~ ~ ~ ~
The candidates for the seven slots were all sitting or standing in the outer office of the Praetorium when I walked in. I had taken the litter but had stopped the slaves two streets away from the headquarters so I could be seen walking up. I was not willing to be seen in the litter by Centurions I did not know, whether it incurred Caesar’s wrath or not, but he was busy inside and did not notice. There were 20 men waiting, and I nodded to them as I walked past to enter Caesar’s office without being announced. Caesar and Pollio were standing in a corner, talking intensely in low voices, while Octavian sat in his accustomed spot, pretending not to be listening as carefully as he could get away with. I could see by Caesar’s face that whatever Pollio was telling him was not welcome news, so I assumed it had to do with events in Rome, which were still unsettled as the city waited for Caesar’s return. Once finished with their conversation, Caesar signaled for us to begin, then we called in the first candidate, a Centurion from the Sixth Cohort of the 15th as I recall. The day dragged on and on, but by nightfall we had talked to every man, and had made our final decisions. Thirteen men were disappointed, while we found the seven that we thought would best fit into the 10th Legion. It probably will not surprise you when I reveal that the identity of one of them was none other than my old tutor and brother-in-law Cyclops, who was going to become the Pilus Prior of the Eighth Cohort.
Since the business was concluded fairly early, Caesar turned to me and asked, “As this is my last night here, Pullus, I was wondering if you'd like to join Octavian and me for a light dinner tonight? It will be nothing special, soldier’s fare, but I hope you would find the company an enticement.”
Of course, I agreed, and the time was set for a third of a watch later.
~ ~ ~ ~
The dinner was as intimate as promised, with only Caesar, Octavian, and Pollio, and the fare was as described, though the quality of the bread and oil was of a much better grade, while there was more meat than was normal, which Caesar explained as we sat down. “I know that you're more partial to meat than most men, Pullus, so I took the liberty of having some prepared. Besides,” he added. “You need to build your strength for the coming trial of getting the 10th trained up to standard.”
I was touched, even though I knew that Caesar’s motivation was not selfless or just for my benefit. The fact that he knew I liked meat more than most men was just another example of Caesar’s difference; I could no more imagine a Labienus, or even Marcus Antonius paying attention to what a Centurion ate than I could see them sprouting wings and flying. Besides, he was absolutely correct, I would need every bit of my strength for the ordeal that lay ahead of me. Centurions are expected to lead from the front, in everything. While I would not go through the physical training, the thirds of a watch I would put in, expected to be everywhere at once, would tax my strength, even if I were fully recovered. As it was, I had progressed to a point where I could stand on my feet for perhaps a third of a watch at a time before I had to rest, while the periods of time I spent recovering were growing shorter, but I still had a long way to go. As we ate, the talk naturally turned towards politics, which I listened to with some interest, though I had nothing to contribute. The main topic was Cicero’s tract about Cato, which Caesar was still angry about, and he announced plans to write an “Anti-Cato” in response to Cicero.
“Cicero is an old woman,” Pollio opined, a sentiment I agreed with, but I was surprised to see Caesar shake his head.
“Cicero is a brilliant orator and legal mind, but he's an insufferable snob, and it’s his snobbery that blinds him to what needs to be done,” Caesar said as he unenthusiastically dabbed some bread in oil. It had always surprised me to see how little Caesar ate, for all his energy. Shrugging, he continued, “Besides that, he's still angry with me over my actions in the Catiline affair. He feels that I should have backed him in that awful mess, but he overstepped his authority, and I had no choice.”
“At least he refuses to sit in the Senate. That’s a good thing,” Pollio said.
Before Caesar could answer, I saw Octavian shaking his head out of the corner of my eye, and so did Caesar.
Instead of answering Pollio himself, Caesar turned to Octavian. “I see that my nephew doesn't agree with this assessment, and I'd like to hear his reasons why he believes as he does.”
We looked at Octavian, who had turned bright red, but his voice was steady and cool as he spoke. “There are many in Rome that say Uncle wants to make himself king, or at the very least he's a tyrant who intends on absolute rule. Because of that, I believe he needs men of distinction like Cicero in the Senate who are known to oppose him and not be one of his creatures. That's the best way to quell talk about any aspirations he may have about being king.” He swallowed, looking at the rest of us through lowered lashes, and finished, “That's my opinion, anyway.”
I looked over at Caesar, who was positively beaming as he looked at his nephew in approval.
Slapping his hand on the table, he exclaimed, “My nephew has it exactly right! As much as I may dislike Cicero’s actions, I need him in the Senate, along with other men like him who aren't afraid to voice their dissent. I have no need to be king; being Caesar is enough.”
While I saw the sense in what Octavian and Caesar were saying, I cannot say that I agreed. I suppose I was too accustomed to the ways of the Legions to think that having someone constantly carping and criticizing your every action could be good in any way, but I was not about to venture my own opinion. The conversation moved to other matters, notably Caesar’s plans for some of the reforms he had determined must be accomplished if Rome were to survive. I very quickly found my attention wandering, so I have little recollection of what was said. While I was only faintly interested in politics, the one part of it that intrigued me at all was the human aspect, the relationships, and alliances that were forged as a result of political expediency. Matters of policy; how land was to be granted, how much a citizen should be taxed, rules for voting and the like were completely boring to me, so I contented myself with appearing to be interested while I gorged myself on the roast pork and beef as the others chattered away.
Finally, having solved all of Rome’s problems, Caesar turned his attention back to me. “Well, Pullus. Octavian and I are leaving in the morning. While I want you to devote all of your energies to getting the 10th trained up to the standard I expect, you must also take care of yourself until you're fully recovered. Agreed?”
I did not see how it was possible to do both things, but I also knew when Caesar was not looking for an honest answer, and this was one of those times, so I agreed.
Continuing, Caesar said, “I expect that it should take about four months to get the Legion trained to a point where you can be ready to march to Rome. I plan on leaving for Parthia shortly after the Ides of March so I need the 10th to be fully provisioned and ready to leave with me. You'll need to arrive in Rome no later than the beginning of March. I know I can count on you.”
“Yes, Caesar. We'll be there, ready to march. We may not be quite ready to fight, but we will be by the time we face the Parthians, I promise you that.”
Caesar smiled, turning to Octavian. “The key to success in the field, Nephew, is to find men like Pullus and let them do their jobs. The minute I laid eyes on him when he was all of 16, I knew that he was going to be one of the best Rome had to offer.”
He turned back to me, his smile even broader, as I felt my heart hammering in my chest.