For several moments, nothing was said before Scribonius finally broke the silence. “So what happens next?”
I sat and thought, then shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Scribonius. I just hope that Caesar relents on the decimation, because I really don’t know what’ll happen if he tries to go through with it.”
“I do,” Scribonius said glumly. “We’ll have a revolt of the whole army, sure as I’m sitting here.”
I knew he was right, yet for some reason I still had trouble fully believing it. It was like it was too big a thing for my mind to get around, and it was not a feeling with which I was comfortable. I have always been accused of thinking too much, and there had been other moments like this when my train of thought took me places that seemed to overwhelm my mind, but never before had it encompassed something so terrible but so real. Hence we sat there, listening to the sounds of the camp, our ears alert for the first sign of trouble, except it was deathly quiet, more quiet than I had ever heard before. Men were gathered about their fires like they normally did, yet their conversations were held in little more than whispers as they talked about the events of the day. The provosts were patrolling in force, making sure that Caesar’s orders were followed to the letter. Normally this task would fall to the Centurions and Optios, but after so many of us had sided with the men, Caesar was not willing to trust us with the job. Instead we sat, Scribonius and I, drinking the some of my Falernian, wondering what the next day would bring.
~ ~ ~ ~
Morning dawned with Scribonius and I sitting in much the same spots we had occupied when we first entered my tent, and despite the wine we consumed, neither of us had felt the effects, neither drunkenness nor hangover. I suppose we were too consumed with what was happening around us for it to have its normal power over us. The camp had remained quiet all night, and that morning when the bucina sounded the morning assembly, we did not know what to expect when we emerged from the tent. Still, the men assembled readily enough, sullenly silent, but they stood there, waiting for Caesar’s final decision. I refused even to look at Vibius, taking my place in the formation without so much as a glance in his direction, hoping that my face did not betray the tightening knot in my stomach. We stood in formation for almost a third of a watch, and while this normally would have brought about a spate of fidgeting and mumbling in the ranks that the officers would have to stop with threats or worse, this day there was not a whisper. Finally, Caesar appeared from the direction of the Praetorium, followed by his entire command staff. Looking neither left nor right, he strode to the rostra at the front of the forum and mounted it. There he stood, his body motionless, only his head turning to scan the army assembled before him, not saying a word. As much as I usually admired Caesar’s flair for the theatrical, I wished this time that he had simply gotten to the point and announced his decision. I still wonder if he truly understood just how much peril his command of the army was in at that moment, or if it was something beyond his comprehension. Given the way his life ended, I cannot help thinking that ultimately this was Caesar’s fatal weakness, his inability to see the world through anything other than his own eyes. Finally, he spoke, and I was immediately struck by how hoarse his voice sounded, not its usual clear, carrying tone, and I wondered how much yelling must have taken place in his quarters the night before.
“After thinking it over, I have decided that I will not have the punishment carried out that I ordered yesterday, despite the fact that I am within my rights under Roman military law and custom to do so.”
There was a great whoosh of air as thousands of lungs expelled the breath they were holding, and I felt my knees sag in relief.
Ignoring our obvious display, Caesar continued, his voice cold and formal. “I, however, will continue my pursuit of Pompey with troops that I can rely on. I hereby command the army to be dismissed from the current campaign, and it will return to Italy under the command of Marcus Antonius.” This elicited a buzzing of comment from the ranks, which Caesar ignored, finishing with, “Only after I have completely defeated Pompey will I address the issues of your discharges and your bonuses that you have raised. That is all.”
And without another word, he turned to stalk off the rostra, leaving a relieved but bemused army behind him. If he was sending the whole army back, who exactly was he going to be marching with? I was thinking about this as I turned to begin the necessary work to make ready to march when I heard my name called. Turning, my heart skipped a beat seeing that the person calling me was none other than one of Caesar’s private secretaries, although I do not remember his name. Standing next to him was Marcus Antonius, his face registering no emotion whatsoever, no hint of what was on his, or by extension, Caesar’s mind.
“Pilus Prior Pullus,” Antonius called to me, “Caesar requires your presence in the Praetorium immediately.”
This cannot be good, I thought, hurrying over to the headquarters tent, and I barely heard the secretary calling out another man’s name as I made my way to meet Caesar.
~ ~ ~ ~
Entering the tent, I gave my name to the junior Tribune who acted as the watchdog to Caesar’s private office, waiting for only a few heartbeats before he returned and with a curt nod, indicated that I should enter. This only increased my anxiety, because it was normal to keep us waiting for a few moments just, I suspected, to remind us of our places. Entering the office, I marched over to Caesar, who was standing over a table looking at a map, and saluted. For a moment, Caesar continued his study of the map before looking up and returning the salute.
“Salve, Titus Pullus.”
Before I could return the greeting, he turned and said loudly enough for all to hear. “Gentlemen, I need to talk to Pilus Prior Pullus alone. Please give us this room. I'll send for you when we're through talking.”
One could have heard a gnat fart in the thunderstruck silence that filled the room, I suppose because it was currently full of all the fine young men, not to mention the likes of Antonius, Sulla, and the rest of the Legates. Still, not even men as high-ranking as they were wanted to draw Caesar’s wrath at this time, so they filed out, not without some of them shooting poisonous glances at me over their shoulders. Once the room cleared and it was just Caesar and I, it made me realize that this was the first time I had ever been alone with my general, which did not help my stomach any. Since there was no way I was going to break the silence, I waited for Caesar to speak, and it seemed like he had the same thought because we stood there saying nothing for a moment before he finally laughed, but it was not a happy sound.
“Interesting day, neh, Pullus?”
I could not help laughing myself, but I was careful in my reply. “That’s certainly one way to put it, Caesar.”
Pursing his lips, he seemed to be thinking about the best way to begin. Finally, “What happened with the 10th has. . disturbed me, to say the least. Of all my Legions, I didn't think that the 10th would turn on me.”
I might have imagined it, but I thought I detected a tone that indicated that he was hurt by what had happened and not just surprised or angered.
Be careful, Titus, I thought as I answered him. “I can’t say that I was surprised when it actually happened, Caesar.”
He looked at me sharply, his lips turning into a thin white line as he clearly tried to suppress his anger. “What do you mean, Pullus? Why weren’t you surprised?”
My heart started hammering in my chest, and I was as thoroughly scared as I had ever been. Although Caesar did not have a reputation of taking his anger out on his subordinates, neither had he been in this position before, and I had said something that angered him, perhaps leading him to believe that I had not alerted him to the danger.