Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 27
“You are welcome in our house, Titus Pullus, and we apologize for the quality of the wine and refreshments, but we are not wealthy people.”
“I’m sure it's much better than I'm used to in camp,” I replied, then turned to give Miriam’s sister what I hoped was my most winning smile. “Thank your sister and ask her to accept my apology for my imposing on her like this.”
Miriam translated, her sister giving a grunt and nodding before she turned back to her cooking. I took a sip of the wine, which almost gagged me because it was in fact not even close to the quality of what I was accustomed to in camp, yet I smiled, making a sound that I hoped indicated how delicious it was. Evidently my face betrayed me, because Miriam burst out laughing, causing her sister to turn around in curiosity.
“Not quite what you’re used to?”
Seeing that there was no point in lying, I laughed back. “Not in camp. Maybe when we’ve been marching for a month or two.”
Miriam’s sister said something, causing them both to laugh.
“She says that you Romans are spoiled.”
“We are used to living well when we can,” I conceded, smiling to show that I had taken no offense. “But we can endure much hardship when we have to.”
“Is that why you have conquered most of the world?”
There was no mistaking the tinge of bitterness in Miriam’s voice, but I chose to ignore it, taking the question seriously.
“That’s part of it. I think that it’s a combination of things really. We’re better organized, better trained, and better equipped than most of our enemies. That was certainly the case in Gaul. The Gauls are very brave individually, and they fight like demons, yet we never lost to them.”
“What about Gergovia?” she asked quickly. I could not hide my surprise, and she laughed. “We may be on the other side of the world, but that does not mean we do not hear things, especially when Rome loses.”
“That was a setback, not a defeat,” I snapped, speaking more sharply than I intended, her face coloring as she immediately dropped her eyes, looking in her lap.
“I’m sorry, Titus Pullus, I did not mean to offend you,” she murmured.
I could see her sister glaring at me out of the corner of my eye, and I felt horrible. I awkwardly reached out to pat her on the hand.
“No, I'm the one who should apologize. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly.” I took a deep breath. “Especially when what you say is true. We were defeated at Gergovia. I should know, I was there and I saw what happened. All I'll say in our defense is that Caesar, with the help of the 10th, made sure that it wasn’t a decisive defeat.”
“So you said that was only part of it,” Miriam said as I took a sip from my cup, still trying to keep from gagging. “What else?”
“We’ve been fighting a long time, against a lot of different enemies. We have more experience than most armies we face.” I thought of something else. “And we learn from our mistakes, and we'll adopt things that work that our enemies use.” I pointed to my sword as an example. “Like this short sword. It was used by the Lusitani in Hispania, which is where I'm from,” I said proudly. “But for fighting the way we fight, there's no better weapon in the world, which is why we adopted it.”
“What have you learned from the Parthians?” she asked, picking at a loaf of dark flat bread that her sister had set on the table next to the bowl of olives.
“That cataphracts can’t beat us,” I said instantly. “And that slingers will beat their horse archers off before they can do any real damage.”
“Why do strong countries like to take advantage of weak ones?” Miriam asked sadly, gazing down at the table.
For a moment, I was not sure that she was expecting an answer. Then she looked up at me, and I saw a glimmer of tears in her eyes as I fumbled for an answer that would not make her more upset.
Finally, I said the only thing I could think of.
“Because they can, and because that's man’s nature, to take what he can. Besides,” I tried to find some sort of bright spot, “who would you rather be ruled by, Parthia or Rome?”
“I would rather that we were ruled by neither, that we would be allowed to decide what is best for ourselves,” she answered, looking at me steadily as she spoke.
“That isn’t likely to happen,” I said as gently as I could, but I wanted to make sure that there was no doubt that what I was saying was true. “And at least with Rome you’re allowed to worship your own gods, in your own way and run your lives and businesses the way you see fit, for the most part. All we expect is that you pay taxes and not try to kill each other all the time.”
She laughed.
“We’ve been killing each other since long before Rome arrived and I suspect we will continue long after Rome is gone.”
“Rome will never be gone.” I was adamant about this, and I still am.
Rome will live forever, as long as there is light in the world, since it is Rome that provides that light. It has been deemed by the gods that it should be so.
“Perhaps,” she said, but there was no mistaking the doubt in her voice. I let it pass.
We talked a bit more, then Miriam’s sister said something. Miriam stood up.
“I am sorry, Titus Pullus, but my sister is right. Her husband will be home soon, and she thinks it would be best if you were gone. He has no love for Romans, and seeing one in his house could cause trouble.”
I was about to make a retort that there was no trouble some laborer could start that I could not finish, but I realized that it would be rude and would ruin whatever chances I had of seeing Miriam again, so I agreed and got up to leave. Thanking her sister, I walked with Miriam outside and down into the street. Standing there, I saw that it was getting dark, yet I did not want to leave, and she seemed reluctant to see me go as well.
“When can I see you again?” I blurted out, causing her to blush, but she was quick to answer.
“I will be in the market tomorrow. I help out my brother-in-law a few days a week. He is a butcher and I handle the sales while he does the work.”
This was not what I had in mind. However, while there were similarities between Gisela and Miriam, there were some major differences, mainly in their respective customs. Gallic women have much more freedom than the women in this part of the world, which extends to their interaction with men who are not related to them, and I had no wish to get Miriam in trouble. The fact that she was a widow and had no surviving male relative gave her a bit more liberty than her counterparts, but she still had to be more circumspect. Thus began what I suppose was a courtship over the next month as I found myself visiting the market on an almost daily basis, duties permitting. Fortunately for my romantic life, our garrison duties were very light, helped by the fact that the men were sufficiently experienced that they did not require as much supervision, which the Centurions took care of in any case. My Optio Mallius was a Centurion in everything but name, since the duties of the Primus Pilus in running the Legion means that he is in charge much of the time. Miriam’s sister Naomi began to warm to me a bit, signaled by an invitation to dinner, which I accepted on the condition that I supplied the wine, which had become something of a standing joke between the three of us. I will say that it was a bit tense at first, as I met Hashem, Naomi’s husband, still wearing his bloody apron from his day of slaughtering animals. Nonetheless, he was polite enough, and before long, we had found common ground discussing the games that had recently taken place. Hashem was a huge fan of the gladiatorial games, and through Miriam, I told him of some of the contests I had seen while in Rome featuring some of the famous gladiators like Lucan the Thracian and Felix, who had won his freedom by not only surviving but winning the required number of bouts. In reality, these were good, simple people, in most ways like the people I had grown up with and could not wait to get away from because I found them boring when I was young. Now I found that I enjoyed spending time with them, and I believe they felt the same about my company, once they got past the fact that I was one of their conquerors. They enjoyed some of my scandalous stories of the Roman upper classes, although I cleaned them up a bit, and I had them roaring with laughter as I talked about the antics of some of the Legionaries I had known over the years. One memorable night, Hashem and I drank more than we should have. Despite the language barrier, we had a great time, slapping each other on the back in appreciation of some witty thing the other said, then ending up thrashing around on the floor wrestling while the two women sat rolling their eyes at each other and at us. I cannot say that this was entirely spontaneous on my part; I had determined that the best tactic to win Miriam was to win her family first and it was one of my more successful ploys, for when the time was right, I invited Miriam to dine alone with me in camp and neither Hashem or Naomi put up much of an argument. I like to believe that both of them were pleased to see Miriam so happy, because she clearly was, laughing more and more with each meeting. When she would see me coming in the market, if I were meeting her there, her face would light up, causing my heart to skip a beat. While her only display of affection was squeezing my hand, I could tell that she was truly happy to see me. Meanwhile, I found that I was smiling more than was normal for me.
So much so in fact that more than once I caught Scribonius, Balbus, Cyclops, and a number of the other Centurions eying me with either suspicion or open curiosity. The night she came with me back to camp was a night that the 10th had the guard duty, so I made sure that Cyclops was the duty Centurion. When I told him why, he gave a smile of genuine pleasure, promising me that the men would be on their absolute best behavior. I knew all too well how men will leer at the women that Centurions brought into camp, as we are the only rankers officially allowed to have female guests in winter camp, whereas the lower ranks had to go outside the ramparts for their assignations. Miriam was clearly nervous, chattering more than was usual for her, clutching to my arm tightly, but she showed no sign of wanting to turn back. Once we entered camp, walking past the stone-faced Legionaries on post who gave me their best parade-ground salute, I could see that she was impressed. In fact, there seemed to be more of my men out in the Legion streets than normal, every one of them stopping to come to intente, whipping out a salute and a crisp greeting. I could not help noticing that they were all turned out in their best uniforms, and I reminded myself to have a talk with Cyclops.
“You are very important, aren’t you?” she asked me.
“Well, I am the highest-ranking Legionary in the 10th Legion,” was all I would say about it, though I was secretly very pleased that she had noticed.
“Did you have your men do this to impress me?” she teased and I felt my face go hot.
“No,” I protested. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Then one of your Centurion friends then,” she guessed, as my silence confirmed it. “They must think very highly of you to make your men get all dressed up,” she said.
I was about to point out that Legionaries did not “dress up,” but bit my tongue.
“Well, they certainly are afraid of me,” I said lightly, but she shook her head.
“This wasn’t done out of fear, Titus Pullus.” She always insisted on using both my names, even when we were alone.
I said no more about it, as we had arrived at my quarters, where Diocles had been alerted by a runner and was standing outside in a fresh white tunic. Making the introductions, I believe that this was the first time that I was careful not to refer to Diocles as my slave, remembering how Gisela had felt about the subject, though Diocles showed no surprise. Ushering us through the door, Diocles led us through the front office into my private quarters, while I tried not to show my shock at the transformation of my space. In it, Diocles had placed a dining couch, with a low table in front of it on which were bowls of olives, onions, and a number of delicacies that had to have been hard to find.
Recovering, I gestured to the couch, saying, “I thought we would eat in the manner of the Roman upper classes, on a couch.”
Miriam looked puzzled as she tried to determine how it worked, making me laugh.
“We eat lying on our stomachs,” I told her.
She shot me a suspicious glance, sure that I was fooling her.
“It’s true,” I insisted as I had Diocles lead her to the place of honor, where he gently guided her into the proper position.
Once she got comfortable, I joined her, making sure that I was a respectful distance away and we were not touching, for which she gave me a grateful smile. We began the meal, and before long her nervousness disappeared as she experienced new tastes, finding she liked them for the most part. I had made sure that Diocles spared no expense in this dinner, so I had not eaten this well in some time. As we ate, I told her of the banquet with Cleopatra, which she listened to with wide-eyed wonder as I described the golden plates, how the peacocks were cooked before having their feathers reattached. She laughed at my experience with crocodile eggs and the sight of the tails hanging from men’s mouths as they slurped them up. Before much time had passed, she wriggled closer to me as I fed her bits of fowl smeared with garum with my fingers, laughing as she wrinkled her nose at the smell and taste.
“We love garum,” I told her. “We put it on everything, for breakfast and dinner.”
“No wonder you Romans bathe so much,” she laughed. “That stuff must come out of your skin.”
I had never connected the two habits, and I shook my head, saying as much. All in all, it was a wonderful and memorable dinner, much more enjoyable because of the company, and of course for what happened later. That night, Miriam became my woman in the most important way, at least to a man. She was not as passionately fiery as Gisela; it was more of a smoldering type of sensuality, yet it matched her personality, for she was naturally more reserved and circumspect than my wife had been. In some ways, Miriam and I were a better match, both in bed and in other ways than Gisela and I, but I never seriously considered making our union more permanent in those early days. If she did, she never spoke of it. More than anything, we were comfortable together, and I was thankful that while she could be mulishly stubborn I never had to worry about flying crockery. We were careful to avoid the complication of children, for a number of reasons that we never discussed, but I am sure we both understood. Still, there was one time she was forced to use sylphium, which was very unpleasant for her. Perhaps a month after we became lovers she came to live with me, whereupon she and Diocles very quickly formed a secret alliance to curb what they considered to be some of my more annoying habits. Perhaps the most interesting, and somewhat mystifying, aspect of Miriam’s entrance into my life was the effect that she had on my Centurions, who behaved as if she were a younger sister that needed protection. There was none of the lewd commentary that would normally be expected and while some of that I knew was due to her status as my woman, there was just something about Miriam and her air of quiet dignity that did not stir men to voice their coarser opinions. In fact, I was subjected to a lecture from Scribonius after Miriam and I had an argument in front of him one evening at dinner.
“You know, you were excessively harsh with Miriam,” he told me the next day when we were out on the training field doing our daily sword work. “She's a wonderful girl and you should realize that.”
I stopped what I was doing, not sure how to respond.
“What, are you her father now?”
“No, but I have eyes and ears, and I was there,” he shot back. “And you didn’t have to yell at her.”
“I didn’t yell, exactly,” I knew how weak this sounded as it came out of my mouth.
While I do not remember what the argument was about, I do remember how it must have looked to Scribonius as I towered over Miriam, shaking my finger at her and while not bellowing, certainly speaking loudly.
Scribonius snorted.
“She doesn’t know that,” he pointed out. “She’s never seen you leading the Legion.”
“But I was right,” I protested, as he let out another snort.
“Has it really been that long since you’ve had a woman to know that it doesn’t matter if you’re right? Besides,” he added, a grin on his face. “You weren’t right; you were wrong.”
I sighed, then grumbled, “Fine.”
I bought Miriam a bracelet by way of apology, which smoothed things over nicely.
The year of Agrippa’s Consulship passed uneventfully for those of us waiting in Syria. The same cannot be said for Italia and the campaign to eliminate Sextus Pompey. The plan was ambitious; a three-pronged assault, with one arm consisting of the fleet built from scratch by Agrippa on the Avernus, another led by Octavian using the ships that Antonius lent him, with the final thrust coming from the worm Lepidus, who was skulking about Africa with an army of 16 Legions and about 5,000 Numidian cavalry. Somehow, despite his ineptitude, Lepidus managed to land 12 of those Legions on the southern coast of Sicily, taking Lilybaeum on the western tip of the island. Meanwhile, Agrippa and Octavian were moving their fleets into position when a huge storm struck and despite attempts to take shelter, both fleets suffered massive damage that would take more than a month to repair. The storm hit in the beginning of Julius, making it late summer before another attempt could be launched, which was dangerously close to the point where the prevailing winds changed direction and would actually be working against the Triumvirs and not for them. A prudent commander probably would have decided to postpone the offensive until the next year, but Octavian was under enormous pressure from all levels of the Roman world. While the fleet was being repaired, he went rushing around to the various veterans’ settlements assuring them that all was well. Maecenas was doing the same in Rome with the upper classes, and I have no doubt that for every positive thing that was being spoken by Octavian and Maecenas, Antonius was busy spewing whatever he could think of to drag his young colleague down. The problem was that Antonius seemed unable to focus his hatred on the things that Octavian was actually doing, concentrating instead on his personal life. No manner of filth was too low for Antonius’ agents, everything from Octavian’s love of gambling to his supposed love of being buggered, which may have lowered the masses’ estimation of Octavian as a man, but from what I saw and heard, did nothing to damage his reputation as the best chance to bring Rome back on her feet. After observing both men, I have reached the conclusion that for Antonius a man’s character was his true measure and how he should be judged; Octavian did not give a rotten fig for what people thought of him personally, as long as they recognized his competence in public affairs. As licentious as Antony was in many ways, he was conservative in ways that Octavian was not, although there were no lengths that Octavian would not go to in order to create stability and bring peace to Rome.
