our body, until the Serdi of Serdica are wiped off the face of this Earth.”
Then, without saying another word, the Serdi turned his horse about and began back toward the city. If his compatriots had any objections at him essentially sealing their collective fates, they did not show it, none of them hesitating to turn and follow, leaving Primus, along with the rest of us, gaping in astonishment. Seeing the Praetor seeming to be frozen in place, with nothing coming out of his mouth, I nudged Ocelus and moved to his side.
“You need to do something,” I hissed at him, making him start in the saddle, almost toppling over.
The cold mask of authority that Primus had been wearing evaporated, a look of desperation replacing it.
“I know they have the money,” he protested. “I have it on the highest authority that they have a fortune many times the amount that I'm demanding.”
“And who told you this?”
He shook his head stubbornly, saying, “I can’t divulge that to you, Prefect. But rest assured, it's someone who's in a position to know these things.”
Could it be Octavian, I wondered? In some ways, it made some sense. At least, it would explain why we were here, knowing that the treasury of Rome was an every-hungry beast that had to be fed from every source it could find. How he would know about a previously obscure tribe possessing that kind of fortune was not important to me, since he had long since proven to be so well informed about almost everything that it came as no surprise or stretch of the imagination.
“Well, whether it’s true or not, they're calling our bluff, and I don’t think you want to take this city by storm any more than I do. It will take a long time, and it will cost a lot of lives, even with their garrison reduced.”
“Wait!” Primus shouted, kicking his horse forward a few paces.
The Serdi had almost reached the gate, and I was sure that they would not stop, yet they did. Turning about slowly, they rode back to face us again, the original Serdi still in the lead.
“Yes, Marcus Primus?” he asked coolly, seeming to unnerve Primus even more.
“Now see here.” All authority was gone from his tone. “Understand that I am not bluffing. And I do not want to be excessively harsh.”
It took quite an effort of will to keep from groaning aloud, despite the fact I had to acknowledge to myself that I had essentially caused this outburst. Now Primus was wheedling, sounding like he was haggling over an amphora of wine at the market, and I could see that this was not lost on the Serdi, who looked grimly amused.
“How gracious of you, Marcus Primus,” he replied with thinly disguised sarcasm. “So apparently, we are now bargaining for the lives of my people? If so, what is your counter-offer?”
Primus knew he was being mocked, but he had lost the upper hand.
“We will accept a payment of five talents.” Primus tried to sound calm and cool.
The Serdi lifted an eyebrow as he rubbed his chin, appearing to think it over, except I was sure he was still toying with the Praetor.
“Why, that is a very generous offer,” he said. “But regretfully, I am afraid I must still say no. We simply do not have that kind of money.”
“I did not say that the amount had to be paid all at once,” Primus said quickly, and now the Thracian paused in mid-turn, since he had been about to return back to the city yet again.
“So what are the terms of payment?” the Serdi asked, and that was when I finally lost my temper.
“Oh, that's enough,” I snapped, kicking Ocelus past Primus to pull up directly across from the Serdi.
I could hear Primus spluttering in outrage behind me, but I did not care. For his part, the Thracian looked surprised, yet I also saw a glimmer of amusement and perhaps caution in his eyes.
“And who is this giant Roman who apparently has decided to take over this negotiation?” he asked lightly, while his comrades behind him edged closer, apparently fearing some sort of trick.
“I am Titus Pullus, Camp Prefect of the Army of Pannonia,” I told the man.
I do not know who was more surprised when his eyes widened a bit and he said, “I have heard of you, Titus Pullus. You are a renowned warrior of Rome.”
He inclined his head in a silent salute, while I tried not to act like a bumbling idiot. I knew I was well known within the Legions, and many ordinary Roman citizens were familiar with my name. However, this was the first time a foreigner, a barbarian at that, had ever said that my fame extended past Rome. It was a very queer feeling, yet I cannot say that it was displeasing. Consequently, I was momentarily at a loss for words.
“I’m a Legionary, not a warrior,” I finally managed to mumble, and he gave a small laugh.
“I stand corrected, and I did not mean it as an insult. Truly, your name is known to me, and to many of my people.”
“I am flattered. And who am I addressing?”
“I am Aristoxenus, chief of the Serdi,” he told me, confirming my suspicions that he was a man of great importance.
“Since you know of me, then you know what I am about.” I used this as an opportunity to regain my equilibrium, along with the initiative of the conversation, realizing now that he had used this flattery precisely to throw me off.
I was facing a skilled adversary and despite not knowing for sure, I suspected that he was as equally skilled in a real battle as he was with words.
“More importantly,” I continued, jerking my thumb over my shoulder, “you know what they’re about. And you know what happens when men like that are set loose in a city like yours.”
I was satisfied to see that I had succeeded in rattling him, his eyes darting over my shoulder to take in the sight of the ranks of men, hard men all, waiting for the word to be unleashed to begin their work of destruction.
“You would lose men,” he pointed out, and I did not bother to deny it.
“I know,” I replied. “We would, but you know as well as I do that for every man we lose, their comrades will take their loss out on the inhabitants of the city.” Aristoxenus’ face hardened, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, I continued straight to the heart of what we were talking about. “And that means your women,” I hammered at him as if I were crucifying him, and I suppose in some sense I was. “None of them will escape being defiled, neither your grandmothers nor your maidens who have yet to experience their flow. You know what I am saying is true.” I leaned forward, jabbing my finger at him like it was a spear. “And you can stop it from happening.” I suddenly relaxed and sat back, giving him an elaborate shrug. “But, as you said, you don’t have the money to prevent all this from happening, so I suggest that you do whatever needs to be done to prepare your people for what is about to happen. Pray to your gods, make your sacrifices to Zalmoxis, or whatever it is that you do, because nothing is going to stop this from happening.”
Now it was I who wheeled Ocelus about, passing Marcus Primus, who was still sitting there open-mouthed like he was still unsure what had happened.
“Wait!” Aristoxenus called to me, and I gave Primus a small smile.
“Praetor, I think the Thracian wants to talk now,” I said smugly. “And his name is Aristoxenus.”
This was how Serdica fell, for lack of a better word. After all the marching, the fighting, and killing, we were essentially paid five talents of gold by the Serdi to go away. Naturally, it did not come without complications; when Aristoxenus agreed to pay the five talents, Marcus Primus immediately tried to raise the amount back to ten talents. It took Masala to convince him to revert back to the five talents, but the Praetor was clearly not happy about it. This was the moment Masala chose to reveal our deception of Marcus Primus to him regarding Cleitos.
Chapter 3 Naissus
“There is some good news regarding money,” Masala began, and he clearly knew his man, since this made Primus instantly brighten and straighten up in his curule chair.
“Oh? How so?” he asked, trying to keep the greed from suffusing his expression, but failing miserably at it.
“It concerns those Medi captives we took.” Masala was speaking carefully, watching Primus’ face as he explained. For his part, the Praetor just looked confused.
“The Medi?” he echoed, clearly not catching Masala’s meaning for a moment. Then his face cleared.
“Ah, those gladiatorial candidates you brought me. Yes, yes, Masala, I know that they'd fetch a good price, but remember that I'm using them for my triumphal games. They're not for sale.”
“It’s a bit more…complicated than that,” Masala allowed before hurrying on when he saw Primus’ eyes narrow. “But trust me when I tell you that the amount I'm talking about far outweighs the amount you'd get from selling those men.”
“Then hurry up and tell me,” Primus snapped, his patience wearing thin.
And Masala did, explaining what had happened with Cleitos at the end of the battle, how he had been released with the promise of payment of the three talents, and that these men who Primus thought were being sent to be gladiators were actually hostages acting as surety for the delivery of the money.
“But you brought me the man’s head,” Primus complained, clearly confused at what he had been told.
“It wasn’t actually Cleitos,” Masala said patiently, repeating what he had told Primus just moments before. “It was his half-brother.”
“So you deceived me.” Primus’ lips tightened into a thin line, his mouth almost disappearing from his fat face.
Except that he was not looking at Masala; he was looking at me. My heart started thudding heavily in my chest and I fully expected that I was on my own, that Masala would not dare to open his mouth. The young man surprised me considerably.
“Praetor, this was my idea. The Prefect was prepared to carry out your order, but I intervened and convinced him to participate in doing something that I knew would be to your benefit in the long run.”
Primus looked stricken, but I do not know whether it was from the feeling that he had been betrayed by Masala, or that he could not take all of his wrath out on me.
“But I gave you very explicit instructions,” Primus protested weakly, one hand flopping about like a wounded bird. “I told you to kill him so that we could sow more unrest among the Thracians.”
“Yes, you did,” Masala agreed. “But at this moment, which would you rather have? Thracians squabbling, or three more talents?”
That clinched the argument, greed easily winning out over the chance of political instability in the region.
“Very well. I agree that I may have been hasty,” Primus finally allowed, before giving his young aide a gaze that was unsettling in its menace. “But that money better show up, or I'll have to take the appropriate action, no matter how fond I may be of you. Do you understand, Masala?”
Masala gave a brief bow of his head to indicate that he understood very well, and I relaxed somewhat. However, Primus was not through as he turned to look at me now.
“And that goes for you as well, Prefect. You were given specific instructions by me, and you disobeyed them.” I opened my mouth to protest, Primus cutting me off with a sharp gesture of one hand. “I know that you were convinced to do so by my aide, but you should have known better. So you're as liable as Masala in deceiving me.”
I saw there was no sense in arguing the point, so I said nothing, and we were dismissed to leave Primus to fume about what had happened.
“That went better than I thought,” Masala commented as we left the Praetorium.
“I’m glad you think so,” I shot back. “Now we better hope Cleitos delivers.”
“Oh, he will,” Masala said with an assurance that surprised me.
“And how do you know that?”
“Because I received a message from him yesterday. He's on his way with the money and an army, as promised. Apparently, his father succumbed suddenly and Cleitos is now the leader of the Medi, and he's grateful for us making all of that possible.”
I know this was good news, and I should have been pleased, but there was something about all of this I found disquieting in the extreme. Perhaps it was the idea of having another Thracian army in the vicinity. We had moved our camp to a spot less than a mile from the walls of Serdica, on the side next to the river so that we had a ready supply of water, simply digging a channel from it. Aristoxenus had asked for two weeks to gather the money and Primus had given him one, which I was sure what Aristoxenus had planned. It seemed to me that the Serdi leader had taken the measure of Marcus Primus and his greed, and I admit that it did make me wonder just how much money that the Serdi did have that they could pay us five talents so quickly. I am sure that it was that thought that tormented the Praetor and, at odd moments, I would catch him staring at the walls of the city with a wistful expression. I knew that it was not for dreams of military glory in leading an assault on the city, so I can only imagine that it was the thought of all the money he supposed was stuffed inside the walls. I half-expected an order summoning me to the Praetorium to hear that the Praetor had changed his mind and decided we would take the city, yet somehow he managed to restrain himself.
As promised, Cleitos and his army arrived the day before Aristoxenus was scheduled to deliver the money. Even better, at least as far as Primus was concerned, Cleitos brought several heavily laden wagons carrying the promised three talents. For the rest of us, however, this meant a much larger complication. Now that Primus had achieved his own personal goal of extorting a fortune from the Serdi, along with the windfall provided by Cleitos, this meant we had a baggage train that, at least in terms of speed, rivaled the one that slowed us down so much in Parthia, with the departed Marcus Antonius. With this goal accomplished, there was still the larger one of exacting vengeance on the Triballi, and time was of the essence since the season was more than halfway over. At least, that was my, and truthfully, the rest of the army's assumption. Then, the night of Cleitos' arrival, Diocles came rushing into my private quarters, his face flushed from running all the way from the tent of one of his friends who worked in the Praetorium.
"You're not going to like this," he said breathlessly. I had long since learned that Diocles was not one prone to exaggerate, so I dropped the scroll I had been reading and beckoned to him to continue. "I just heard from Androcles that he overheard Primus saying that as soon as we take delivery of the Serdi money, we're done and heading home!"
I do not know why I was surprised; in hindsight, I should have not been expecting anything other than this. But, in the moment, that did not stop me from uttering a string of curses that threatened to beat any previous attempt at setting a record I had attempted before. Swinging my legs off my cot, I sat for a moment, trying to think of the best course of action. My first instinct, as always, was to go charging into the Praetorium to confront Primus and demand if this was true, although I was certain it was. Fortunately, I quickly dismissed that idea, knowing that it would probably cause more harm than just about anything else I could do. Finally, I decided that for once I would let someone else do the dirty work; not particularly honorable, I know, but I was so worn down from dealing with Primus by this point that I suppose it was an easy thing to convince myself that I deserved a respite. Leaving my tent, I made my way to Macrinus', who I trusted more than anyone else currently with the army with the exception of Gaius and Diocles, of course, but there was no way I was going to involve either of them. I found him sitting with Flaminius and, on the spot, I decided to include the Primus Pilus of the 13th as well.
