R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

While the death of Indutiomarus stopped the immediate threat that we faced, this winter proved to be no winter at all in the sense of our normal routine. Instead we were marched and counter-marched all over the country, as first one tribe then another began making noises about rebelling against Rome. The one event of any moment, at least for me, was my promotion to Optio of the First Century, Second Cohort of the 10th Legion. A Centurion in the Tenth Cohort had died and Rufio was promoted, which was expected since he was of the right seniority and qualifications. However, my promotion was a surprise to many people, myself included. By rights, Calienus should have been promoted, and I was more than a little apprehensive about the first time I faced him after my elevation, despite the fact that I outranked him. For a couple of days I tried to avoid him, then quickly realized it was pointless, since in the course of our duties we would have contact several times a day. Finally, I went to his hut, stood outside and drew a breath, about to ask permission to enter before I caught myself. I now outranked him, and I think more than anything that idea bothered me the most, because I looked up to Calienus like we all did and it was a hard adjustment to make. Still, I cleared my throat then made enough of a scuffle outside to let him know that I was coming in, and while I should not have been, I was still surprised when I found the hut empty. It was in the evening after our daily duties, and I instantly knew where he was, cursing myself for not thinking about it sooner. Calienus would be with Gisela; she lived in a small house behind the wineshop where she worked as a barmaid, a place called Pride of Bacchus or some such, a wineshop no better or worse than any of the other cesspits where soldiers on their off-duty time went to drink. These places, and the buildings where the people who ran and worked in them lived, always sprang up outside of a winter camp and the construction of them, if that was what it could be called, was so slipshod that there was always a considerable amount of wagering done about when the first one would fall down, which one it would be, and how many people would be killed. Because she was Calienus’ woman, Gisela had a much better constructed house than almost everyone else in the camp town, primarily because he helped build it and some of the Legion’s own building supplies went into the job. This was such widespread practice that I have to believe that it was like the unofficial marriages; our officers chose to turn a blind eye, as long as it was not too flagrant or egregious. Walking down the mud-churned street to the wineshop, I remember wishing that I had thought to stop and get something to drink somewhere else before talking to Calienus and was about to do that, except just then he emerged from Gisela’s house, walking to the door of the wineshop. He looked up and saw me, then stared at me for a moment, making my heart sink as I thought, he is angry with me. But then a smile crept across his face and instead of walking into the bar he turned to greet me with his hand outstretched.

“ Salve Pullus! I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you on your promotion!”

Startled, I took his hand and without thinking I blurted, “Thank the gods! I thought you’d be angry with me.”

His smile disappeared as he looked at me for a moment, then realization flooded his face and he laughed. “So that’s why you’re outside the camp. That’s why I gave you such a look when you first approached; I couldn’t believe my eyes. You never leave camp to come crawl in the gutter with us.”

I flushed; what he said was true enough, but no man likes to be thought of as a prude, and I opened my mouth to protest.

Before I could he slapped me on the back and said “Come on, if this isn’t an occasion for a drink, I don’t know what is. You can say hello to Gisela.” Without waiting for a reply, he entered the bar.

We found a table, and Gisela came over, smiling at us as she brought two cups of wine. " Salve Titus Pullus,” she spoke in heavily accented but understandable Latin. “Congratulations on your promotion. Calienus told me all about it.”

I thanked her, suppressing a chuckle at how she had picked up the army habit of calling everyone by their last name, even her man.

“So,” Calienus lifted his cup in toast, which I answered, “why would I be angry with you for being promoted?”

“Because by rights it’s yours,” I replied, somewhat surprised by his attitude. When you are young it is hard, if not impossible, to look at the world through another man’s eyes, so I attributed to Calienus the same reaction that I would have had, if the situation were reversed. However, I was not Calienus, and it would be a few more years before I understood this. In answer to my response, he shook his head.

“Not if you don’t want it,” he said, taking a drink.

I was still puzzled. “Why wouldn’t you want to be promoted?” I asked, truly mystified at the idea that someone could be content with their lot in life.

“Because I’m not you, Pullus,” his tone was quiet, telling me he meant no offense. Gesturing with his head to Gisela, he continued, “I have all that I’ll ever want or need. Being made Optio means even more responsibility, and after my enlistment is done, I plan on getting out. You,” he tapped my arm, “are different. You were made for this, Pullus. You were born to be in the Legions, whether you know it or not. For me, it’s just what I do for now.”

He shrugged then finished his cup of wine, leaving me to ponder what he said. Calienus was right, at least in the sense this was something I had been born to do. I took to the Legions in the same way that a young duckling will know how to swim, or a young horse to gallop. Although I had not known it, my childhood and teenage years were merely preparation for this, and in the army I experienced a sense of belonging that I never had before. Oh, I was close to my sisters and loved them dearly, yet because of the hostility my father held towards me, he never imbued in me any sense that I was part of a family, clan or tribe. Perhaps that was because he was an outcast too, and as I have grown older I am forced to acknowledge, however grudgingly, that perhaps Lucius was merely passing on to me the only way he knew how to treat a child. I had obviously let my thoughts meander, prompting another laugh from Calienus as he signaled Gisela to bring another round, “By the gods, don’t tell me that one cup of wine robs you of your senses. I expect more out of an Optio of the 10th Legion!”

I really do not remember much more of that evening, since it was one of those relatively rare occasions where I got gloriously, roaring drunk. It was only because Calienus possessed a better head for wine than I that I did not hold the record for the shortest promotion in the Roman army, helping me get back to camp and on my cot in time for me to be counted as present for roll call. As Optio, I rated my own tent and servant, although it was a good deal smaller than the Pilus Prior’s, but it was still more room than I ever had to myself the whole time I was in the army. The servant’s name was Zeno, and Rufio warned me before he left for the 10th Cohort to watch Zeno since he had light fingers, though otherwise was competent enough.

“Just beat him every so often,” Rufio told me, “to remind him who’s the slave and who’s the master, because he has a tendency to forget.”

I nodded agreement, not wanting to betray the fact that I had never beaten a slave in my life, yet I quickly learned that Rufio was right; Zeno was an uppity little bastard, and it was not long before I had to smack him. There was a world outside mine, however, and there were events transpiring that soon enough would impinge on it, with the situation in Gaul becoming more volatile, seemingly by the day. In answer to the mounting threat, Caesar commissioned raising a new Legion, along with a dilectus to fill the ranks of the wiped out14th, as well as a special levy to help fill out the ravaged 13th, having lost half their men because of Sabinus. He also asked Pompey to surrender the Legion that he was raising as Proconsul, so that Caesar now commanded ten Legions. The new Legions would be rendered as the 15th and 16th, although there was some sentiment that it was bad luck to resurrect the 14th, that it should be named the 17th and given a fresh start. But Caesar was never much for such superstitions; the more I watched him, the more I saw that he was quick to use such beliefs when it was to his advantage, and to ignore them when it was not.