“We're going to hold the men until the last possible moment,” I announced.
Nobody said anything at first, yet their faces wore puzzled expressions. At least, all of their faces save one. I looked at Cornuficius, who regarded me steadily, his eyes revealing nothing but I saw a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. Deciding to confront whatever he had in mind head on, I called on him.
“Cornuficius? Do you have any thoughts on what I just said?”
“Thoughts?” An eyebrow lifted, and I realized that he was considering the question, trying to find some angle that I might be taking of which he had not thought. Finally, he continued, “I don't know that I'd call them thoughts, Primus Pilus. But I think I know why you're doing it.”
“Very well. Tell me and I'll let you know if you're right or wrong.”
He shrugged, then nodded. As he spoke, he took great pains not to look at me, preferring instead to examine his fingernails, which I could not help noticing were caked with dirt. Well, I thought, we are under water rationing.
“I think you want to keep our men separated from those. . boys of the 28th who are causing all this commotion, given what's taken place between our two Legions in the recent past. I think that your reasoning is that if we get there early, and spend any time waiting for Caesar to appear, that every moment that goes by increases the likelihood that someone will say something that sparks a riot.”
Now he looked at me, his smile clearly evident. You smug bastard, I thought, but I tried to make sure my thoughts were not visible on my face.
“Absolutely correct, Cornuficius. That is my thinking precisely. So, to that end we're going to hold the men on the opposite side of the theater. I've arranged for Apollonius to let my slave know when Caesar departs his quarters, and only then will we march in. Does everyone understand?”
Heads nodded, and I was pleased to see the looks of relief on most of the men. Clearly, they were worried about the same thing as I, taking this as a good sign. Forming the men up as planned, we waited for Diocles to come running to give us the word. Just a short time later, I saw his slight figure running around the corner to give me the signal. I called the men to intente. we marched into the theater, where the men of the 28th were standing, and even over the tramping of feet, I heard their mumbling. While I could not hear what was being said, the tone was clearly ugly, and I was struck by a feeling that I have had before and since, of reliving a moment in my past once again, this particular feeling like that day on the plains of Pharsalus all over again. With the noise from our boots subsiding as the men halted, a voice carried from the ranks of the 28th.
“About fucking time they showed up. I guess they think they’re too good for us.”
Before any of the Centurions could say a word, there emanated from the entire 6th a low, guttural growl, the men too disciplined to speak out, still managing to convey their contempt for their comrades across the floor. That growl was more effective in shutting up the 28th than any threat from a Centurion or Optio and I smiled broadly, though my back was turned to the men so they could not see it. Fortunately, Caesar arrived at that moment and we were called to intente as he mounted the stage. Standing there for a moment, looking down at us, it suddenly made me feel old. How many times, I wondered, had I been standing here, looking up at Caesar? The only thing that had changed was my vantage point, since I had started out in the rear ranks. Now I was standing in front, all by myself. But it was always up at Caesar that I was looking, and the question that crossed my mind was, how much more of my life would be spent in this fashion? While I held little doubt that I would be standing here looking up at some general, what intrigued me was the question of whether or not it would ever be anyone other than Caesar. And after Caesar, if there was an after Caesar, would I ever find any general worthy of following again? These were the thoughts crowding through my mind as we waited on the great man to speak.
“Comrades,” he began in his customary style, “I have been told by my officers that some of you are discontented. Never let it be said that Caesar does not care for his men, nor listen to their complaints. That's why I am standing here. What do you have to say to me?”
To the men who had been complaining the loudest, that was like a bucket of ice water thrown directly into their face and I fought back the urge to laugh. They were being called out in front of their comrades, and being told to make their complaints public. That is a very daunting task, especially if you are a spineless, gutless cunnus to begin with.
For several moments, nothing was said, then Caesar spoke again, “Very well. I have given you the opportunity to speak, but now it seems that nobody has anything to say. Then if there is nothing more, we must return to our duties.”
He turned as if to go, causing a panicked buzz in the ranks of the 28th, men whispering fiercely to the man next to them, each of them demanding that the man they were whispering to speak up.
“Why do you refuse to leave this place?”
I do not know who said it, but immediately there was a roar of agreement from the men of the 28th. I turned to look at the ranks of my men, pleased to see that they were standing silently, looking over at the 28th in open contempt.
“We do not leave for a number of reasons,” Caesar replied, his hand raised for quiet, “not least of which is that I have never yielded the field to an enemy yet.”
Now, that was not exactly true; I vividly recall moving away from Gergovia and Dyrrhachium, but as disgruntled as the men may have been, none of them were crazy enough to bring that up to Caesar, so his statement went unchallenged.
“More importantly, however, is the fact that we can't leave this province in the hands of forces that are hostile to us. Rome relies on the grain grown here; without it, our people, your families and friends would starve. Until we can secure that supply of grain, leaving is not an option. And the only way to secure the supply is to defeat the Egyptians.”
They did not care for this, and in the muttering that followed, I heard the name Cleopatra several times.
Then another voice called out, “That’s all well and good, Caesar. But how are we supposed to defeat the enemy when we have no water?”
This challenge was met by another roar of agreement, continuing unabated for several moments as men added their own cries of despair to the hue. Caesar stood there, seemingly impervious to the things that were being called out, his face completely expressionless. After a moment, he held both hands up, and finally the men, now little more than a mob, settled down enough so that he could speak. I had looked back again at my men, and while they still had not made any sound, I could see that they were as interested to hear what Caesar had to say next about the water as the rabbits in the 28th.
“So your major concern is the lack of water?”
The men all cried out that this was so, then Caesar held his hands up again.
“If I provide the means to end this problem, so that water isn't a concern, are you willing to stay and fight without further complaint?’
Oh, he had them boxed now, and the quicker ones among them knew it immediately. There were whispered conferences as men argued among themselves. After a couple of moments, the buzzing subsided, followed by a period where nobody spoke. Finally, some men began to mumble their assent, but a blind man could tell that they were not happy about it.
But Caesar was not going to quibble about the quality of their agreement, and he spoke again, “I have your agreement then? Good. Then that is all.”