My master has made no secret in his narrative that his primary goal when he decided to join the Legions and make the army his career was to better himself and his descendants, but such ambition must never be spoken of openly in Roman society when one is of the lower classes. It is funny; even after almost an entire life spent in one of the pillars of Roman society in the army, I still view myself as an outsider, looking in on the workings of the society and culture that I believe will enter the annals of history as the greatest of all time. I say this with some pain; I am a Greek by birth, and slave or not, I am as proud of my heritage as any Roman citizen, but while the Romans may lack culture and refinement, they make up for that lack in many other qualities, not all of them martial. What has made the Romans great is not in their ability to just conquer, but in to hold what they have conquered by offering the subdued both tangible and intangible benefits that far surpass the benefits that the conquered society offered its citizens before Rome showed up. And one of the things that Rome offers is the ability to improve one’s circumstances. But make no mistake, it is rigidly controlled and is not an easy course to pursue. Equal to the suspicion of the lower ranks when a man displays too much interest in literacy (and I shudder when I say that to Romans there is such a thing as too much) is both the suspicion and the resistance to such a man from the upper ranks of Roman society. While the lower ranks and their attitude towards a man bettering himself is a barrier, the resistance of the patrician class to such a man can be downright dangerous, and not just to a man’s status, but to his life. The countryside of the Republic is littered with the bones of men who some patrician deemed to be getting above himself. So I understand and at the time, I approved of my master’s reluctance to display his literacy to anyone other than those few he trusted completely, but those days are long past. His status is secure here towards the end of his life and career, so I am somewhat puzzled why even in this account of his life he is reluctant to speak of this aspect of his character. Perhaps it is as he has said himself; old habits die hard. So that is what I saw in the eyes of Titus Pullus on that day those many years ago. In that moment, our fates intertwined, and I have enjoyed the experience immensely.)
~ ~ ~ ~
I was called to the villa of a Roman citizen living in Pergamum, a merchant I believe, where Caesar made his headquarters. I was ushered in immediately and I saw that Caesar was amidst his usual whirlwind of activity, dictating to a number of different scribes on a number of different topics. Waving me closer, he stopped his dictation, whereupon almost every one of his clerks immediately went scurrying off to either relieve themselves or get something to eat. Service with Caesar at any level or function was not easy, but I believe that his clerks had the absolute worst of it.
Looking at me, Caesar grinned. “How’s Publius?”
I know I should not have been surprised, but I was, which I think was half the reason Caesar said such things, just to keep people around him off balance.
“He’s almost recovered, Caesar.”
“Good.” As quickly as it came, his smile disappeared, and he looked at me coldly. “Because if he had died, I would have had no choice but to have you executed.”
I was determined that he would not keep me off balance, so I merely replied, “I know. But he’s not dead and will make a full recovery.”
He gave me a speculative look. “Pullus, while I understand what you did, I must ask if there wasn't some less. . dramatic and violent a demonstration that you could have made?”
In truth, I had never thought about it, but when he said it, I realized that I probably could have done something else, and I felt a sense of shame wash over me. Damn the man, I thought! Can he always find something to make me feel like I am inadequate for the job he has given me? But I had undergone more exposure to Caesar in the last few weeks than I had experienced in my whole time in the army previously. What I learned during that time was that he was always testing the people around him, that every exchange with him held more meaning than met the eye, and I was determined that I would not be flustered by his questioning.
So I just shrugged. “Perhaps, Caesar, but rankers aren’t as appreciative of subtlety as other types of people. I could have tried something else, I suppose, but I’m fairly certain that it would have been as successful as trying to teach a pig how to speak our tongue.”
He threw back his head and laughed, and I was pleased with myself for amusing him.
“Well put, Pullus. Well put. And I take your point.” That done, he became all business. “The reason I called you is to tell you to prepare the men. We're leaving.”
“Where to, Caesar?”
“Alexandria. I've received reliable reports that Pompey has decided to head there with the goal of trying to convince their young king that his cause isn't doomed. I want to get there as quickly as possible and end this nonsense once and for all.”
Although that sounded good to me, I had my doubts about whether it would in fact end, and obviously, the reservation showed, because Caesar read my face and gave a sigh.
“You have your doubts, neh, Pullus?”
I nodded. “Yes, Caesar, I have my doubts.”
Crossing his arms, he sat on a table, regarding me steadily, then asked, “And why is that?”
“Cato.”
I am not sure what reaction I expected, but he pursed his lips and considered me with narrowed eyes. “And why do you fear Cato?”
Before I could stop myself, I retorted, “I don’t fear Cato, Caesar. There’s not a man born that I fear, and I certainly don’t fear a. .”
I stopped myself before I made what could have been a huge error. No matter what Caesar may have thought of Cato, Cato was of his own class and the upper classes of Rome are incredibly touchy about any slurs or even criticism leveled at men of their own station, particularly by one as lowly born as me, Centurion or not. But I need not have worried, for Caesar finished for me.
“You don't fear a. . prick like Cato?” His eyebrow arched as he asked, and I laughed.
“Actually I was going to call him a ‘cunnus,’ Caesar. But ‘prick’ will do just fine.”
“So why do you think Cato poses a threat?”
It was then that I explained to Caesar the longstanding argument between me and Vibius about Cato, how I had sat by more fires than I could count as Vibius recounted all that he thought Cato represented. He said nothing as I relived our endless arguments, but finally held up his hand.
“Pullus, as much as I appreciate hearing about Domitius’ feelings about Cato, it still doesn't answer the question.”
I felt the heat rising through my neck to my face, mainly because I realized he was right. I was not touching on the heart of the matter.
Thinking for a moment, I finally said, “I worry about Cato because he hates you, and is fanatical in that hatred. I think the reason he hates you so much is because you represent change, and despite all of Cato’s talk about preserving traditions, at his heart, he’s just a small man who hates change. And small men hate great men with a passion that never dies.” I finished by saying, “Pompey may not agree with you, but he doesn’t hate you. Cato does, and he’ll never stop. And he has three Legions.”