R. Peake - Marching With Caesar – Civil War

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This is where things stood in mid-summer, when Octavian staged the traditional Victory Games for Apollo, held in the month that is now named for Caesar. A singularly peculiar event occurred during the games that further enhanced the popular belief that Caesar had become a god, indirectly benefiting Octavian as well. While the games were going on, for all seven days, a star bright enough to appear in the daytime appeared in the northern sky, low on the horizon but supposedly clearly visible at all times. It was widely believed that this was nothing less than the sight of Caesar’s soul being accepted by the rest of the gods to become a god himself. I must say that, while I am normally an extremely skeptical person, I found it hard to ascribe any other meaning to this sign, because too many people saw it for it to have been the work of Octavian’s agents. Even Scribonius, normally even more of a skeptic than I, was at a loss to explain it. I am not sure exactly when it happened, but somewhere in the progress of the games, Octavian produced the chair that Caesar had used to preside over the Senate. The chair itself had been gilded, along with the white ribbon diadem offered to Caesar three times by Antonius during the Lupercalia, which Caesar had refused. Octavian ordered both to be set up in the Forum as a tribute to his adopted father. Antonius, using his authority as one of the Consuls, refused to allow this to be done, which was hugely unpopular with the people, but he did not budge. Then, on the last day of the games, Octavian ordered that a statue of Caesar, with a star above his head to denote his status as a god, be erected in Caesar’s temple of Venus Genetrix, the temple that Scribonius and I had visited shortly before its consecration. This drove Antonius into an apoplexy of rage, as he launched into an attack so vitriolic that some of his own Tribunes, commanders of his personal bodyguard no less, remonstrated with him about the harshness of his language towards Octavian. From all indications, this was the first that Antonius learned of the tremendous sympathy his own veterans held for Octavian, which shocked him to his core. Immediately recognizing that he could not afford to offend and alienate men whose strong right arms he needed to achieve his aims, he claimed that he wanted nothing more than to come to some sort of reconciliation with Octavian. All he wanted, Antonius claimed, was to be treated with the respect he felt that he had earned. It was agreed that Antonius and Octavian would meet on the steps of the Capital to make a public show of reconciliation, yet when Antonius made his way there, he was in for another shock. As Octavian approached from the opposite end, Antonius saw that he was surrounded in a protective cordon by Caesar’s veterans, recognizing a good number of them as men Antonius had enlisted on his trip through Campania. His own men were sending a signal to Antonius that, though they might march for him, their hearts were with the young Caesar, for that is how they thought of him. Even if Antonius had planned on doing Octavian any harm, it had to be clear to him that not only would Octavian’s supporters come to the young man’s defense, in all likelihood so would Antonius’ men as well. There was once more a public show of amity between the two, but the veterans were still not willing to trust Antonius, so after the meeting, they escorted Octavian back to his house. This show of support for Octavian by men who were in the employ of Antonius greatly angered the Consul, and I have to believe that it was this fact that led Antonius to accuse Octavian of plotting to kill him, using members of Antonius’ own bodyguard. This accusation understandably caused a huge uproar, and in the interest of living however much longer the gods have deemed for me, I will remain silent on this subject, allowing you, gentle reader, to draw your own conclusions. Suffice it to say that none of this helped to soothe public fears that another civil war was not looming on the horizon.

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In our part of the world, on the other side of the mountains separating Hispania from Gaul and more importantly Rome, the men of the 10th were at least looking and acting like a Legion, though only the drawing and shedding of blood would determine if they were truly Legionaries. Pollio was off chasing Sextus Pompey around the hills, but much to our disgust and discomfort, Marcus Lepidus had returned, making a thorough nuisance of himself. The actions of this puffed-up piece of cac led to the first great crisis with the new 10th. Naturally, daily inspections became part of our routine, which meant that the punishment list was correspondingly long. At first, we managed to restrict the punishments to extra duties or monetary fines, although taking money from men who had yet to receive their first allotment of pay was an administrative nightmare that had every Centurion, or more accurately, their clerks cursing Marcus Lepidus. However, fairly quickly this was no longer enough for our general, as I found myself summoned to headquarters to face the little man, who looked even smaller seated behind the large desk of the commanding general. Standing before him, I wondered why Pollio, who was not that much larger than Lepidus, looked as if he belonged behind that desk while our current commanding general looked very much like a child who has sneaked into his father’s office and is playing at being paterfamilias .

“Primus Pilus, I have summoned you here in hopes that you can explain to me exactly why you are intent on disobeying me,” Lepidus began, trying to look severe, but only managing to look petulant.

Reacting more to the tone than the words, I immediately stiffened to intente , adopting the vacant stare and clipped tone of the perfectly correct Centurion addressing a superior who he loathed. “I'm sorry, General, but I confess that I'm at a loss as to the General’s meaning. Perhaps if the General could explain what he's referring to I could be more helpful.”

Lepidus gave a theatrical sigh as he rolled his eyes at one of his toadies who was standing next to the desk, smirking at me.

Despite knowing that this was all a huge game, I felt my stomach tighten in anger, yet things were about to get worse. “Such is my lot in life that I'm surrounded by imbeciles and idiots,” Lepidus said. I had to fight back a laugh at the sight of the toady’s face when he realized that Lepidus was referring to him just as much as me. “What I'm referring to, Primus Pilus,” Lepidus continued with exaggerated patience, “is after more than a week of inspections, I have yet to see one good flogging, despite having a list as long as you are tall of men who have been found in gross violation of the standards of the army of Rome.”

For a moment, I considered pointing out that a coat of varnish having a speck of dust on it was hardly a gross violation of anything, but I knew that it would do no good.

Besides, my mind was busy dealing with something else he had said, once again the evil numen that makes me say things that are better left unspoken taking over my tongue. “Sorry, sir, but I'm confused at your reference to a ‘good flogging’. I don’t think any man who's been flogged would refer to it as good. Sir.”

I heard a sharp cough. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the toady looking at the floor, clearly trying to suppress a laugh, and I thought that perhaps I had found an unlikely ally.

After all, Lepidus had called him either an imbecile or an idiot, I was not sure which. Lepidus, on the other hand, was not amused at all. “Perhaps if you took your duties a little more seriously instead of thinking of clever things to say, the men would not need as much of a flogging as they obviously do,” he snapped.

Now it was my turn to get angry. “If the General is unhappy with my performance, he's free to relieve me at his earliest convenience,” I said coolly.