R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

“Vercingetorix, of the Arverni, self-styled king of the Gauls,” Hirtius intoned with what I felt was unwarranted malicious glee, putting special emphasis on the words “self-styled”.

He was king of all the Gauls, I thought, there was no self-styling about it. Only he was able to unite all but one of the tribes, and nobody before him had done that. As these thoughts went through my mind, I heard angry mutters at my back and I could tell that I was not the only man who felt this way. Despite our anger towards him for causing the death of so many friends, we recognized his greatness, and indeed, by belittling him our victory over him was being diminished. The muttering quickly became mumbling, sweeping through the ranks, and I could see Hirtius’ eyes widen in surprise, our anger and displeasure clear for him to hear. Caesar remained impassive, though I swear I could see the corners of his mouth turn up a bit, as if in approval at our displeasure, which made some sense because it was diminishing his own victory by applying such demeaning terms.

Hirtius hurriedly finished with the “What would you have of him?” and we quieted down.

Caesar did not answer for a moment, and when he did, he spoke so softly that we could not hear, but instantly Caesar’s personal standard bearer dipped it down in front of Vercingetorix, forcing him to kiss it in a symbol of obeisance. Hirtius stepped forward, taking Vercingetorix’s sword from his outstretched hands, then handed it to Caesar, who immediately passed it to another member of his staff.

Standing from his chair, Caesar looked down at Vercingetorix, and announced in his oratorical voice, “Vercingetorix, king of all the Gauls,” his omission of Hirtius’ term was a clear rebuke, and I could see his aide’s face turn bright red, “you have risen in rebellion against Rome. Your rebellion failed, and under the rules of war, you and all of those who followed you into rebellion are now subject to disposition as we, the conquerors see fit. You, Vercingetorix, will accompany me to Rome, to be part of my triumph for the conquest of Gaul. As for your followers, I give your common soldiers, and any wives and children with them to my army, at the rate of one slave per Gregarius , to do with as they please, two for all Optios, and four for all Centurions. The remainder of the common people will be sold in a lot, with the money disbursed among myself and my fellow officers. The noblemen and their families will be allowed to return to their lands, but only after giving oaths of loyalty and surrendering of hostages. That is my judgment.”

Nodding to the two Centurions standing on either side of Vercingetorix, he finished, “Take him away to confinement.”

The two Centurions, both from the 8th, grabbed Vercingetorix roughly, pulling him to his feet, then proceeded to strip him of all his armor and his clothes, leaving him completely naked. Then, they placed a rope around his neck as a symbol of his bondage, leading him away to the jeers of the assembled army. Once he disappeared, an excited buzz swept through the formation, the import of what Caesar had just done hitting us. A slave is perhaps the single most valuable commodity that one can own, and would bring a lot of money, if their new owners decided to sell them. I would have two of them and I began to think excitedly about the possibilities. Would I sell both, or keep one for myself, as a status symbol? Of course, that meant that I must feed and clothe them, so perhaps that was not the best thing to do. I shook my head; it was all too much to take in at once. We were dismissed, and we headed back to our areas to talk about the sudden increase in our prospects.

With that piece of business out of the way, the next thing to be taken care of was filling the positions of Centurions, Optios, and the lesser ranks that were vacated because of death or serious wounds. It was with some trepidation that I waited to be informed who would be our new Pilus Prior, but nothing happened for some time, which in itself was extremely unusual. I thought that it must have to do with the fact that such a large number of Centurions and Optios were slain and that made deciding who was going to fill what spot more difficult, yet as the first day passed and announcements were made in other Cohorts, it became more and more of a puzzle. However, I was happy to learn that our new Primus Pilus was none other than Gaius Crastinus, replacing the slain Favonius. Despite this, still no word arrived of who our new Pilus Prior would be, and with the day dragging on, the speculation among the men of the Century became more urgent. Not once did I hear, nor did I myself consider my name as a possible candidate, so that when Primus Pilus Crastinus appeared and summoned me to follow him, I was completely confused about what was happening. Despite my best attempts, Crastinus, even in light our former relationship, refused to give me any kind of hint about what was going on, so the closer we got to the Praetorium , the more my heart raced as I tried to think of what reasons there could be to discipline me in some way. Again, despite being an Optio for a few years now, I still sometimes thought like a Gregarius , and that is always the first thing that goes through a ranker’s mind when they are summoned to stand tall before the general. By the time we reached the flap of the tent, I was as close to panic-stricken as I think I had ever been. Stone-faced, Crastinus stopped and with a jerk of his head, indicated that I should enter.

“You’re expected,” was the only thing he said as I passed, and it was all I could do to keep from fainting dead away.

Stepping inside, I immediately stopped, not only to let myself adjust to the dim light, but to compose myself. Then, approaching the orderly’s desk that stood guard outside the door into Caesar’s office, I saluted the bored looking Tribune.

“Optio Titus Pullus, First Century, Second Cohort of the 10th, reporting to Caesar as ordered,” I rapped out in what I hoped was my most official voice.

The Tribune was busy chewing on an apple, apparently thinking that the study of it was of the utmost importance as he studiously ignored me, fascinated by the piece of fruit. However, I had been in too long to be thrown by such tricks, knowing that this was the only way a pup like the boy in front of me could feel like he had any control over a wolf like me, so I stood impassively at intente , waiting him out. Once he determined that I was not going to fidget, he sighed, exasperated at being bested at his little game and got up, waving at me to wait. He stepped inside and I heard him announce me, then he reappeared, and said curtly, “Caesar will see you now.”

Taking a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and stepped inside, unsure of what fate awaited me.

Caesar was seated at his desk, examining some papers in front of him. Nearby, sitting on the corner of a table was none other than Marcus Antonius, also chewing on an apple while he conversed idly with Labienus, who was sitting on the other side of the table with his feet propped on it. Hirtius was there as well, sitting at a smaller desk off to the side, along with the usual contingent of slaves and scribes busily scribbling away at the mountain of paperwork composing most of Caesar’s day. Ignoring them, I marched to Caesar, stopped and saluted, intoning the same salutation I offered the orderly outside. Unlike the Tribune, however, Caesar stopped writing to acknowledge my salute, then leaned back in his chair, fingertips pressed together with his index fingers against his chin as he looked at me, saying nothing. Whatever composure I had managed to gather was rapidly melting away, and I felt my knees beginning the faintest tremor, my mind racing with the portents of this meeting. Finally, Caesar spoke, in a neutral tone that told me that he was neither happy to see me, nor displeased. I was simply a matter of business, which was even more unsettling, since my contact with Caesar had always been an occasion for happiness and pride.