“What does Caesar want me to do?” I asked finally.
“That is for Caesar to say. Now come on, we’ve kept him waiting long enough.”
With that, he turned to lead me into Caesar’s private office. The scene was the usual seeming chaos with men hurrying about carrying wax tablets or papyrus scrolls, whispering to each other importantly about how many buckles needed to be ordered, or how many kernels of grain it takes to feed a soldier. In the middle of it as always was Caesar, dictating to scribes while signing things brought to him, never looking at what he was signing, yet always seeming to know what it was. Seeing me, he dismissed the scribes, waving me over, so I marched over to him, saluting and reporting as he had ordered.
“Salve, Pullus. Are you ready to go back to the 10th?”
That was not a simple question to answer and it caused me to hesitate, something that did not appear to please Caesar at all. I was determined that this time I would not just blurt out the first thing that popped into my head, however, so I did my best to ignore his glare while I thought about it. So many thoughts rushed through my head at once and it was very confusing as I tried to sort them out.
Desperate to stall for time, I asked, “In what capacity would I come back?”
“As Primus Pilus, of course,” Caesar said impatiently, waving his hand as if the fact that there was a man already in the position was of no consequence.
I felt the beginning of an anger building, surprising me considerably. “What about Torquatus?”
“What about him?”
“Is he still Primus Pilus?”
“Yes, but that can be remedied very quickly.”
“How?”
Caesar’s eyes narrowed and I could see that his impatience was turning to anger. “What does it matter to you, Pullus? He'll be relieved of his command and you'll take his place. What do the circumstances matter?”
“Because he'll be shamed. His career will be over, and he hasn’t done anything to warrant such an action.”
“Who are you to tell me whether or not a Centurion in my command is fit for his position?” Caesar’s voice was soft but the barely controlled fury was clear to anyone within earshot, and I saw out of the corner of my eye that everyone in my vision had stopped what they were doing, instead suddenly studying whatever they held in their hands very closely as they strained to listen.
How did you get into this mess? I thought to myself. I had taken particular pains to think before I spoke, yet the tiny coal of anger was starting to glow red, and that ember always burned away my best intentions. I think that it stemmed from the resentment of Caesar’s station, not his abilities, because that was what was behind the action against Torquatus. Even if I was the beneficiary, I knew that I was just as subject to the whims of Caesar and men like him as Torquatus or any man in the ranks and I did not like it. Often was the time we talked of it around the fires, yet for the most part men just shrugged, saying that this was the way things were. They always had been and always would be. Still, I did not like it. In reality, I had less reason to be upset with Caesar because he was not like the other patricians and high-ranking plebeians, showing up for a campaign before running back to Rome to collect their accolades and honors while bragging to their friends about their tactical brilliance. Caesar had been in command of the majority of the army for almost my whole career. There was no general that I held in higher regard, then or now but I was still angry about Torquatus and his fate, though I still cannot honestly say why.
Now, I had greatly angered Caesar, and I knew that the politic thing to do was to offer an apology. “Forgive me, Caesar,” I said, trying to sound like I meant it. “You're right, of course. I was wrong to question your judgment, and that's not what I was intending. It’s just that I know Torquatus and consider him a friend, and I feel badly that any advancement on my part is at his expense.”
This was stretching the truth a bit. Torquatus and I had been friendly enough, yet that is not the same thing as friends. I was gambling now that Caesar would respond to my concern for a comrade and I was relieved to see his expression soften a bit as I spoke.
When I had finished, he looked up at me for a moment, his face unreadable. “Very well,” he said at last, “I understand and appreciate your concern. I didn't realize that you and Torquatus were particularly close. Instead of having him relieved, I'll order him transferred to one of the new Legions that I'm forming up when I return to Rome. I'll send him back to the city to have him wait for me there. Does that meet with your approval?”
I ignored the heavy sarcasm, pretending instead that it was a sincere question, responding that it did indeed.
With that settled, Caesar turned back to the matter of my assignment, which carried its own challenges, of which I was more than aware, and wondered how to handle. “I need you in command immediately to prepare for our invasion of Africa,” Caesar said, beckoning to the scribes to return, telling me that our interview was near an end.
I knew that I had tried his patience, yet I had to ask him a question that I knew ran the risk of making him angry again. “Is there anything I should know? I mean, about the mood of the men and what happened?”
His face darkened, the blood rushing to it, but his tone was even was even as he replied, “Talk to Apollonius. He'll tell you everything you need to know.” He took a wax tablet from one of the scribes then offered it to me with one hand while extending the other. “Your post as Primus Pilus of the 6th was ex officio, but this is a duly signed warrant for your promotion to the grade of Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion. Congratulations, Primus Pilus Pullus.”
I took the warrant and his hand, thanking him for both as I told him that I would not let him down.
“See that you don’t, Pullus,” he said with a smile that was as much of a warning as it was anything friendly.
~ ~ ~ ~
Finding Apollonius waiting for me at the entrance, I relayed to him that Caesar had instructed me to find out more about the situation with the 10th.
Apollonius sighed, then said, “That will take more time than we have just standing here. Can you meet at my tent in a third of a watch? We'll have some wine. You're going to need it to hear all that I have to tell you.”
I agreed to meet him, since I had business with the paymaster, making sure that I was properly entered in the Legion rolls, along with the quartermaster to draw some essential items that I had not brought with me, not knowing how long it would take Diocles to catch up. At the appointed time, Apollonius’ body slave showed me into his tent. I had to suppress a laugh at the thought of a slave having a slave, but such was Apollonius’ status that I doubt that he would have exchanged his current station for freedom if it meant giving up the luxuries that being a member of Caesar’s household afforded him. The tent was richly appointed, with flooring much like Caesar’s, which were covered with carpets of the type we had seen in Alexandria. It was one of these that I was studying when Apollonius appeared, making apologies for keeping me waiting.