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The parade the next day was not as long as the Gallic because there was a much smaller army marching, just the less than 900 remaining men of the 6th, along with the Gallic cavalry, the 28th and 36th having been left behind in Africa to fulfill different duties. While I was marching with the 6th and was technically the Primus Pilus, Valens had been ably filling that role since my departure, so I asked him to march in my spot while I marched at the head of the Seventh Cohort. The wagons carrying the scenes of the Alexandrian campaign were even more elaborate than those of the Gallic campaign, perhaps because the craftsmen making these had more time to work on them. The most spectacular was the scale model of the lighthouse that was complete with a small flame burning at the top in front of a polished metal mirror, just like the real one. The spoils from Alexandria were even more staggering than those of Gaul, at least in how exotic they were. Piles of golden crowns, chests containing mounds of gemstones of varying sizes, but all large, and all manner of riches were on display. Yet what caught the attention of the crowd even more than these were the animals, particularly the giraffes. These beasts are nothing if they are not 15 feet tall, and while their torsos are shaped somewhat like a horse, they have extremely long and spindly legs. However, what makes them fantastic is the length of their neck, which is easily the height of a man my size. Perched atop this long flexible neck is a head very much like a camel, while the whole thing is covered in brown spots over a tawny backdrop. Caesar had shipped 20 of the animals, but only six survived the voyage and ensuing captivity. It was these six that were pulled and dragged along the route while the people ooh’ed and aah’ed. Caesar had planned on using the water horse that inhabited the Nile, with which the men had such sport on the river cruise in the parade, but he had given up. They proved to be impossible to manage, however, not to mention that their smell was absolutely atrocious, so they were left behind. Still, it was not with the animals or the spoils where Caesar made his error; it was in his choice of prisoner to be the center of attention of that part of the triumph. Standing in a wagon, draped in chains was Cleopatra’s sister Arsinoe, along with her tutor and general, Ganymede. The sight of such a young and seemingly innocent girl chained in the same manner as a man like Vercingetorix did not sit well with the crowd, and we could follow the progress of the procession by the boos and catcalls of the crowd as we marched. We knew that the crowd was upset, but did not know why until later, and it did not seem to matter that Arsinoe was not to be executed, just banished. The crowd did not like the appearance of Rome bullying young girls, no matter how deceiving that appearance may have been. There was not a man in the 6th who felt the same way as the crowd, but we had all been subject to her ruthlessness and cunning, and we knew her true nature, while all the crowd saw was a helpless youngster. Cleopatra had come to Rome by that time, and was living in a residence on the Janiculan Hill, though she was not allowed inside the pomerium, since she was a sovereign and no king or queen is allowed inside the sacred boundary. However, the rumor was that she had managed to slip past her guards and had come to the city in disguise so that she could watch the final humiliation of her sister and rival. I have never spoken of it until now, but I can say that this is not rumor; it is fact, because I saw her with my own eyes.
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We had just exited the Circus Maximus, about to turn onto the Via Sacra, when my eyes met a pair of dark brown ones, though the rest of her face was hidden by a veil, and I saw them widen in recognition and surprise for just an instant before she regained her composure. She was standing on the second floor balcony of what appeared to be a private residence, dressed as a common household slave, but if I had the chance to consult with her before she put her costume on, I would have pointed out to her that slaves did not wear veils in Rome. Fortunately, since she was above and a little way behind the crowd, nobody seemed to notice. I saw just behind her two large Nubians, dressed in short tunics and cloaks, designed to hide the daggers they wore under the robes. Our eyes remained on each other as I drew closer, so I could see the worry in hers, and I wondered how much trouble it would cause if I told Caesar that I had seen her. I am sure this was the same thought going through her mind as well, but making up my mind, I just winked at her while touching the side of my nose. Her relief was clearly written in those very expressive eyes, and I confess I felt a small thrill at being a co-conspirator with the likes of Cleopatra. As far as I was concerned, it was the least I could do for her. She had been very kind to a country bumpkin at his first, and so far, only banquet of state, for which I would never forget her, so her secret was safe with me. I could not wipe the silly grin off my face the rest of the parade, which I am sure the women on the route thought was meant for them, yet I did not really notice any of them that day. Once more, Caesar made his way up the steps of the temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus, with his second garland, along with the ivy from the lictors to be given as offering. I could not help wondering if the god would grow tired of this, since there were still two more times to go and he would be receiving the same offering every time. Even the gods like a little variety, or so I think, but that is the way it has always been done, and therefore will be the way all the times in the future.
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For the Egyptian games, along with the gladiatorial contests, a large hole was excavated on the Campus Martius, then filled with water, making an artificial lake where naval battles were fought, using some of the ships from the Egyptian navy that were captured along with their crews, pitted against a small fleet manned by Tyrians. The Tyrians were chosen because they had refused to help Mithradates of Pergamum when he was raising a force to come to our aid in Alexandria, so their fate was to have some of their best young men chained to the benches of their ships and fight to the death for the enjoyment of Romans. The ships sailed all the way from Egypt and Tyre, then up the Tiber River to Rome. Finally, with the use of huge rollers and thousands of slaves, the vessels were manhandled across the open ground of the Campus to the artificial lake.
The endeavor had attracted a huge crowd of men from the army to watch, but the overriding sentiment was best described by Vellusius, who sniffed, “Well, we did that in Britannia and we didn’t have any slaves to help us. It was all our sweat that did it. What’s the big fuss about all this?”
With that, he turned away, followed by the rest of the men. I went with them as well; Vellusius was right. So much of what we were seeing constructed and done for this triumph that was done by slave labor in Rome had been accomplished by citizens in the army. I was noticing that I was picking up the attitude that most of the men, who in fairness had been in and around Rome for much longer than I had been, had about their fellow citizens. To the men of the army, our civilian counterparts were spoiled, soft, and incredibly lazy, and their attitude towards any type of manual labor engendered many a campfire discussion.
“They consider it beneath them, but it’s fine for anyone wearing a uniform to work as hard as a slave,” Glaxus spat into the fire shortly after our evening meal one night.
Scribonius was visiting, and Silanus was there as well, along with Balbus and Arrianus. There was a murmur of agreement at this, and I was one of those who agreed. Although I had not been here as long as the others, I had seen enough of the attitude to understand that it was indeed the prevailing one.
“It’s a load of cac is what it is,” Arrianus declared. “These civilians stick their nose up at us whenever we walk by, and you hear them making comments about what a soft life we’ve got sitting about in camp all day and night, just lolling about. Who do they think built this camp? Don’t they know a slave never digs so much as a spadeful of dirt building our camps? Or that the roads they walk on and that carry all those goods from every corner of the Republic were made by us and by the sweat off our back?”