Just as he turned to walk away, we exchanged a look and once again, he nodded to me, then scurried away, following his men. I turned back to Scribonius, who was clearly angry with me, and I sighed, walking over to him.
Before I could say a word, he said, angry as I had ever seen him, “Forgive me, Pilus Prior, but I had the situation under control. Your intervention wasn't needed. . nor was it wanted.”
While I knew that he would not be happy that I had stepped in, I was a bit surprised at his last words, despite knowing now that I should not have been. I struggled to keep from making a sharp retort, both because I did not want to quarrel in front of the men, but also because I truly valued Scribonius as a friend. In a number of ways, he had supplanted Vibius as my dearest friend; because of his rank, I could be more open with him than Vibius, and I had always admired his quiet intelligence and dry wit.
Vibius would always have a special place in my heart and esteem, yet Scribonius was as valued to me in his own way, so I bit back the sharp reply that came to mind, saying with what I hoped was the right tone of patience and good humor, “Oh, why’s that, Scribonius? I can understand why you think you had the situation under control, but at least now I’m the bad one, not you.”
He shook his head impatiently, and responded, “Nobody had to be the bad one, Titus. I was just about to point out to the Optio that the provosts had marked this for us, but you couldn’t wait.”
I shook my head, biting back my irritation. “From where I was standing, he didn’t look disposed to reason, Scribonius.”
“How would you know?” he shot back. “You didn’t give me a chance to talk.”
I sighed. He was right, but I was equally sure that he would not have been able to stop Vetruvius, yet I did not want to say that outright.
Instead, I simply replied, “I didn’t want things to get out of hand, Scribonius. I’m sure that you could have handled the situation, but when I showed up, it looked like the men were ready to throw themselves at each other.”
Not deterred by this response in the least, Scribonius retorted, “Well, we’ll never know now, will we? I still think I had things in hand when you showed up.”
I put my hands out, “Pax, Scribonius. It wasn’t my intent to undermine you in front of your men. I was just worried and didn’t want things to get out of hand.”
He pursed his lips, then nodded. “Very well, Titus. I understand what you were doing.”
He turned to watch his men swarming over the row of houses on the opposite side of the street, whooping and hollering and acting like it was their birthday, and I let the matter drop as we both stood there while the men of the Legions sacked the city.
~ ~ ~ ~
Quite understandably, they were less than enthusiastic when roused the next morning, the chorus of groans and curses clearly heard all across the camp, the Centurions and Optios doing their own share of cursing as they kicked and poked the men into life, the rhythm of the army reasserting itself. We were ordered to make ready to march, Caesar thankfully ignoring the fact that it took us a bit longer than normal before we were formed up and ready to start. Continuing our march south, we reached the next city, Metropolis, two days after the sack of Gomphi. Unlike Gomphi, however, Caesar deemed that he had made his point and gave strict orders that Metropolis was to be spared the same fate. It still took some persuasion by Caesar to convince the citizens of Metropolis to open their gates to us, but he was true to his word and no harm was done to the citizens or the city. We stayed at Metropolis for just a couple of days before marching east towards the vast plain of Thessaly, where fields of ripening wheat awaited our sickles. The army was now marching with a light spirit, knowing that soon our hunger would be over, and it was in this mood we came to a spot along the Enipeus (Enipeas) River, about six miles to the north of the town of Pharsalus.
~ ~ ~ ~
Our scouts alerted us that Pompey was coming, so that our chance at harvesting what little wheat had already ripened was limited. It also meant that our attempt to crush Scipio’s army alone before linking up with Pompey failed. As Pompey approached, he met up with Scipio at Larisa and their combined forces continued south until their scouts came in sight of our camp. My Cohort had the watch when one of my men sounded the alarm, pointing out the thin trail of dust rising in the sky to our north to Vibius, who happened to be on the rampart at that moment. Vibius came running to me to report what the sentry saw. While I trusted not only Vibius and the Gregarius who sounded the alarm implicitly, I knew Caesar well enough to know that the question would come up if I had seen this sign of the approaching enemy myself, having learned his lesson from the affair with Considius against the Helvetii years before. Consequently, I followed Vibius to where the Gregarius was standing, pointing with his javelin in the manner we were trained. My eyes followed the length of the shaft to the point, seeing for myself the first signs of Pompey approaching, before hurrying off to the Praetorium to make my report. Striding along, my mind raced with all the things that needed to be done to make the Cohort ready for battle, because despite no such orders being passed, I was convinced that this time we would not be running. We were going to fight Pompey here and now, I was sure of it. The view of Pompey’s army was blocked by the range of low hills to the north, but I had seen enough to tell me that this was his whole army; nothing other than that would make a dust cloud of the size I had witnessed from the ramparts. Giving my report to the duty Tribune, who deemed it important enough to disturb Caesar at whatever he was doing, I quickly found myself hurrying with my general back to the ramparts so that he could see for himself. Even though I had been in Caesar’s presence hundreds of times by this point, it was still hard not to feel a little nervous, because I never really knew what to say to him outside of my official duties. Fortunately, Caesar was never at a loss for words and usually would initiate conversations on topics that I could easily follow along with, without feeling like I was stepping over some line between us.
“So Pullus,” Caesar spoke in a conversational tone, but I still felt a thrill of fear shoot up my backbone, “what do you think? Is it time that we get this over with?”
I considered the question carefully; unlike most men of his station, I knew that when Caesar asked a question of this nature, he was actually soliciting opinions and not just making conversation.
“Well, General,” I said carefully, “the question is what do we benefit by delaying and going on the march again?” Before he could answer, I continued, “And while you know we in the 10th will follow you wherever you take us, Caesar, we're getting tired of breaking down camp and marching. So I say let’s face Pompey here and now. Let’s end this once and for all.”
He nodded, but did not say anything. Instead, he turned to favor me with a smile and I marveled that even now, after all these years, my heart still leapt at the sight. Mounting the steps to the parapet, where Vibius had been joined by Celer and Crispus, we surrounded the poor Gregarius who originally sighted the army. I managed to suppress a smile at his expression; I knew that he would rather have been cleaning out latrines than to be standing in front of Caesar at this moment.
“Are you the Gregarius who raised the alarm?” Caesar asked, and even from where I stood, I could see the man’s throat working as he tried not to stammer.
“Yes, sir.”
“Good job. Who’s your Centurion?”
“Scribonius, sir.”
Caesar turned to Scribonius, saying loudly so that all the men nearby could hear. “Your man is to be commended, Scribonius. Make sure that he has a ration of unwatered wine tonight as my thanks.”
This elicited a cheer and the sentry beamed with happiness at the thought of the wine, probably thinking how much food he could get with it in barter, since this was one of those few times when bread was more important than wine. Meanwhile, Caesar stared thoughtfully at the dust plume; in the time it took me to go get Caesar, the vanguard of Pompey’s army had crested the hill, and we watched them spilling down the slope in a glittering display of winking silver and red. Caesar said nothing for several moments as he watched, then abruptly turned and descended the ladder to the ground, striding back to the Praetorium with a string of aides in his wake. Caesar waited until he was out of earshot before he turned to one of his scribes and began dictating orders, but I was reasonably sure that we were not going to be going anywhere, that we were going to fight.