Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 53
In fact his only question to one of his most loyal generals was, “Is she here?”
At first, the men were too absorbed in trying to see exactly how drunk they could get, or how many whores they could go through in a day to pay much notice. As time passed and men got bored, they picked back up with their favorite activity, after wine and women of course, gossiping about their general. It did not take long after the men began sniggering about Antonius and his pining for Cleopatra that the talk turned to the more serious matter of the bonus that the general had promised. Somehow he had managed to scrape together enough cash to pay the men a portion of their back pay, enough that they could pay the whores and buy more wine once the supply that Antonius provided had run dry, which did not take nearly as long as I believe Antonius had anticipated, and gamble, of course. Now that those funds jingling in each man’s purse was running low, the grumbling was not long in following. I suppose that Antonius, as drunk as he may have been, was acutely aware of this, fueling his desperate question. It did not help matters that the section of beach that the men frequented was in plain view of the docks, so they could see Antonius slouched on his couch, draining cup after cup of wine as he stared out to sea.
Finally in early Januarius, the man whose job was to stand in the tower positioned on a small knoll a few yards away from the warehouses fronting the dock shouted that he spied a vessel approaching. This was a common occurrence, but fairly quickly he relayed that this was no ordinary merchant ship, that it was much larger than that. I was resting in my quarters when I heard a man running down the street shouting the news, although I did not rouse myself, as this happened a few times a week and had always proven to be a false alarm. In truth, I was in as much of a state of anticipation as Antonius was, because I had received no word of the whereabouts of my own precious delivery and I was beginning to feel serious doubt that Diocles had been successful in his mission. It was a matter of a third of a watch later that I heard a voice that sounded as if it belonged to the same man, this time shouting that the approaching vessel had been positively identified as belonging to Cleopatra, and that she was leading a convoy of ships. Moments later, men were out in the streets, shouting to each other, their voices clearly happy at the news that Antonius’ wait, and by extension the army’s, was over.
Ironically, Antonius was not in his usual spot to hear and see what he had been waiting for these past weeks, forcing Cleopatra to disembark and proceed to his quarters. She did not make the same kind of entrance as when she was first summoned by Antonius, but a queen like Cleopatra is unable to do anything silently, so that as she walked, surrounded by her Nubian bodyguards of course, she developed a tail of followers. Most of them were Legionaries, none of them wanting to miss an opportunity to gawk at this creature that held their general in such thrall. It still makes me smile to think of the open disappointment and astonishment as some of the men got their first chance to view her up close, without all of her royal regalia and the thick makeup she wore for formal occasions. They would never get the chance to spend time with her or hear her talk like a Legionary one moment, then be as sweet as honey the next. When I heard that she had arrived it was not long before I wondered if I would ever get a chance to spend a moment with her, but it was only a passing thought. I was more concerned that she had brought the needed supplies, and most importantly, the money with which Antonius was going to pay the men their bonuses, because with every passing day they were becoming more restive. As important as this may have been, I found it hard to pay much attention to all the goings-on around me as I was maintaining a vigil of my own, though I did not stay drunk or sit on a couch facing the direction of Damascus.
Scribonius, Balbus and I spent the evenings as all old soldiers do, clutching our cups of wine while reminiscing about battles fought, a good part of that time talking about comrades lost, each of us feeling the loss of Cyclops in our own way. He had never talked much, but he had been the fourth member of our private little club, and we felt his absence keenly. The other two men knew that I was awaiting my own delivery, but they could also see that I was losing hope with every passing day so they did not make my despair a matter of fun, for which I was thankful. I was happy to see that both men were filling back out, gaining the weight back that they lost during the bitter campaign. For my part, I was finding it difficult to do the same, as my normal appetite did not return, due in no small part to the fact that Diocles was not around to make sure that I ate properly. But the major cause was because I was no less lovesick than Antonius was, and it was at least good to see that the appearance of his queen restored him somewhat to his former vigor.
Cleopatra had brought all that Antonius required, so that no more than two days after her arrival, a formation was held where the general paid the men the remainder of their back pay, along with the promised bounty of 400 sesterces. It was not much compared to the men’s expectations when they had first set out, all of their heads filled with the fabulous tales of the riches of Parthia. As the men stood in line to receive their cash, I was reminded of Gaius Crastinus and how he had been looking forward to fighting the Parthians, claiming that their soldier’s armor was chased with gold and the hilts of their swords encrusted with precious jewels. I had believed Crastinus at the time, so much so that in fact after our first battle under Ventidius, I examined several of the bodies of the Parthian dead, but did not find any sign of such riches. I chuckled at the thought of what Crastinus’ reaction would have been if he had lived to see the drab iron plating and plain wooden hilts of the Parthians we killed.
The Centurions below the first grade received a bonus of 800 sesterces, while those of the first grade received a thousand. The Primi Pili like me received a bonus of 1,200 sesterces, and while I understood the men’s envy and grumbling that I received three times the amount they were given, what they did not see was how much of that money went back into the Legion. When the wine supply was running low before we received our monthly stipend for the purchase of more, the replenishment of stock came out of my purse. When there was a feast held that was not on a festival day mandated by the priests and augurs, such as the one that had become an annual tradition that honored our victory at Alesia, the expenditure was borne by me and the other Centurions. Therefore, I did not feel guilty when I took the money, knowing that the men would be seeing a good portion of it again.
A week after Cleopatra arrived, I was sitting in my quarters, reading a recently acquired scroll, irritated that I had to hold the thing almost at arm’s length to read the tiny, cramped script, wishing that Diocles was available to help me work out some of the more difficult words, it being written in Greek. I had learned to speak the language many years before, but learning to read it had been a long and painful process consisting of many nights with Diocles sitting at my side like a disapproving tutor, helping me sound out words while correcting my many, many mistakes. My literacy in Greek was also something that I kept secret from everyone except Scribonius, who was fluent in the language in both written and spoken form, since a Centurion who did such things was subject to suspicion from both the men in the ranks and the upper classes, though in some ways things had changed. When I was a young boy, what I was attempting to do in elevating my status was next to impossible, but the civil wars had wrought huge changes in our society, mainly because the ranks of the knightly class were so thinned by proscriptions, fighting and assassinations as rivals took advantage of the overall lawlessness to even old scores. Now, Octavian being the prime mover among them, the upper classes were opening the doors to men they considered worthy of moving into the vacated ranks and I planned on taking advantage of it, despite being keenly aware that I lacked the formal education of even the merchants who were my rivals for advancement. So I struggled at my Greek and I was absorbed in this task as I sat in my quarters, cursing as a shadow fell across the scroll as someone entered, blocking the light.
“There better be a good reason for someone to enter my quarters without knocking,” I snapped, not bothering to look up.
“I thought I had a good reason, but perhaps I was wrong. Would you like me to leave, Titus Pullus?”
The words were spoken in Latin, but with an accent that betrayed a Syriac heritage, the voice soft and melodious. In truth, I had never heard a song sung in all my days that sounded quite as sweet as those two sentences. I swung about and stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs as I viewed the small woman, draped in her drab brown gown, still with her traveling cloak wrapped about her thin shoulders. She looked exactly the same as when I had left her, though she was clearly tired from the long trip, her large brown eyes staring up at me, her full lips curved in a teasing smile. Diocles was standing just behind her, beaming at me, but I only had eyes for Miriam, and without saying a word, I came to her, enveloping her in my arms before kissing her long and hard.
The gods are fickle, it is true. But they have their moments of kindness, and it was only through their machinations that Miriam and I were reunited. After we had spent some time alone, I called for Diocles to thank him for bringing Miriam to me. He ended up staying for dinner as he and Miriam told me all that had happened in his quest to find her. Miriam had not been in Damascus. As I had feared, Hashem did not take my leaving without marrying Miriam well at all. Despite Miriam making light of it, I could tell that whatever took place between them had taken its toll. Naomi was caught in the middle, but she had no choice other than to back her husband, and while Hashem did not throw Miriam out, he made her feel unwelcome, so Miriam had chosen to leave. She had no other family in Damascus, meaning she was forced to go stay with a cousin in Chalcis. That had not worked out well, as he had tried to force himself on her, making her stay at Chalcis less than a week. Then, using some of the money I had left with her, she paid her way as part of a merchant’s caravan returning to Antioch. The merchant’s wife always accompanied her husband on his trips, which I suspected was to keep an eye on him, so Miriam had a female companion and despite the differences in station, the two women became friends. On their arrival in Antioch, Miriam stayed in the merchant’s household, ostensibly to work as a domestic, but ultimately to act as a companion to the merchant’s wife.
When Diocles arrived in Damascus, Hashem refused to talk to him, and while Diocles did not speak the Syriac dialect that Hashem did, he got the distinct impression that Miriam’s brother-in-law was not asking after my health when my name was in his mouth. Diocles had chosen an inn near the market, where he was sitting in the downstairs room where the meals are served, brooding about what he was going to do next, when Naomi found him. Through a mish-mash of Latin, Greek, and the gods know what else, she managed to let Diocles know where Miriam had gone, though she had now been away for several months. Naomi had not heard from the cousin and therefore did not know that Miriam had left, so Diocles traveled to Chalcis to find an uncommunicative cousin who refused to even acknowledge that he knew Miriam. Diocles had reached a dead end, but thanks to a nosy neighbor bearing the cousin a grudge, he learned that Miriam had left on the caravan. However, the neighbor was not sure of its destination, giving Diocles three possible destinations in Antioch, Laodicea, or Tripolis. My servant and friend, being the smart fellow that he is, and knowing that all three were on the coast, reasoned that his best course of action was to go first to Antioch in the north, then work his way south since he would have to head in that direction anyway. However, Antioch is a huge city, with caravans coming in from all directions, but again my little Greek had learned one important piece of information, that the merchant in question specialized in pottery of the type produced in Chalcis. Asking around, he learned that there were perhaps a half-dozen such merchants, so he went from one to the other until he found the correct one. The merchant’s wife was not happy about losing Miriam, but she was also a woman who remembered what it was like to be young and in love, so she bid Miriam a fond farewell as my woman climbed aboard the docile mare that Diocles had brought along with him.
As I sat listening to them alternately tell their part of the tale, it was easy to see that the two of them had picked their conspiracy to control me back up right where they had left off, but I was of an age now where I did not mind. I was just happy to have them both back with me, and we spent that evening telling stories and laughing. During the course of the evening, I realized how much I had missed this woman from my life; I had been so sure that I would never love another as I loved Gisela, and while the feelings I had for Miriam were subtly different, they were just as powerful as they had been with my wife. The only thing I was sure about was that I was not willing to have more children, so a part of me did worry that this would cause trouble between Miriam and me at some point in the future. However, I was determined just to enjoy the moments we were sharing and I gave a silent thanks to the gods that Diocles had been so persistent.
With all the outstanding matters disposed of, both personal and professional, the men settled down, their restlessness and uncertainty soothed by the production of the promised bounty. Cleopatra’s presence, while comforting to Antonius, served to open the old wounds of rancor and bitterness between his generals, none of them making any attempt to hide their resentment at Cleopatra’s inclusion in their council meetings. As the matters being discussed were political and not military, we were exempt from attending, for which we were all thankful. While entertaining, watching the bickering was also disheartening because it reminded us all of the rancor and hatred that had led us to kill each other in such huge numbers. It helped that I had other matters on my mind, none of them martial or political, instead wholly concerned with the happiness I felt at having Miriam back with me.
Leuke Kome was a small town, so I was forced to pay a goodly sum to rent her an apartment that was not a complete hovel, but I did not care. I took to spending most of my time outside the camp, coming in for the obligatory formations in the morning and evening, or to take care of the necessary business of running the Legion. The rest of the time, I was otherwise occupied, and I did not see anything wrong in having young Gaius as a guest to dinner most evenings, since we were outside camp. Once he got over his initial shyness around Miriam, they became good friends as well. Although I never had confirmation, I suspect that the cabal against me added another member, as it seemed to happen with astonishing regularity that if one of them brought up a subject, the others would then add their own thoughts at different moments. Naturally, they all claimed innocence, saying that just because all three of them agreed on something it was not proof that they were conspiring. I soon gave up fighting about it; it is the wise general who knows when the numbers are not in his favor and makes a tactical withdrawal with his forces intact.
Scribonius and Balbus were frequent guests, but it was the addition of Macrianus to our table that I know surprised the others. In the time I had spent with the younger man, the suspicions I held about both his potential and his headstrong nature were confirmed, as we had already butted heads over a couple of matters concerning the men. Although I appreciated his devotion to the rankers, from my perspective he had not achieved the separation necessary that gave a Centurion that ability needed to send men to their deaths while still being able to do their own job. However, if given the choice, I much preferred my Centurions to be like Macrianus than those men who had forgotten what it was like to be in the ranks, viewing their men only as a source of labor, or worse, a source of extra income. I am ashamed to say that while I tried, it is impossible to weed such men completely out of the Centurionate, which is why I chose instead to spend time with those like Macrianus, hoping that they would then rise through the ranks to be put in a position at least to control the predations of baser men. Macrianus had a quick wit, with a tongue that tended towards the sharp, which I appreciated and enjoyed as long as it was under the right circumstances. All in all, we were a merry bunch, passing the long winter watches in good conversations.
Despite our attempts to keep politics out of it, we were Romans, most of us anyway, and there is no way to keep Romans from talking politics at some point. Most of our speculation focused on Antonius’ prospects and how damaged they were when the news of Parthia and the disastrous campaign reached Rome and Octavian’s ears. We knew that Antonius had sent back dispatches claiming great victories, but that was early on, and no matter what he said now, too many men who would tell a different tale were being sent back to the mainland of the Republic. If it was just a handful of men who had lost their feet or hands, or suffered some debilitating wound, it would have been one thing, but thousands of men were being removed from the Legion rolls, and some of them had opted to brave a winter crossing with the few captains willing to take the huge risks in return for the huge reward of being the first across the sea. These Legionaries that survived the crossing would be telling anyone who would listen about all the disasters that had befallen Antonius and the army. Even accounting for the exaggeration that maimed men put on the face of what had happened to them, there was no way to disguise the scope of the disaster. The men who would be sailing later would only serve to corroborate the stories of the early arrivals, so Antonius had a matter of weeks before the backlash began.
“He’s buggered, well and truly buggered,” Balbus declared. “Octavian is going to use this to finish Antonius once and for all.”
I looked over at Scribonius, wanting to see what he thought, but while he said nothing, I could see he agreed with Balbus.
“So what do we do about it?”
I had decided to ask the question that I knew was rattling around in each head, knowing that none of us wanted to come out on the losing side. Balbus gave a sidelong glance to each of us, as the question was ostensibly aimed at him, before shrugging.
“I don’t know there’s much we can do right now. The moment’s not right because nothing has happened.”
