Final campaign, p.8
Final Campaign, page 8
part #7 of Marching With Caesar Series
“No, we don’t. We’re still going to Serdica.”
Fortunately, the others let out a gasp, so I was not alone.
“How can we continue on to Serdica if the Triballi aren’t there?”
I struggled to keep my voice under control, trying to sound reasonable, not wanting to end up in a shouting match with the Praetor in front of the others.
“They’re Thracians, aren’t they?” Primus gave a shrug. “As long as they’re Thracian, it doesn’t matter.”
I could feel Scribonius’ eyes on me, and I knew exactly what he was thinking. As suspicious as I had been that Octavian had approved this campaign, I did not see him giving Primus the kind of latitude to wage war on the first tribe of Thracians he ran across. Say what one will about Octavian and his ambitions, he had worked extremely hard to bring peace to the Republic, having just recently closed the doors to the temple of Janus that remained open during times of war, and had been open for almost two hundred years prior to his closing them. An unprovoked attack on a tribe belonging to a country in an alliance with Rome would undoubtedly create more difficulties than I could see it being worth in any aspect. Primus continued talking, oblivious to the undercurrent among the men around him.
“We'll continue on to Serdica because I'm not going to spend a day longer in this dreary country than I absolutely have to.” He said it as if he were simply announcing that he had decided to spend the winter at his villa in Etruria instead of Campania, with no more thought put into the decision than that.
“Praetor, I must say that I strenuously object to your decision,” I said carefully, but Primus still became angry immediately.
“You may object all you like, Prefect, but my decision is final,” he replied hotly. In a quieter tone, he continued, “I know I don't have to remind you that I'm vested with Proconsular imperium, so my word is effectively Roman law, as sacrosanct as if it had been engraved on bronze tablets.”
There was no mistaking the menace this thinly veiled threat carried, while I could see Scribonius shooting me a warning look, giving a minute shake of the head. For once, I heeded, despite it feeling like a knife sticking into my gut to do so.
“No, sir, you don't have to remind me,” I said through clenched teeth. “And of course, we'll obey all lawful orders to the best of our abilities.”
Oh, he did not like my use of the word “lawful,” but he apparently was cautious enough to keep from making an issue of it.
“Very good, Prefect. Make sure you don’t forget. Now, Scipio, thank you for the information, but it changes nothing. We continue to Serdica.”
“Believe it or not, Primus actually did you a favor,” Scribonius told me that night after we made camp.
I stared at him, knowing that he would have a good reason for saying so but still finding it hard to believe.
“How so?”
“Because now you have a legitimate reason to demand to see Octavian’s written order, if one exists. And it was smart of you to use the word ‘lawful.’”
“I wasn’t thinking about that when I said it,” I admitted.
“It doesn’t matter,” he assured me. “And I suspect that he knows that, which is why he'll try and scare you into backing down. But you're completely within your rights to demand to see legitimate justification for what we're doing.”
I thought about what he said. While I knew that he was right, it was one thing to talk about it in the privacy of my tent, and another thing entirely to march into the Praetorium to make such a demand. I sat there, trying to recall our initial conversation and whether or not Primus had mentioned the Triballi by name, or if he had just referred to Thrace in general. The truth was that I could not remember exactly, which to that point was still extremely unusual for me. My memory had always been excellent, yet I found that it was harder to remember small details that I had always been able to recall with ease before.
“I don’t know for sure if Primus ever mentioned the Triballi specifically,” I confessed to Scribonius.
He frowned, thought about it, then said slowly, “You better do a good job of convincing him that he did say we were going after the Triballi. Do you remember if there was anyone there who could refute your version?”
I shook my head.
“Not the first conversation; we were alone.”
“Good,” he replied quickly. “Then it will just be your word against his. But, Titus, you can't waver. You have to be absolutely adamant that he said we were going after the Triballi specifically.”
I could feel my stomach start to twist into a knot, but I nodded to Scribonius to indicate that I understood. I had one last question for Scribonius, suspecting I knew the answer.
“When should I confront him?”
“Immediately,” Scribonius answered instantly, confirming what I thought. “You can’t let another sunrise go by without bringing this matter up, or you'll have lost the advantage. If you wait, he can always say that you only made an objection later.”
I stood, sighing as I donned my armor, then strapped on my belt. I was going to see Primus in my role as Camp Prefect, so it was important that I dressed the part.
“How do I look?”
“Fit to go into battle.” Scribonius grinned at me.
It was a grim jest, but not far from the truth. I left to go face Marcus Primus.
As usual, Primus was not alone, Masala being present and they were eating a late dinner. Also present were Silanus and Lucullus, both of them looking uncomfortable at my appearance, which I found curious. Primus looked up from stuffing his face with some sort of delicacy, his fingers and mouth smeared with the grease from it. His eyes took in my uniform, then made a grimace of distaste as he set the last morsel back onto his plate and pushed it aside.
“What is it, Prefect? What's so important that you must barge in and interrupt a perfectly lovely meal?”
“Please forgive the intrusion. Praetor, I'd like to discuss a matter with you that I consider very important and can't wait.”
Primus rolled his eyes, looking over at Masala with a smirk on his fat face.
“Did you hear that, Masala? It’s a very important matter. What is it, Prefect? Are there some chickpeas missing from the Legion stores? Or did one of those brutes in the ranks lose his sword? What is it that you can’t handle on your own where you need my assistance?”
Swallowing the flare of anger at his insulting words and tone, I said, “Actually, sir, I don’t think that it’s something I should discuss in front of the others. It’s for your ears only.”
“For my ears only,” he mimicked, shaking his head in obvious disgust. “Prefect, I assure you that nothing you have to say is something that these men can't hear.”
“Very well,” I replied evenly. “Given the information that we received today, and your decision to continue to Serdica despite knowing that it doesn't belong to the Triballi tribe, I'm afraid that I must insist on seeing the written orders from Augustus concerning this campaign.”
I do not believe Primus could have looked more shocked if I had slapped him across the face, while the expressions of the others were not far behind his, but I swore I saw the glimmer of a smile on Lucullus’ face. Primus partially recovered, enough to address the others.
“Leave us,” he snapped, his voice strangled.
The others hopped up immediately, almost falling over each other in their haste to leave the room, none of them looking at me as they ushered past me out through the flap of the tent. Once we were alone, Primus stared at me with poisonous hatred; his fat lips pulled back, the grease from his meal still coating his mouth, shining dully in the lamplight.
“How dare you?” he hissed at me, sounding very much to me like those hooded serpents that are kept in wicker cages by street charmers in places like Alexandria. “By what right do you have to question my authority?”
“I’m not questioning your authority.” I kept my voice calm, determined to maintain my composure no matter what provocation Primus threw in my face. “I am questioning the orders you say you received from Augustus to conduct this campaign. When you and I first spoke, you were very specific about the fact that we were on a mission to avenge the outrage done to us by the Triballi. Yet, today, you insisted that it didn't matter that it wasn't the Triballi we were headed for, but the Serdi. So I'm confused, and the only way that I can see to dispel my confusion is to see for myself exactly what Augustus’ orders say.”
“I said no such thing,” he said indignantly. “I never mentioned the Triballi by name. I distinctly remember that I said this was to be a punitive expedition against Thrace, not a specific tribe.”
“I remember it quite differently.” I tried to hide my happiness that he had given me the opening I needed. “And since we remember the events quite differently, then I think the only reasonable way to clear matters up is to see the actual order.”
“This is an outrage.” Primus was visibly shaking now, a further sign to me that I had him in a vulnerable position. “Who do you think you are to question me in this manner?”
“I'm the second in command of this army, and am responsible for the welfare of the men.” The more agitated Primus got, the calmer I remained, keeping my tone conversational.
“And I am the Legate! And Praetor with Proconsular imperium,” he shrilled, stomping his foot to emphasize each word. “You have no right to question me! None whatsoever!”
“Praetor, it seems to me the easiest way to resolve this matter, and to put me in my place, is to produce the order.”
I know I should not have, but I could not resist adding, “If it exists, of course.”
Primus’ eyes widened and I realized I had gone too far.
“Now you’re insinuating that I'm lying? Pullus, I should have you scourged for that!”
“I mean no disrespect, Praetor. But try to look at this from my viewpoint. All this could be settled by the production of the order from Augustus, but you seem reluctant to do so. What am I supposed to think?”
“I don’t care what you think,” he snapped, his face a shade of red so deep that I thought he might die right on the spot of an apoplectic fit. “It’s not your place to question me, Prefect, no matter what you think your duty is. You forget that you're not an equestrian yet, and even if you were, my bloodline and lineage is still more exalted and pure than your mongrel blood will ever be.” I could not hide the look of surprise, and he saw it. “Oh, I know all about your pretensions to elevate yourself,” he sneered. “It’s a cause of much amusement back in Rome, I assure you. To think that someone like you can manage to buy your way into the upper classes is the biggest travesty to come from all the turmoil of the last several years. But I tell you this; you can put a pig in a toga, but that doesn't make it any less a pig!”
Perhaps I shouldn’t have worn my sword, I thought, my hand moving, seemingly of its own volition, to the hilt. Primus saw the movement, his face going pale, and he took a step backward, fear suddenly replacing the anger on his face. He opened his mouth to scream for the guards, but fortunately, I stopped my hand. In a very slow, deliberate move, I dropped it to my side. I took a deep breath before I replied.
“Be that as it may, Praetor, that doesn't change the situation as it stands at this moment. I still need to see the order from Augustus.”
“And if I don’t produce it?”
“Then this army doesn't march another step.”
Primus gave a shrill laugh, but it was clearly forced, as if he were trying to show how unworried he was by my threat.
“You forget yourself again, but I can see that it’s a habit of yours. I'm the Legate. I outrank you. If I give the order to march, the army will march.”
“Really?” I asked reasonably. “Are you sure about that? After your displays?”
Primus’ face became guarded.
“What do you mean? What displays are you talking about?”
“You turned the inspection of the army into a farce because you had no idea what you were doing,” I replied. “Then you forced the army to put in a half-day’s worth of marching because you couldn’t sit in the saddle for a full day, and you carried on like a woman at every rest stop. Who do you think the army will listen to?”
Primus stood there, glaring at me, still shaking, though at that moment, I did not know if it was from anger or fear. Suddenly, his shoulders slumped as he broke his gaze, looking down at the table.
“Fine,” he finally said, still refusing to look at me. “I'll show you the order.”
I tried to keep a straight face and not show the sense of triumph that I felt, but Primus was not so easily thwarted.
“Of course, I have to find it, which will take some time.”
I felt another stab of anger at the fat little man’s inability to concede defeat and get all this over with.
“How long are you talking about?”
I was expecting him to mention some date in the future, so I was surprised when he replied, “Come back tonight at the beginning of third watch, and I'll have the order here. You're dismissed.”
Without another word, Primus turned his back to me, making it clear that he was through. I saluted his back, then left the Praetorium.
“There’s no doubt he’s up to something,” Scribonius agreed after I told him what had transpired. Rubbing his chin thoughtfully, he continued, “But I don’t know what it is.”
“If you don’t, I certainly don’t have any idea.”
I was frustrated, because I had been counting on Scribonius to shed some light on what Primus was up to, so I called Diocles, who appeared from behind the leather partition, trying very much to look like he had not been listening.
“Don’t pretend you haven’t listened to every word we’ve been saying,” I growled. “I called you in here to hear what your shifty Greek mind thinks of all of this. What do you think Primus is up to, stalling like this?”
My hopes were dashed quickly, because Diocles was as mystified as Scribonius and I were.
“If he has the document, it doesn’t do him any good to put you off,” was Diocles’ comment.
“And if he doesn’t have the document, putting you off doesn’t make any sense either. Unless,” Scribonius said ominously, “he’s planning on something to shut you up.”
“He wouldn’t dare,” Diocles gasped, but Scribonius was unmoved.
“Desperate men do desperate things all the time,” he countered. Despite understanding Scribonius’ caution, I immediately discounted his warning.
“No, I agree with Diocles. Primus isn't that stupid. My sudden disappearance would create more problems than it solved.”
No closer to solving the mystery, there was nothing much to do but wait, so Diocles brought some wine, then we sat sipping it and chatting until it was time for me to return to the Praetorium. When the bucinator at the Praetorium sounded the change of watch, I stood, once more donning my armor and belt.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Scribonius asked. I thought for a moment, then shook my head.
“No. For once, you don’t need to worry about my mouth getting you in trouble. Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
My friend grinned, but I could see he was not happy, touching my heart. We embraced before I left to face whatever Primus had in store for me.
When I was ushered into the Praetorium, I was not sure what to expect, but seeing Masala there did not really surprise me. What did surprise me was the presence of all the other Tribunes; Scipio, Lucullus, Silanus, Libo, and Capito, along with Macrinus and Flaminius, both of whom looked decidedly nervous.
“Prefect, I'm glad to see you arrive so promptly.” Primus was seated behind his desk, his own, befitting his personally extravagant style, being made of heavy carved oak, decorated with nymphs and satyrs on the capitals above the legs and along the edge facing outward.
It had been cleared of everything except one scroll, which was rolled and placed in front of Primus. He had dressed in his military uniform for this occasion, but his pot belly was thankfully hidden behind the desk, and he had foregone wearing his ridiculous helmet, instead placed on a stand next to him, the feathers jutting up at least a foot over his head.
“As you can see, I thought it appropriate to have witnesses present for this meeting.” He turned to face the others. “While I've briefed Masala, I think I should let the rest of you know what's going on. The Prefect here has found it fitting to call into question the legitimacy of our campaign against the Thracians.”
As I am sure he had hoped, the reaction of the others showed they found this quite startling, but I did not miss Macrinus and Flaminius exchanging a glance and quiet word that I could not make out. Primus could not resist flinging a barbed missile in my direction.
“Apparently, our Prefect isn't quite as eager to avenge the death of his friend and the insult done to Rome as he led me to believe.”
For the second time in a day, I found my hand itching to reach for my sword, but of course, I made no such move. Primus looked slightly disappointed that I did not rise to the bait, so he pressed on.
“Naturally, I take this as an insult on my honor. However, as the Prefect pointed out, and I have since verified, he is within his rights as the second in command of this army to demand to see the written orders given to me. I had wanted to keep this as quiet as possible, at the personal request of Augustus who, for political reasons, does not want his name widely attached to this endeavor, for a number of reasons that I am privy to, but you have no need to know. However, the Prefect has forced my hand in this regard, so before we go any further, I require from each of you your solemn vow that you will not repeat to anyone what takes place here tonight and what you learn from it.”
One by one, each man stepped forward, raising his hand and making the required vow, as did I, last of all. When that had been done, Primus finally touched the scroll on the desk, unrolling it with what appeared to be great reverence. All eyes were riveted to the pudgy little man. Clearly enjoying the attention, he held the scroll up in his fat little hands, then motioned with his head to me to come closer. Trying to ignore the shaking in my legs, I approached the desk, feeling everyone else’s eyes on me. Once I got close enough, Primus offered me the scroll to examine, making an elaborate gesture, then giving me a mock bow, but up close, I could see the hatred glittering in his eyes. It took a supreme effort of will to keep my hand from shaking when I took the scroll, although by this point, I was sure that it would either exonerate Primus completely or be so ambiguously worded that there would be no way I could unequivocally state that Primus was violating the orders from Augustus. Even so, my heart sank on reading the words. I did not recognize the writing, since I had seen enough orders in Octavian’s hand to recognize his handwriting, but that by itself was meaningless; he had been First Man for many years now, so it was unlikely that there would be much he would write in his own hand by that point.
