Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Antony, page 51
Dismissing the Centurions, I made my way down to the next Cohort; on this day, the Second Cohort was next in line, since I always mixed up the order of march when there was no prospect of shaking out into battle formation. When I reached Scribonius, the greeting froze in my throat when I saw his eyes above his scarf, clearly reading the alarm and pain in them. My heart seized, knowing that only one thing could put that look in them. When he pulled down his scarf to speak, I staggered back a step. Scribonius grabbed my arm to steady me, pulling me to the side.
“Titus, I can’t find Gaius.”
There are moments in time that are so painful, so terrifying that they must be locked away in a box in your mind, never to be opened, and that moment standing there with Scribonius is one of those moments. The same sense of loss and searing pain that came with the deaths of Gisela, Vibi and Livia struck all over again as I felt my knees buckle, only Scribonius’ strong grip preventing me from shaming myself in front of the men.
“Titus, listen to me. There’s something else. One of his tentmates is missing as well.”
I looked at him dumbly, not caring or understanding why he was telling me this. Seeing that I did not comprehend, he tightened his grip on my arm, shaking me.
“Don’t you see what that could mean? He might not have fallen down the slope. He could just as easily have stopped to help his tentmate. And the man he stopped to help is Vulso, who's recovering from frostbite and has been struggling to keep up.”
I struggled to try to accept Scribonius’ optimism as a possibility, but it was difficult to think of anything other than what seemed to be the only real explanation for his disappearance. Telling Scribonius to continue the march, I stayed to wait as the next Legion marched by, hoping that he would be straggling, but it was almost impossible to tell men apart because they were all wrapped up and covered in ice, so that after a bit I gave up, pushing my way back up the Legions. I was close to exhaustion by the time I arrived back at my spot in front, my legs feeling as if they were filled with molten lead, but luckily we were now on the downhill leg, while the storm was abating. My mind was completely absorbed with Gaius’ disappearance, so I barely registered the bucina call that we were making camp on a wind-swept plateau barely large enough for the whole army to fit, with yet another high ridge to the south beckoning as the main challenge the next day.
It was only when Balbus came trotting up to me, clearly puzzled that I was not snapping out the normal set of orders as I went to the command group to determine what our duties would be that I realized I had not been paying attention. He had not heard that Gaius was missing, so when I told him the reason for my distraction, he did not seem to know what to say, standing awkwardly and not speaking. Truthfully, I did not know what to say either, so I gave him curt instructions as I went to find out what we were doing, where I was informed that we had the guard duty. Men normally loved getting guard duty when it was time to make camp, just not when it was so cold, when working kept a man warmer than standing at post. For me, it did not make much difference as I just walked around supervising, but this day was torture because all I could think about was how I was going to write Valeria to tell her that her only son had survived battle, in fact winning the highest award a Legionary can earn, only to slip off an icy slope to his death by accident. I had not been so despondent since the death of my family many years before, and I stood huddled against the cold, feeling as empty of life as I imagined Gaius was, broken and cold, lying in the bottom of the snow-choked ravine along the road over which we had just struggled.
Once the camp was completed, I took the opportunity to stand on the rampart along the Porta Decumana, looking back in the direction that we had come, ignoring the biting cold. I sensed a presence, turning to see Scribonius, who said nothing, just standing next to me for the rest of the time I stood, waiting. Finally it became dark, so I turned away, heading to my tent, this being one of the few times I was looking forward to sucking down as much wine as it took to rob me of my senses. Scribonius told me that he would stay and wait, but I do not believe I thanked him in reply.
It was one part before the third watch, when we would be relieved and the men would be able to go to their tents, which the Legion slaves erect as they stand guard, finally able to warm themselves and make their meal. I had been drinking since coming to my tent; Diocles having heard the news and anticipating my demands, was waiting for me with an amphora and cup. However, no matter how much I drank, the image of Gaius alone in the cold would not leave, so I sent Diocles to find one of the Greek doctors to buy, borrow, or steal a sleeping draught. I knew that I would suffer for it in the morning, as the few times I had used such concoctions I had been staggering in a fog most of the next day, but I did not care. So I was alone when the Princeps Posterior of the Fourth Cohort, Gaius Didius came to my tent. With Diocles gone, he apparently stood in the outer room of my tent, which served as the Legion office, not sure what to do, before finally slapping the leather curtain that served as my door. Thinking it was Diocles, I growled at him about why he was bothering to knock but then, sensing that it was someone else I looked up to see Didius standing there, a strange look on his face. Thinking that he had heard about my nephew and had come to offer his condolences, I shouted at him to leave. Still, he refused to move, so I began roaring at him, jumping to my feet to rush at him, intent on beating him within an inch of his life. Didius stood his ground, enraging me further and I had drawn my fist back, intent on crushing his face when the words he was shouting at me finally sank in.
“Primus Pilus, Gregarius Porcinus has been found!”
He was brought in by the cavalry patrol that always rode as outriders. Because of the narrowness of the road, instead of riding on the flanks they had been far behind the rearguard, and the only reason they found Gaius was because one of their horses shied suddenly when a snowdrift began to move. Jumping off to investigate, they found a barely conscious Gaius, along with the unconscious tentmate that Scribonius had reported missing along with Gaius. Scribonius was right all along; the tentmate Vulso, one of the older men in the Century had slipped on his frostbitten feet then hit his head, and would have fallen to his death but Gaius was immediately behind him, grabbing Vulso before it happened. They both slid partway down the slope, until Gaius was clinging to a patch of bare rock with one hand while clutching the unconscious Vulso around the waist. This was during the height of the storm, so none of the other men saw either of them, nor did they hear Gaius calling for help. By the time Gaius managed to struggle back up to the road with Vulso, the army had passed them by. Not knowing what else to do, Gaius slung Vulso, who had a fractured skull, over his shoulder, then followed behind the army. He finally collapsed about two miles short of camp, but before he lost the last of his energy, he dug out a hollow in the snow, laying his spare cloak over the hole. That last action undoubtedly saved both their lives, though it did not stop either man from getting frostbite, Vulso‘s original case becoming more severe while Gaius’ was fairly minor. They were taken to the hospital tent and I rushed over immediately to find Gaius sitting up on a cot, with three of his tentmates sitting around his bed beaming down at him, all of them clearly as relieved as I felt. My nephew, his face raw but glistening with some ointment, saw me standing there and smiled, but it quickly fled at the sight of my face.
“Leave us,” I snapped to his friends, who had only noticed me standing there when Gaius looked over, scrambling to their feet.
They fled, leaving an anxious looking Gaius and his uncle glowering down at him. I gave him the full treatment, not saying a word for what had to seem like a full watch to him, before I finally spoke, “I thought we had agreed that you wouldn’t scare me anymore.”
I tried to keep my voice stern, but I found it hard to get the words out without choking on them. I knew I should be angry, and I did want to put a scare into the boy, yet I was just so relieved that I suddenly felt so weak in the knees I was forced to sit down heavily on one of the stools next to his bed, hearing the legs crack under my weight.
“I’m sorry, Uncle Titus,” Gaius said quietly.
I shook my head, sighing, not knowing what to say.
“It’s just that Vulso and I are close comrades since Otho died. He and Otho had been together since they were tiros, but since I was new I had never selected a close comrade until then.”
I started; I had not known that, but I supposed there was no reason for me to know.
“How is Vulso?”
Gaius looked over at his comrade in the next bed, head heavily bandaged, mouth open, his nose already black, a sure sign that it would fall off.
He was still unconscious and from the look of him, he would never regain consciousness, but Gaius did not have enough experience in these matters, so he replied hopefully, “I think he'll wake up soon. The doctors don’t think so, but I told them that he was talking some while I was carrying him.”
“That’s a good sign,” I agreed, knowing that it meant nothing, yet I could not take that hope from him, not after he had risked his life for his friend.
“They said that I can be released in a day or so.”
Gaius grimaced, moving his feet under the blanket as the feeling returned to them. I stood, looking for an orderly, and when one came near I told him to go get poppy syrup, but Gaius put his hand on my arm.
I looked down as he shook his head. “No, Uncle, there are men here a lot worse than me and they’re not getting poppy syrup. I don’t need it.”
He was right, but I hated seeing him in pain, though I knew that I was violating every rule of the Centurionate by showing him favoritism. I decided that I had done enough damage so I made ready to leave, bidding Gaius a restful night, thankful that he was alive to have one.
We resumed the march by climbing the next ridge and though there was no storm, the footing was still treacherous, meaning more men fell to their deaths. The toll from the previous day’s blizzard on the sick and wounded was horrific, as men already weakened were exposed to the blasting wind and snow. More than a quarter of the litter cases died from the storm, while the lot of the survivors was not any easier in the coming days, and despite the fact we did not have another blizzard, they were succumbing at an alarming rate.
Asellio had not died as quickly as either I or the physicians had thought, in fact giving appearances of recovering, then without warning he developed a searing pain in his side, followed by a high fever then within just a few thirds of a watch he was dead. I had delayed the announcement of my decision until he was dead out of respect for him, but when I told the others that I had decided to move Macrianus into the First Cohort in his spot, there were some hard feelings. In Macrianus’ old spot I promoted a man named Appius Pilatus, another younger Optio from the Fourth Cohort who was on the list of candidates for promotion when a slot opened up. I knew I had my work cut out for me with Macrianus, Marcius being too weak a leader for a man as strong-willed as Macrianus, but I saw a great deal of potential in him. First, I had to keep an eye on him and get to know him better. The army was still reeling from the blizzard the day before, and wisely, Antonius did not push the men hard, knowing that to do so would put all of the men back into the same condition they were in when we staggered into Artaxata. We only covered perhaps 15 miles that day, but they were brutally hard miles because of the terrain. When we made camp, we learned that even more of the wounded had died on the march. Gaius was allowed to come back to the Legion, still limping from his frostbite though the physicians told him that as long as he kept his feet warm that he should not lose any toes. He was warmly greeted by his comrades, while Scribonius could only smile and shake his head as he recounted the scene when he came to visit me that night.
“They truly love him, Titus. And I tell you this, he may not be the swordsman you are, but he’s every bit as brave.”
“Braver,” I replied, and it was not just a proud uncle talking, for I did not think I would have struggled so hard to save a man who was not a lifelong friend like Vibius, or someone I had marched with for many years.
Gaius had been in the 10th a little more than a year now, and he had just become close comrades with Vulso, but he risked his life without hesitation. We sat in silence for a bit, sipping our wine as I reflected on what it was in a man that would spur him to such actions for someone he did not know all that well.
“Keep an eye on him, will you?”
Scribonius nodded, knowing how worried I was. Finishing his wine, he returned to his men.
Another bout of bad weather descended on the army and while it was nowhere near the fury and bitterness of the blizzard, it was enough to kill even more of the sick and infirm. It got to the point that the men began to think that the train of carts and mules bearing litters was cursed, so they did whatever they could to avoid showing themselves for sick call, held every morning before the march, and then again in the evening after camp is made. The frostbite cases still continued, except that now men refused to complain, trying to cover up any sign of affliction. However, most of the time they would begin limping so badly, then start falling behind, giving them no way to hide. Scribonius was true to his word, keeping an eye on Gaius, who seemed to make at least a partial recovery, limping only slightly, no doubt helped by the second pair of fur-lined socks that I ordered him to wear. After another day, we finally passed out of the worst terrain. While the route still climbed over rolling hills, it was not as severe and fraught with danger as what we had just passed through. The men sensed that at least the marching would be easier, even if the weather conditions were not, so spirits improved somewhat. Men were no longer falling to their deaths, it was true, but there was still danger. Legionaries who had somehow managed to stay healthy for the entire campaign finally broke down, becoming ill, developing hacking coughs that produced great gobs of mucus, accompanied by ever-increasing fever. Making it even more difficult to shake was the loss of appetite that kept men from eating enough to keep up their strength. In short, men were wearing out, and every morning it seemed there would be a cry of alarm and anguish when a man’s tentmate went to rouse him, only to find that he had finally given up. Even I developed a cough and started running a fever, but with Diocles around to tend to my needs, watching over me like a mother hen, it did not cause me more than a mild discomfort and some tough days on the march. Several of the Centurions were stricken as well, with a couple even forced to risk the curse of riding in a cart when their fever became so high that all their senses fled from them. More of the sick and injured continued to die, their weakened condition making it easier to succumb to the constant wear and tear of the march. Some men recovered sufficiently to leave their litter to return to the ranks, though they were in the minority.
Antonius left the army about this time to head for the coast, to a port called Leuke Kome, where he had directed Cleopatra to come with the aid he demanded. Men looked at each other with a knowing leer and wink, joking about the power Cleopatra held over our general. It was late November when we finally reached Samosata again, except this time we were not there to take the city while Antiochus, having reconciled with Antonius, offered up a portion of his supplies to help replenish our stores. Ahenobarbus was left in command by Antonius, which Canidius did not like at all, spending most of his time in staff meetings making snide comments about Ahenobarbus’ decisions, providing a great deal of entertainment for the rest of us. There is nothing we lower classes love quite as much as seeing the upper classes picking at each other; their petty squabbles and jealousies are fodder for full watches of discussion around the fire. It was Ahenobarbus’ decision that we spend a week at Samosata, his goal being to reduce the rate at which the sick and wounded were dying, and it did help to allow them to rest. The weather was still cold but had lost its bitter edge so the men did not have to walk about wrapped from head to foot, while the single brazier in my private quarters was enough that I could wear just my tunic.
We marched out of Samosata with our spirits almost restored, as a number of the sick and wounded managed to recover enough to return to their spot in the formation, though we still had a large number in the litters. Samosata marked the end of the more challenging terrain, then just a few days later, the weather softened to the point where men only wore their cloaks early in the morning. Now we all knew it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other all the way to Leuke Kome, the men beginning to sing again as they swung along in their mile-eating gait. We crossed Syria quickly, the army needing no urging to put as many miles in every day as they could manage, almost as if they could smell the ocean breeze. For the first time in months, men began talking about the future in hopeful terms, though their enthusiasm was tempered by the fact that they would not have any loot to shower on whores and amphorae of wine.
