Marching With Caesar-Final Campaign, page 69
In much the same manner as the time between the campaign of Marcus Crassus and my last one with Primus, not only did the next two years pass with amazing rapidity, it was also blessedly uneventful. Aside from a couple of local rebellions that only required one Legion to stamp out, the last two years of my time under the standard was spent in the routine world of camp life. More than once, I caught myself thinking that, truth be known, if this had been even a few years before, this would have been a huge source of irritation for me that I would have inevitably taken out on those around me. That, fortunately for everyone, was no longer the case. I do not know exactly when it happened, but there came a moment when I recognized that not only had I marched to my last battle, I was happy that this was so. The fire; that blaze that had fueled me for so long, pushing me up the ranks and seen me fight my enemies with what I believe is the single-minded ferocity one needs to prevail, had finally gone out. I suppose that it was due at least in part to the fact that I had nowhere else upward to go; I had attained the highest rank available to a man from the ranks. Consequently, I was perfectly content with the routine duties that come with a Roman Legion that is not actively fighting, but is waiting, in readiness, for Rome to call. The only thing that did not change was my daily exercises, both with the sword, and on Ocelus, but I think both of those activities had become such ingrained habits that it would have felt stranger to stop than it felt foolish to continue. In fact, I no longer minded that the younger men of the Legions viewed me as something of an oddity, stopping to watch when I took my turn at the stakes, still stripped to the waist and working up a sweat. I no longer had the body that I had been so proud about for so many years, but in comparison to other men my age, I imagine that I compared well with them. The best part of this period was the time I got to spend with Titus, who was growing so quickly that at times I swore that it happened overnight. It had become obvious at this point that Titus was going to be a very large man; already he was a head taller than the other boys his age, and much stronger. On more than one occasion, I found myself in the unusual position of talking to what could easily have been me at that age, admonishing Titus that just because he was bigger and stronger than other children, it did not mean that he was special, or deserved to be judged by a different set of rules. Most importantly, I tried to impress upon him the responsibility that comes from being born with certain gifts. Only time will tell if he was listening. He and Ocelus still enjoyed each other's company immensely, and I must admit that I was somewhat sad when Titus finally outgrew his mispronunciation of my horse's name. Regardless, the boy made sure to bring Ocelus his apple, every day, and as the time grew closer for my final retirement, I began dreading the thought that they would finally be parted. The only thing I was sure about was that when I retired, I would not be staying in Siscia, as much as it pained me to make this decision. It was not entirely voluntary; Octavian tended to frown on high-ranking officers retiring in the vicinity of Legions, in the event that the officers tired of retirement and started having dreams of their own. However, while Pannonia was turning into a full Roman province, it was still wild, and there were bursts of violence that saw Roman settlers forced to fight locals who got it in their minds to throw the Romans off the land they were working. Because of my association with the 10th, the area around Placentia was an option for me to choose, since that is where the veterans of the 10th's first enlistment were settled. But between being a Camp Prefect, and my time with the 6th Legion, I had been informed that I could choose from any area where there was a veteran's colony. This is how I chose Arelate, remembering it from my time in Gaul. The country is beautiful, and being located on the Rhodanus River, which is navigable by large craft quite a distance inland, it was accessible for all the types of goods that made life more comfortable. I sent inquiries to agents in the town that handle such matters, and received a list of possibilities.
About six months before I retired, Diocles and Agis were sent on a mission to scout out the properties, and I entrusted Diocles with making the decision if he found one worthy. My one condition was that it not belong to someone who had been proscribed years before, or confiscated in some other way. This had nothing to do with any sense of fairness and everything to do with the idea of having to watch my back from a family member of the former owners who bore a grudge about their eviction. I had heard far too many stories from other veterans who had found themselves with a sword in their hands again, fending off the attacks from enraged civilians who were sure they had been wronged, but who were unable or unwilling to strike out at the person actually responsible the loss of their property. Another condition was that it was not attached to anything remotely resembling a farm; I suppose my childhood still cast a long shadow, but despite the fact I could easily afford to either hire, or buy the labor needed to run it, I wanted no association with it. Perhaps two months after their departure, the pair returned, bringing the deed to a villa within the town walls of Arelate that had belonged to what had been described to Diocles as one of the wealthiest merchants in the region. Although it was not attached to a farm, it did have a very large garden area located within the walls, and all the conveniences that graced all but the most lavish villas in Rome. Agis, who turned out to have quite a talent for art, had sketched out a layout of the villa's floor plan, but had not stopped there. With some colors, he drew what I would learn was a perfect image of the exterior of the villa, using pieces of slate as his drawing surface. What I liked the most was how it had been built with an eye towards defense, and the walls were actually a foot higher than those around it; old habits never completely die out, I suppose. A month before my retirement, I put Agis in charge of packing up all but the most basic of my belongings, particularly my now-extensive library, and sent him and all of my household but Diocles on ahead to take possession of the villa in Arelate. Finally, there was nothing left but to retire. And, most difficult of all, to say goodbye to my family.
Frankly, when compared to the ceremony organized by Scribonius and Balbus on my elevation to Camp Prefect, my retirement from the army was quite anti-climactic. Oh, it was conducted with all the pomp and ceremony that the Legions of Rome can produce. Every Legion of the Army of Pannonia was present, minus the Cohorts that had been left behind, stationed at the various outposts. They were turned out in their finest uniforms, with their red tunics matched by red plumes now that the madder root was so widely available. Everything glittered, from the armor, shield bosses, javelin points, and helmets. Even if it had not been on the occasion of my retirement, it was a sight that produced in me the same stirrings that I shared with my best friend Vibius when we were arrayed in formation for the first time as an army, back in Hispania forty-two years earlier. There was a slight breeze, making the cloth vexilla flutter softly, their red backgrounds, with the lettering made with golden thread that informed what Legion and Cohort they belonged to, all arrayed in neat lines. Most dazzling of all were the Legion aquilae; they had been recently converted from the silver gilt first introduced by Gaius Marius, into the gold gilt eagle as commanded by Octavian, just one of his many reforms of the army in these last few years. Since it was also a sunny day, the wings of the eagles caught the light in bursts of winking fire, and it was between these ranks that I rode Ocelus, accompanied by the current Legate, also on horseback, performing what was my final inspection of any sort. Because this was merely a formality, I was to remain mounted; during a real inspection, the inspecting officer either dismounts, or is on foot for the whole ordeal. However, when I reached one Legion in particular, I am afraid that I disrupted all the carefully laid plans. Without giving any warning, or even worse, asking leave of the Legate to do so, I swung my leg over Ocelus and slid off his back to walk over to where the Primus Pilus of the 8th Legion was standing.
"Congratulations." I offered Macrinus my arm.
Clearly startled, he broke discipline the same way that I did as he looked at me quizzically.
"Congratulations for what?"
"Well, you weren't going to find out until later today, after all this," I indicated the formation with my head, "is over. But I wanted to be the first to tell you that you are the new Camp Prefect for the Army of Pannonia."
Behind me, I heard the Legate utter a gasping curse, while in front of me, Macrinus looked completely shocked, which had been my goal. Happy, I was pleased to see, but shocked.
"T-thank you, Prefect." Macrinus pumped my arm vigorously, a smile breaking out on his seamed face, and I saw that he had lost a bottom tooth since the last time I saw him. "This is a tremendous honor! I just hope I live up to the example you set for us."
"You mean almost getting expelled from the army and executed in the bargain?" I admit that it was a bad joke, but I have always had a streak of the perverse in me, and one reason I liked Macrinus so much was that he shared it, and he laughed along with me.
"Well, I hope you'll forgive me if I don't go that far." He grinned. "Although hopefully there are no more of the likes of Marcus Primus left in Rome."
"Oh," I once more spoke before I thought. "There's always an abundance of Marcus Primuses in Rome."
Again, I heard a sound over my shoulder, and I winced at my error, while Macrinus tried to look elsewhere, knowing that if our eyes met, this solemn event would be marred by a levity completely unbecoming to it.
"Anyway." I cleared my throat. "Congratulations again. I know you'll do magnificently."
Macrinus inclined his head in thanks as I strode back over to Ocelus, proud that I could still hop aboard my horse without help, despite still having a pronounced limp from my wound and preferring not to think about how much my height helped. I felt the eyes of the Legate glaring daggers at me, although I do not know whether it was because of my actions or my words. Unfortunately for him, not only was I unimpressed, I had one more stop to make. Just a few paces farther along, as it turned out, when we reached the end of the first rank of the 8th, which, in a traditional formation, is composed of the first three Centuries of the Fourth Cohort. Not surprisingly, this is how we array for battle as well, so that no matter the occasion, a man knows his spot within his Century, and his Century's spot in relation to the others of his Cohort. This time, I stopped the moment we pulled abreast of the First Century, Fourth Cohort, one more throwing myself off Ocelus. Walking over, I ignored the impatient groan of my superior, focused only on greeting the newly promoted Quartus Pilus Prior.
"Pilus Prior Porcinus." As with Macrinus, I offered him my arm.
Gaius, unlike Macrinus, did not look all that surprised; I could see a smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he shot a glance over my shoulder at the Legate who was undoubtedly glowering at my back.
"Prefect Pullus," he responded crisply, clasping my forearm.
"I wanted to congratulate you on your promotion to the Fourth Cohort. And as Pilus Prior, no less."
Now Gaius could not keep the smile from his face, looking back at me with an expression almost identical to that of Macrinus.
"Thank you, Prefect," Gaius said loudly, then in a softer voice, continued, "and I owe all that I am to you."
"Nonsense," I replied immediately, if a trifle sharply. "You earned it on your own merit, not through any favoritism from me."
Somewhat surprising me, Gaius shook his head.
"Actually, that's not what I was referring to, Prefect. I'm talking about what it takes to be a Centurion, and how to lead men. That, I learned from you. And that," his voice raised a bit and I knew this was not meant just for my ears, "is why I'm here in this spot. Because of what you taught me, not who you are."
I could not have said it better myself, and I decided that rather than ruin what was a perfect moment, I simply nodded my head. The lump in my throat would have made it difficult nonetheless. Walking back over to Ocelus, although I vaulted back into the saddle again, I recognized that I did not have many more such movements left in me if I did not want to risk the embarrassment of using a Legionary's back as a mounting block. Consequently, I remained mounted for the rest of this portion of the ceremony. When we reached the rostra that had been built, both the Legate and I dismounted, and mounted the steps. I knew that I was expected to give a speech; however, I also knew that the Legate was going to go first, and I had been subjected to enough of his speaking style and speeches since he had assumed command to know that I was not going to be able to say what I wanted, without running the risk of men collapsing, either from the heat or boredom. My suspicions were quickly confirmed, as the man talked for what I would estimate was a third of a watch. Although it was ostensibly about me; I will say that he did touch on the high points of my career, listing the campaigns I had participated in and decorations I had earned, most of the time was taken up with the Legate expounding on his own record, and exhorting the men about what it meant to march for Rome. By the time he was through, a blind man could have read the signs in the faces of the men closest to the rostra, and I was forced to bite back a curse when the Legate finally stepped aside to offer me the speaker's spot with a flourish. Because of the circumstances, the remarks I made on my retirement day were so unremarkable that I will not even bother to recall them now. Out of an otherwise perfect day, this is the one sour memory that clouds it. Despite the mediocrity of my rhetoric, the men gave me a rousing cheer, chanting my name three times as is the custom to draw the favor of the gods, since three is a sacred number. While I appreciated the reception, I was not fooled; they were cheering that the ordeal was over, and they could finally break formation and return to their normal activities. Nevertheless, I appreciated the gesture and, in fact, I managed to see the humor in it, understanding that, in their own way, they were striking back at the Legate for putting them through the ordeal of his speech. Finally, the moment came for me to issue my final command as an officer of Rome, the traditional way all retiring leaders end their respective careers.
Filling my lungs, I revealed that I still could produce a sound that could travel the length of an entire army formation as I bellowed, "Army of Pannonia! You are...dismissed!"
With that, I made an about-turn, descended the steps, and with the last gasp of strength left in my legs, hopped aboard Ocelus to ride away from the forum, to my quarters and the end of my career.
The next week was filled with banquets hosted by either the Primi Pili of each Legion, or groups of Centurions, held in my honor. Although I had a good working relationship with every Primi Pili, it was with Flaminius and the now-promoted Macrinus with whom I shared the closest bond, and it was at their respective events that I enjoyed myself the most. It was all very nice, and flattering, but by the end of the week, I was ready for a nice, quiet night at what had become my second home, Gaius' quarters. Despite giving strict instructions to the contrary, I suppose it was inevitable that there was a somber atmosphere at the dinner table of Gaius and Iras. Young Titus was almost inconsolable; he had been working up to an all-out fit for the previous several days, prompted no doubt by my absence from the table as I attended the dinners held for me. Iras' nerves in particular were severely frayed; in the intervening time since my Tribunal and retirement, the young couple had continued to be busy in their private room. Once more, Iras had a child on her hip, but this one was a boy, named Sextus. Adding to her burden, however, was the growing mound in her belly; she was at that moment, four months pregnant. The girl who had been young Sextus' predecessor on her hip, named after my wife Miriam, was toddling around as young Titus bossed her about.
"He's been taking it out on poor Miriam the whole week," Iras sighed, and I cannot lie, I felt extremely guilty because I was the cause of it. "Did Gaius tell you what he did with the toy Camp Prefect you had made for him?"
"No, and I'm afraid to ask." I looked to my nephew for the explanation, and he gave a rueful laugh.
"He, uh, buried it," Gaius told me, his eyes fixed on the table.
"Buried it?" I was more bewildered than hurt, at least at that point.
"Yes, apparently, he's decided that since he can't have his Avus in real life, then he doesn't want him as a toy," Gaius explained. "So he's depriving himself of both."
I sat there for a moment, not knowing what to say. Contrary to what might be expected, the overwhelming emotion I felt was not sadness at being the cause of his distress, although there was that in me; it was a sense of pride at this sign of self-sacrifice. That boy, I thought, has the makings of a great Legionary, but just as I opened my mouth to say this, I thought better of it, knowing how it always upset Iras when I mentioned such things. The fact that I meant it as a compliment was something that I knew she would have a hard time seeing, such was her fear that her firstborn son would follow the Siren call of the Legions, despite the fact that he would not need to do so in order to survive. For one of the few times in my life, I held my own counsel, and just patted Iras’ and Gaius' arms in commiseration.
"I'm sorry to be the cause of all this," I told them. "Although," I had to admit, "a part of me wonders how much of his fit is about Ocelus and how much is about me."
"It's more about you than he lets on," Iras said instantly. "Ocelus is just a symbol for what he's feeling about losing you from his life."
