R. Peake - Marching With Caesar - Conquest of Gaul

“Your Pilus Prior was killed in action, as you know.”

I was not sure what response was expected, so I merely nodded and responded, “Yes sir.”

“And we have yet to name a replacement. I’m sure you’ve noticed that almost every other Century and Cohort that needs a replacement has already been seen to, correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“So why do you suppose we have been waiting to name a replacement for your Century?”

I was flummoxed; I had no idea, and it indeed was the topic of speculation, yet I was not about to blurt out the various theories that my comrades had thrown out. “I….I really have no idea, Caesar,” was the best I could manage, a faint look of surprise coming across his face.

“Really?” his mouth quirked at the corners, as if he was fighting a smile, deepening my confusion, “You don’t know that there has been a huge debate raging about the suitability of one of the names being considered for the billet?”

Just the faintest hint of a dawning began to register in my brain, but I immediately put the thought out of my mind, dismissing it as hubris. There was no chance I was going to utter the name that popped in my head, so I decided to continue playing dumb, which fortunately was not very hard. In answer, I instead just shook my head this time, not verbally responding.

Caesar turned to Labienus, asking conversationally, “Labienus, would you care to utter that name?”

It was immediately clear that whoever it was, Labienus was against him, because his hawkish face turned dark, his irritation clearly visible and I marveled at the impunity of such a thing in front of his commanding officer. However, as I was to learn, Caesar was not much for formality behind closed doors, actually encouraging his Legates, Tribunes and even senior Centurions to voice their opinion without fear of repercussion.

Finally, Labienus muttered the name, but so softly I could not hear it, evoking a hearty laugh from Antonius, who poked at Labienus with a finger, “Come on man. The boy can’t hear you.”

I bridled at that a bit, since he was no more than a year or two older than me, yet that was how officers viewed us. A raw Tribune no more than 25 regularly called a Gregarius twenty years older “boy”; at least the dumb ones did. Antonius was not dumb, he was just nobly born and apparently that gives you 20 extra years' experience the day you are born.

“Optio Pullus.”

You could have heard a gnat fart in the silence that followed, and there was a roaring in my ears as for a horrified moment I thought I was going to faint. Immediately following this was the stirring of anger; I was sure that these fine gentlemen decided to have some fun at my expense. Of course, why they would pick me out of the 35,000 people in the army to choose from was not something I put any thought into, all I was sure of was that I was the butt of their joke. My surprise was evident to all, yet only Caesar seemed able to tell what I suspected.

“No, he's not joking Pullus. I know that this is somewhat unusual, that normally if you were promoted to Centurionate rank that you would be made a Junior Centurion and serve in the Tenth Cohort, or perhaps the Ninth. But it's not unheard of, and given the high casualty rate among the Centurions, when we looked at a list of candidates, your name was at the top of the list.”

Before I could respond, Caesar added, “That’s not to say that everyone,” and he looked over at Labienus, who was still fuming, “agreed. But I saw what you did when Vercingetorix’s men tried to breach the wall. You fought like ten men, and that's what convinced me that I'm making the right choice.”

Because I was not sure what the proper response should be, the best I could manage was, “Thank you sir, I won’t let you down.”

“You’d better not, or I'll never hear the end of it from Labienus,” Caesar replied mildly. He stood then, and offered his hand.

“Congratulations, Pilus Prior Pullus.”

Leaving the Praetorium in a daze, I found Crastinus standing there waiting for me, his earlier reserve gone, a broad smile on his leathery face.

He slapped me on the back, exclaiming, “Congratulations you big bastard.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew,” he shot back somewhat huffily, “I was asked my opinion on the matter. I saw the list of candidates they had drawn up.”

“And you thought I was the best one?” I asked half in astonishment, half in hope.

“Nah. I just figured that you couldn’t fuck it up any worse than the other cunni on the list.”

I had to laugh at that, but a pit was forming in my stomach. I was now the senior Centurion of the Second Cohort, and although I knew I was respected, having been in the army almost ten years, I was still only twenty-five. There were men much more senior than I who had just been passed over. The thought of their reaction dampened my enthusiasm like a sudden rainstorm, and Crastinus saw my glum face.

Growing serious, he said quietly, “I won’t lie, Pullus. It’s not going to be easy. This is going to piss a lot of the boys off, particularly the other men on the list. That’s one reason it was so hush-hush; I think Caesar always planned on picking you but didn’t want to create a storm of cac flying and get men riled up enough that he couldn’t promote you without it being a big problem. Now,” he mused, “he’s dodged a javelin by just doing it. You’re the one who’s going to have to deal with it.”

“Thanks, I feel better already,” I replied sarcastically, drawing a barking laugh.

“I’m not here to provide sympathy boy. But I'll do what I can to help. Mostly though, it’s going to be up to you. You’re going to have to prove to everyone that you’re worthy of the promotion.”

We were walking to the quartermaster’s tent to draw the crest I would need to affix to my helmet, along with some of the other extra gear that the rank provides. The first the Century would know I was now their Pilus Prior would be when I showed up wearing the crest; I already carried a vitus , although that was later abolished for Optios. There would be a formal promotion ceremony, but that was done all at once, in front of the whole army. Before that happened, I first had to call a meeting of the Centurions of the Cohort, followed by a meeting of the Cohort itself. My mind was racing with all the things there were to do, so I missed what Crastinus said, prompting him to call me by name. I looked at him, and he shook his head in mock seriousness.

“Not a very good start, ignoring your Primus Pilus.”

“Sorry, Primus Pilus Crastinus,” I admit to a bit of apple-polishing in addressing him by his full rank, since I knew that he had not heard himself called by that much as of yet, and I could tell it pleased him.

“I was saying, for whatever it’s worth, I know you can do it Pullus. And I’ll help you any way I can.”

I looked at him in gratitude, then unbidden my mind raced back almost ten years before when I hated this man to the soles of his boots, marveling at how far I had come.

Approaching the Century area, the men were lounging by the fire, and they looked up as one of them automatically called out that senior Centurions were approaching. They all immediately popped up to stand at intente before any of them noticed that something was different, and I am sure their first thought was something like, “Here comes the new Pilus Prior. By the gods, he’s as big as Pullus.”

It was a few heartbeats after that before there was a registering of the fact that not only did the new Pilus Prior look like me, it was indeed me in the flesh. Even at their position of intente , I was heartened to see smiles creeping across the men’s face as they realized what it meant.