Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 8
“Triumvir, when we heard that our Primus Pilus was being unjustly charged with dereliction of duty, we came in a show of support, and to ensure that his rights as a Roman citizen are respected.”
I do not know if it was conscious or not, but I thought Scribonius tapping his fingers on the hilt of his sword as he spoke was a nice touch. Lepidus looked to his minions, soliciting them for help. Surprisingly, none of those lions were willing to risk the wrath of a group of Rome’s Centurions. Seeing no help from that quarter, he stood, holding onto the edge of the desk in support as I could clearly see him quivering in fear.
“Unjustly charged?” he squeaked. “I don't know where you heard such nonsense, but I assure you that it's not true. The charges against the Primus Pilus are well founded and very serious. Now, I appreciate your concern.” His attempt at reasserting control was as comical as it was ineffective, as he pulled himself to his full height of a shade over five feet tall, while not relinquishing his grip on the desk so as not to collapse at our feet. “But I assure you that the situation is well in hand, and the Primus Pilus will be safe in custody.”
“Custody?”
Scribonius affected a look of concerned puzzlement, then looked over his shoulder at the rest of the men. If it had not been so serious, with my life at stake, I probably would have enjoyed the performance more. Each of the men mirrored his gaze, albeit with varying degrees of success in making it look real. Scribonius turned back to Lepidus, and while his tone was quiet, I had never heard my normally mild-mannered friend sound so full of menace.
“I don't believe that's acceptable, Triumvir. The Primus Pilus is one of the most honored and respected men, not just in the 10th Legion, but in the entire Roman army. To see him led away in disgrace I'm afraid would rouse a great anger in the men, which I don't believe we,” he indicated the rest of the Centurions, “could control. Triumvir, these are troubled times.” Scribonius was now the voice of reason. “And it wouldn't do anyone any good to have a Legion on the rampage.”
For the first time, I saw a glint of anger in Lepidus’ eyes, not completely drowning out the fear, but it gave him enough courage over his tongue to speak up now.
“As you say, Secundus Pilus Prior Scribonius, that would indeed not only be tragic, it would be treasonous, and as much damage as one Legion might do, there are many, many more on the Campus Martius alone that I know are loyal to Rome and would crush any such . . .misguided demonstration.”
“I'm afraid that it would be more than one Legion.” I was as unprepared as Lepidus seemed to be to hear a new voice.
Spinning around, I saw a small number of men wearing the same white crest of the Primus Pilus of a Legion as the one I wore, while at their head was Corbulo, who was the man who had spoken.
“Forgive me for intruding, Triumvir, Primus Pilus Pullus.” He nodded in my direction. “But I felt it was my duty to come as soon as I heard what was taking place. I only heard part of what the Pilus Prior was saying, but I did hear your response that it would only be one Legion who would take any imprisonment of Primus Pilus Pullus extremely badly, but that's not the case. I have reason to believe that the 4th would follow the lead of the 10th.”
Corbulo then stepped aside, giving a faint nod to the Primus Pilus closest to him, none other than my old acquaintance, Torquatus.
“My boys too,” he said flatly, moving to the side as the Primus Pilus of the 12th Legion informed the Triumvir that his men too could be counted on to take my imprisonment as a slap in the face.
By now, even Lepidus could see that he was not going to be taking me into custody, so he finally threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender.
“I hear your concerns, gentlemen, and like you I have no desire for more violence.” His shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes as he spoke. “Very well, the Primus Pilus is free to go. However,” he said, still grimly determined not to be denied. “I'm requiring two things in exchange. First, is the sworn oath of every Primus Pilus here that Primus Pilus Pullus will remain within the precincts of Rome. The second is that you allow a special tribunal to be held, and that you respect and abide by the decision of the tribunal as it pertains to this matter.”
All eyes turned to me, waiting to see my reaction. I knew that at the very least, the Centurions of the 10th would do whatever I asked of them, but I was not about to ask any of them to take further risks with their lives and careers at this point, so I gave a slight nod. I saw Scribonius’ brow furrow, opening his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a shake of my head.
I looked at Corbulo, who shrugged but kept his eyes on me as he said loudly enough for all to hear, “We agree.”
Although he had not asked them, Lepidus turned to Scribonius, who, clearly reluctant, agreed as well. With that, there was a release of tension akin to the torsion string of a ballista being loosed, and I was grimly pleased to see that Lepidus’ tunic was ringed with sweat around the neck and under the arms. Finally, Lepidus cleared his throat as he tried to assume a control over the room that he had never had in the first place.
Motioning to the door, he said, “Gentlemen, if there is nothing else, I have other business to attend to.” I turned to leave, and I heard him hiss, “You think you’ve won something. All you’ve won is a stay of execution.”
I stopped, then turned to face him. Again, I was seized by an almost overwhelming urge to draw my Gallic blade to run him through. I started to speak, but for once, I governed my tongue. Instead, I looked him up and down the way I would a new tiro, making sure that the numen holding the invisible turd had a fresh, smelly one to put under my nose, then I turned to walk out. Unfortunately for me, Lepidus was right. All I had done was to buy myself time, but that had been my primary goal when I walked into Lepidus’ office; to walk out without an escort. Now I had to get an audience with Octavian, as my whole career, indeed my very life rested on one throw of the dice. On the positive side, Lepidus had unwittingly helped me by restricting me not to just the Campus Martius, but to Rome. While Octavian had commandeered a residence on the Campus, I was better served going to his residence in Rome, and I knew that I had no time to waste. Once outside, I was surrounded by my Centurions, where I found Scribonius standing a bit apart. I did not know exactly what to say, so I held out my hand, which he took, a solemn look on his face.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” was all he said.
“So do I.”
Corbulo came up to offer his hand as well, which I took. Before I could say anything, he told me, “Just so we’re clear, I didn’t do this for you.”
“I didn’t think you did,” I replied honestly.
“It’s just that a jumped-up bastard like Lepidus doesn’t have the right to touch any Centurion, no matter what he may think. If it hadn’t been you, it would have been one of us.”
I was not sure about that, but I was not going to argue the point. I thanked him again, as well as the other Primi Pili, then made my way back to my quarters. I had to send Diocles to secure an audience with Octavian and I had to do it quickly. I was risking everything on the belief that there was enough left of the wide-eyed boy who wanted to have dinner with Titus Pullus, that he would accept.
The perhaps two parts of a watch I spent waiting for Diocles to return were some of the longest of my life, and I was acutely aware that they could be some of the last of them as well. Never in all my imagining of how my life and career would go had I envisioned being so vulnerable and at risk without being anywhere near a battlefield. I was fighting for my life without drawing a sword, which for a man like me was both terrifying and confusing. I can only acknowledge now, in the safety of my old age and obviously having survived, that I have never been as scared before or since as I was during those days fighting Lepidus. As much of a worm and as empty of a uniform as he was, he was still more of an expert at this kind of warfare than I was, so I do not think it is a stretch to say that I was as overmatched against Lepidus in this arena as he would have been facing me with a sword in his hand. Now everything rested on Octavian, and again I opted to be alone as I waited for the sound of Diocles’ footstep outside my door. When he finally appeared, it was all I could do to keep from leaping to my feet and running up, shaking him like a rag doll for taking so long, but one look at him stopped me cold. He was clearly exhausted, his face pinched and worn with worry, as I imagine much like mine looked.
“Well?” I demanded. My knees almost collapsed from the relief of tension when I saw him nod.
“He says he'll see you,” he replied.
Nevertheless, I was wary of his expression, which was one of anything but relief.
“You don’t look very happy that your master has a chance at saving his life,” I said sourly, and I was a little mollified by his reaction as he put his hands up.
“No, master, it’s not that at all. I'm more relieved than I can tell you. It’s just that, I have to say that he seems . . . different,” he finished in a guarded tone, and I could have sworn I saw his eyes dart around to the dark corners of the room. However, I was in no mood to hear his pessimism at this point. I waved my hand at him, dismissing his worries.
“Of course he’s changed since you saw him last. It’s been almost two years, and a lot has happened. All that matters is that he remembers me and agreed to see me.”
“Oh, he remembers you very well,” Diocles said immediately.
I should have been paying closer attention, but I was now hurrying to dress myself, and Diocles knew better than to try to talk to me when I was in such a state.
(I had never seen my master and friend as agitated as he was that evening, and as things turned out, I am happy that he did not question me further, because only the gods know how that might have changed things. My master has just relayed how frightened he was, and I was no less frightened, but not by Lepidus. If I had told him of my misgivings, who knows what might have happened? Octavian had certainly remembered him, but seemed decidedly cool at the mention of my master’s name, and in fact, he seemed to have a scroll on his desk that pertained to my master at that very moment, because he referred to it at length while he asked me some questions about my master.)
Diocles had told me that Octavian was expecting me at the end of the second watch, which gave me barely enough time to make myself presentable before hurrying to his house without being drenched in sweat.
The house Octavian had chosen was large, yet not anywhere near the size of Pompey’s old mansion, which Antonius still occupied. I approached it, ignoring the people passing by, and they gave me a wide berth anyway, because of my size and uniform, I suppose. My instructions were specific; I was to knock at the gate reserved for deliveries and servants, not the front. While I understood the need to do whatever I could to keep my visit from Lepidus’ spies, it stung nonetheless. I had grown accustomed to the status of a Centurion, and a Primus Pilus. I would be lying if I said that I did not enjoy the trappings of my position, which usually included being welcomed at the main entrance of the upper classes’ homes on those few occasions that I was invited. The delivery entrance was a large double gate, with a smaller door set into the wall next to it, so it was this on which I knocked. I was happy to see that it was opened immediately, by a nondescript-looking slave of an indeterminate age.
“I am Primus Pilus…” Before I could finish my sentence, the slave cut me off.
“I know who you are, Primus Pilus; you’re expected. Follow me.”
And with that, he turned, leaving me open-mouthed before I snapped out of it, hurrying to catch up with him, chagrined at the thought of the sight of me fumbling after a slave, thankful that none of the men were there to see it. I say Octavian’s house was not large, yet it was large enough that I soon lost track of the twists and turns we made, the slave moving quickly towards wherever Octavian was located.
We finally arrived at a room whose doors were closed, and he turned to me, saying abruptly, “Wait here,” before opening the door then entering himself.
I caught a quick glimpse, getting just a sense of Octavian seated behind a desk while surrounded by a number of people before the door closed. I stood in the hallway waiting, knowing that it would be a long time before I was called in, knowing how the game was played. That did not make it any easier to endure, but there was nothing I could do about it, so I contented myself with inspecting my uniform, making sure that everything was in place and not smudged. Perhaps the better part of a third of a watch passed before the door opened, then the slave who had escorted me beckoned me to enter.
“The Triumvir will see you now,” he announced in a voice pitched loudly enough so that his master and everyone in the room could hear. Then, turning about to face into the room, he said in the same tone, “Centurion First Grade Titus Pullus, Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion,” as he stepped aside to allow me to enter.
Taking a deep breath and squaring myself, I marched into the room, keeping my attention only on the slight figure sitting behind the desk at the far end of the room. His head was bowed, so all I could see was the mass of blonde curls as men stood about him holding parchments and scrolls, or quietly conferring with each other. It was reminiscent of his adoptive father, which I knew was exactly the effect he was working for, to impress on everyone that he was the embodiment of the great man. He had gone so far at this point to start calling himself Caesar Divi Filius, the son of a god, after the incident at the festival with the star rising to the heavens that the people had decided was Caesar’s soul going to heaven. I was aware of the surreptitious glances of some of the men in the room, while one man in particular was studying me with no attempt to conceal his gaze like the others.
He was not as tall as I was, but he was still tall and well built, as muscular through the chest and arms as I was, which was unusual. He was a strikingly handsome man, and while he was dressed in a simple tunic, I could tell at a glance that this was a man born to the uniform. I stopped at the proper distance from the desk, saluting. I was expecting Octavian to play the same game as Lepidus and ignore me for a period of time, but he immediately stood, giving me a broad smile while moving from behind the desk to offer his hand, which I accepted, a little bemused if truth be known.
“Primus Pilus, it's wonderful to see you.” He oozed warmth and charm, though I suppose that my reason for visiting colored my view of everything, because his demeanor struck a false note with me, despite returning his greeting with what I hoped was sufficient grace.
If he noticed my unease, he made no comment about it, though I realize now that he absolutely noticed; Octavian never missed anything, ever.
Turning to the well-built man, he motioned him over, exclaiming, “Agrippa, here's the man you've been waiting to meet all this time. Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, meet Titus Pullus.”
Agrippa approached, his own hand offered as well, his broad smile not seeming false in any way.
“Primus Pilus, I'm extremely honored to meet you. You're a legend in the army, and just from the looks of you, I can see why.”
I could feel the heat rising from my neck at his words as I fumbled for the right thing to say to match his generosity.
“I’ve heard much of you as well, sir. I hope that one day we can serve in the field together.”
“I would love that!” he exclaimed, looking so genuinely pleased at the prospect that it tugged at my heart a bit.
With these pleasantries aside, Octavian turned, calling to the rest of the men in the room.
“The Primus Pilus and I have some business to discuss. I would appreciate it if you all would give us some privacy for a few moments. I will send for you when we are through.”
Everyone in the room was obviously accustomed to meetings of this nature because there was no hesitation or wasted motion as they moved to the door, some of them carrying their paperwork with them to continue working on. Agrippa had turned to leave as well, but Octavian stopped him.
“No, Agrippa, I would like you to stay.”
Agrippa turned back, moving to a chair, then sitting down as Octavian moved back behind the desk, taking his own seat. I was unsure what to do, so I decided to follow my instinct and continue standing. It is a good thing that I did. As soon as the door closed, the smile and the warmth fled from Octavian’s face, replaced with what I can only describe as something that reminded me of the winter seas between Gaul and Britannia, icy and unrelenting.
“Well, Pullus. It seems that you've gotten yourself into quite a predicament,” Octavian began, his voice as cold as the rest of his demeanor.
Despite trying to prepare myself for this eventuality, Octavian’s initial greeting had lulled me into believing that perhaps it would not be so bad. Now I was off-balance, which is exactly what Octavian was aiming for, and he did not give me a chance to respond.
“If my fellow Triumvir is to be believed, at the very least you're incompetent, and at the worst, you're complicit in the murder of Legionaries of Rome.”
I was unsure if he was finished, so I said nothing.
Finally, he raised one eyebrow, asking sarcastically, “Has the great Titus Pullus been struck dumb? What is your response to these charges?”
Suddenly all the words I had carefully rehearsed in my mind fled at the very moment I needed them most, and all I could manage was a half-grunt, half-squawk.
“He’s lying.”
Octavian sat back, regarding me with that reptilian gaze as it finally fell into place why it had seemed familiar. When we had been waiting to fight Pharnaces, when I was with the 6th Legion, I had passed the part of a day watching a large lizard that seemed to be sunning itself on a rock, its eyes unmoving and unblinking, seemingly oblivious to the world around it. As I watched, a fly landed on the lizard, obviously thinking that the creature was dead and was offering itself up for a feast. The lizard did not flinch or move in any way, letting the fly wander up its body. Not even the blink of an eye betrayed that it was living, until the fly moved onto the head, then the nose of the lizard. Suddenly, with a movement so blindingly fast that my own eye could not track it, the lizard struck, its tongue sweeping out and up, snatching the fly, which disappeared down its gullet. The lizard never blinked, or moved anything other than its tongue as I watched it feed itself in this manner for more than a third of a watch. This is what I was reminded of with Octavian watching me before he finally spoke, the sarcasm still present.
