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    Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra
    Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra
    Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra
    Ebook627 pages11 hours

    Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra

    By R.W. Peake

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    In the fourth book of the critically acclaimed Marching With Caesar series, Titus Pullus and his 10th Legion are still in the thick of the maelstrom that follows after the assassination of Gaius Julius Caesar. With the disastrous campaign in Parthia behind them, Mark Antony continues his struggle with Octavian, both men vying for ultimate control of Rome. Enter Cleopatra VII, the Pharaoh of Egypt and mother of Julius Caesar's son, who harbors ambitions and dreams of her own. Through her son Caesarion, Cleopatra is a powerful player in her own right in the continuing drama being played out for control of the most powerful society on Earth. With Cleopatra combining forces with Mark Antony, Octavian, the legitimate heir to Caesar's fortune, is facing the most formidable barrier to his ascendancy yet. Through it all, Titus Pullus and his men must tread a very careful path as the two forces head for an inevitable showdown at a place called Actium. It is at Actium where Titus must make a decision that will impact not just his own, but the fate of his beloved 10th Legion!

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherR.W. Peake
    Release dateMar 29, 2013
    ISBN9780985703097
    Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part II-Cleopatra
    Author

    R.W. Peake

    I am a 63 year old retired Infantry Marine, born and raised in Texas and currently living on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington state. I have been writing since my first novel, written at the age of 10, when my friends and yours truly fought off the Soviet hordes, who just happened to pick my block to launch their invasion. That was their big mistake.But like a lot of dreams, it got sidetracked until recently, when I decided to focus my passion on an era and subject that interested me a great deal. Like my characters in Ancient Rome, I have served as the pointy tip of the spear of our nation's policy, and it is with this perspective that I tell the story of Titus Pullus and his friends.Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion was my first published novel, and is the first in a completed series that covers the career of Titus Pullus, his adopted son Gaius Porcinianus Pullus, grandson Titus Porcinianus Pullus, and his great-grandson Gnaeus Volusenianus Pullus. The most recent release is Volume XIX, Marching With Caesar-Catualda the Usurper.I also have a completed alternate history series, Caesar Ascending, that imagines a world in which Gaius Julius Caesar survives the Ides of March, embarks on his historical campaign against Parthian...then keeps going. Originally it's a bid to outstrip the Macedonian King Alexander by reaching the Ganges River, but evolves into a decade-long campaign that finds Caesar and his Legions marching to the end of the known world in the form of the mysterious Islands of Wa, modern-day Japan.Finally, in 2020, I began The Titus Chronicles, with Volume I titled Eagle and Wyvern, which tells the story of a descendant of Titus Pullus, (though he's unaware of any connection), named Titus of Cyssanbyrig, who at the age of fourteen answers the fyrd sounded by the Saxon King Alfred, marching with Alfred and his army to confront the Danish King Guthrum, culminating at the Battle of Edington. Blessed with the same prodigious size and strength as his ancestor, young Titus learns he is the recipient of a darker gift, and in his first battle earns the nickname The Berserker.The Titus Chronicles mark the first of an extended genealogy of the original Titus that will extend across the ages as the story of a line of men who have been born and bred for war, and are witnesses to some of the great historical events of the ages.

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      Book preview

      Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra - R.W. Peake

      Also by R.W Peake

      Marching with Caesar-Conquest of Gaul

      Marching with Caesar-Civil War

      Marching With Caesar-Antony and Cleopatra: Part I-Cleopatra

      Critical praise for the Marching With Caesar series:

      Fans of the author will be delighted that Peake’s writing has gone from strength to strength in this, the second volume...Peake manages to portray Pullus and all his fellow soldiers with a marvelous feeling of reality quite apart from the star historical name... There’s history here, and character, and action enough for three novels, and all of it can be enjoyed even if readers haven’t seen the first volume yet. Very highly recommended.

      ~The Historical Novel Society

      "The hinge of history pivoted on the career of Julius Caesar, as Rome’s Republic became an Empire, but the muscle to swing that gateway came from soldiers like Titus Pullus. What an amazing story from a student now become the master of historical fiction at its best."

      ~Professor Frank Holt, University of Houston

      Marching with Caesar

      Antony and Cleopatra

      Part 2 Cleopatra

      By R.W. Peake

      Marching with Caesar –Antony and Cleopatra by R.W. Peake

      Copyright © 2013 by R.W. Peake

      Smashwords Edition

      Cover Artwork by Marina Shipova

      Cover Artwork Copyright © 2013 by R.W. Peake

      Map of Actium reprinted from The Roman Republic and The Founder of The Empire by T. Rice-Holmes

      Oxford University Press; London, 1923

      Maps of Armenia reprinted with permission from The Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World; Richard J.A. Talbert (Editor); © 2000 Princeton University Press

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

      Printed in the United States of America

      First Printing, 2013

      Foreword

      Since this is just a continuation of what is essentially the third book in the Marching With Caesar series, I don't feel my normal compulsion to say something especially wordy or attempt to be profound, other than the normal thanks to my editor Beth Lynne, my artist Marina Shipova, and to my beta readers that I mentioned in Part I.

      I will just say that, as of this writing here in late March, the response to Part I has been so positive and overwhelming that it's hard for me to put it in perspective. Just two days after release, Part I took the #1 spot in the genre of Ancient Rome on Amazon in the U.S., and held that spot for more than 3 weeks, before falling to the second spot.

      Normally, this would not be something that thrilled me; I am extremely competitive (as my daughter will attest, as I never let her win at anything, until she was able to do so on her own merit), but this time it's somewhat different watching my third book fall a spot.

      That's because what replaced it was my first book Marching With Caesar-Conquest of Gaul, now just two weeks short of its first anniversary of release. I can only attribute this to you, my readers, who have proven to be the most effective marketing tool of everything I've tried.

      So I would like to take this space to thank all of you, the readers who took a risk on a story by a completely unknown, unpublished author, and most importantly took to heart what I asked of the first 150 people who liked Facebook page for Marching With Caesar. (Which you can find at http://facebook.com/rwpeake)

      If you like it, tell somebody is what I asked of you, and you have done that, and then some.

      Thank you.

      R.W. Peake

      March, 2013

      Table of Contents

      Chapter One: Damascus

      Chapter Two: Armenia

      Chapter Three: Interlude in Ephesus

      Chapter Four: Actium

      Chapter Five: Nicopolis

      Chapter Six: The Fall of Antonius and Cleopatra

      Author’s Note

      Chapter 1-Damascus

      No Roman in Antonius’ camp had forgotten that while Antonius was clearly besotted with the queen of Egypt, he was still married to Octavia, who had stayed in Rome and, from all accounts, was the model of what a highborn Roman wife was expected to be. Now she was about to be used as another piece in the great game going on between the two remaining players. Much has been made of what Antonius did to Octavia, and it is inexcusable. Nevertheless, it was Octavian who sent her, though I suppose the winner escapes the blame. She left Rome to go to Athens bearing supplies, 70 ships, and 2,000 more troops in the style of the Brundisium Cohorts, which I personally thought were useless. It was from the Greek city that Octavia sent word to Antonius she would be sailing with all of these goods as soon as the weather permitted. I must admit that it was a very clever ploy on the part of Octavian, even if it was not particularly admirable, putting Antonius in the fork of a cleft stick as it did. Many a watch has been spent in the intervening years with men sitting around fires, or at a table in some roadside inn arguing about what course Antonius should have taken. Naturally, each man is certain that he knows what Antonius should have done, but I do not count myself among those men. For I do not know that Antonius made the wrong decision, nor do I know that he made the right one, because in truth, I think that the gods had decreed that matters among us mortals had gone on long enough without a resolution, thereby moving Octavian to put Antonius in a dilemma that ultimately had only one outcome. If Antonius had not done as he did, telling Octavia that she was to send on the men, ships, and supplies, but for Octavia herself to return to Rome, he undoubtedly would have offended Cleopatra, and he needed the queen of Egypt for the money to fund his campaign. Also, it would have been a sign to the East that he still counted himself as Roman and not the Eastern monarch he had set himself up to be. While I understand why he did it, that does not mean it was a decision that I could follow, for I am and always will be a man of Rome. Therefore, when he turned his back on Octavia, and by extension Rome, it sealed my decision that when the moment came, I would do as Octavian bid me to do. I do think that Octavia did not deserve the treatment she received, from either of the men in her life. I am not alone in that by any means, and it was his abrupt and heartless repudiation of her that turned the lower classes against Antonius once and for all. This, of course, was exactly what Octavian had hoped to accomplish. The sum total of this event meant Octavian had little opposition in enacting any of his deeds from this point forward, no matter how injurious they may have been to Antonius. One other event occurred that, while it did not have a huge impact on our world, did finally close a chapter, and that was the fate of Sextus Pompey.

      Sextus, as I have described, escaped from the naval battle over Sicily, which occurred at roughly the same time as our arrival at Phraaspa. For months, nobody knew his whereabouts, until he showed up on this side of Our Sea, where he immediately began to make mischief, and in fact was one of the causes of our difficulties in finding men to fill our ranks. When he landed in Africa, he began recruiting from his father Pompey’s veterans, raising three Legions of men before proceeding to try to sell their services to the highest bidder, with Sextus as their commander, of course. While he did approach Antonius, the Triumvir learned that young Sextus had also approached Phraates with the same offer and, in doing so, sealed his fate. This despite the fact that Sextus had supported Antonius, while according to some, he had been in a secret alliance against Octavian, which if true would explain why Antonius refused to lift a finger to help his colleague for years as the younger man struggled to break Sextus’ grip on Rome’s food supply. Personally, I think that is the real reason Antonius sent word to Titius, who Antonius had appointed to govern in Africa and who was the man in contact with Sextus, acting as the intermediary between the two, commanding Titius to lure Sextus to meet him. Telling Sextus that Antonius accepted in principle, but wanted Titius to work out the details with Pompey’s sole surviving son, Antonius’ quartermaster convinced him to meet. However, when Sextus arrived, his bodyguard was overpowered, with Sextus’ head summarily removed from his shoulders to be sent to Antonius. With the death of Sextus, the line of Pompey Magnus came to an end and along with it any chance of Sextus possibly embarrassing Antonius with details of the bargain they made to starve Rome and cause Octavian difficulty.

      There was one unexpected bonus for us in the army; with the death of their commander, suddenly there were a number of men who had expected to march again. A good number of them had flocked to the standard because of who Sextus was, and some of these men returned to their homes. However, others were still bored and looking for the opportunity for loot, so these men, hearing that there was a dilectus being held by a number of Legions, found their way to the nearest party. Sometimes they became men of the 10th, sometimes not, but in the space of two or three weeks, I received word from Scribonius that he was returning with the full complement of men that we needed. It had become clear to all of us that there would be no campaign that year, so I sent a message to Scribonius to march overland to condition the men and get a feel for their abilities instead of securing shipping to transport them.

      Meanwhile, I spent more time with young Gaius, working with him on his sword and shield skills, both as a way to help him and to help myself. I worked harder that spring than I had in many years, finally coming to terms with the fact that the things that came naturally just a few years before I now had to work to achieve. The conditioning and muscle strength that never seemed to leave me now required a level of effort I had never had to exert before this. I cannot say that I was happy about it, and I am afraid I was not very good company at the end of the day when I would limp back to Miriam’s apartment, but slowly I saw progress. By the time of my forty-third birthday, I finally felt close to my old self, but I recognized that I would never be the same Titus Pullus I had been when I marched with Vibius in Gaul.

      Scribonius and the rest of the dilectus came marching in with the men he had recruited for the 10th Legion a bit short of three weeks later, just in time for us to pack up to march to Damascus, where we would spend the rest of the campaign season to winter, as Antonius sent word confirming that we would not march that year. Despite the men being sorely disappointed, none of the Centurions were, because we had not been keen on marching with essentially new men in our ranks, no matter how experienced they may have been in other Legions. It takes time for a Centurion to learn the character, strengths, and weaknesses of every man in his Century; for example, who are the shirkers and who are the men that might be troublemakers, for it is very unlikely that a man essentially asking for a job is going to tell the dilectus that he is lazy, a coward or likely to cause trouble. If one were to go by what men claimed when presenting themselves, we would never be defeated, while roads would be built in a matter of days instead of weeks or months, since every man had the fighting skill of Achilles, along with the strength of Hercules. Now we would have a whole year to train and evaluate these new men. They were not particularly happy to be told almost as soon as they came off a three-week march that they would only be in camp for a matter of two or three days before setting out again, and the decision was made by all the Primi Pili receiving new men to wait to issue armor, weapons, and equipment until we got to Damascus, so it was not the most martial-looking bunch that departed Leuke Kome.

      We were leaving what had been a small, sleepy town that in the space of months had become a good-sized place with several more streets added to accommodate the wineshops, whorehouses, smiths, grain merchants, and the residences that accompanied such explosive growth. The original inhabitants of the town were no doubt happy to see us go, while the newer residents lined the streets and wailed, some of them tearing at their clothes and hair at the departure of their future earnings. As is so often the case a fair number of people, most of them whores who had latched onto one of the men, along with merchants whose goods and services were more portable, tagged along behind us as we marched, giving us a tail that would be with us all the way to Damascus. Every night, they settled down in their own makeshift hovels and patchwork tents a short distance away from our own camp and since we were not marching in enemy territory or expecting enemy contact, the men were allowed to go visit their women after our camp was completed and the evening formation was held. The pace was easy, as we were in no hurry so we did not have many stragglers, and I was very happy to see that none of them were the new men.

      We had been so busy preparing for the move that it was not until the first night on the march that I had the chance to sit down with Scribonius to get his initial impressions of the new men. We were sitting in my tent as I cursed the absence of Diocles, for I now had to rely on Agis, who was in effect Diocles’ servant and a very slow-witted boy. I had sent Diocles ahead with Miriam to secure accommodations near the winter camp, detaching Gaius to go with them as security, the road to Damascus being rife with bandits looking for easy prey. I cuffed Agis about the head, something that I would not normally do, but it was the second time he had stumbled and spilled the cups of wine he was bringing to us in as many tries. I despised masters who took advantage of a slave or servant’s position because it reminded me of Lucius, my father, and his treatment of Phocas and Gaia, but there are limits. Still, I was cursing myself at my display of ill temper and I had to force myself back to the subject at hand. I had asked Scribonius for his report on the new men, yet he was forced to wait while I raged and now was sitting patiently, looking at me with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic smile.

      Well? I snapped.

      I was just waiting for you to get over your fit, he replied, knowing full well that he was the only man who could speak to me in such a manner and not get his own cuffing.

      His words had the effect he desired, as I laughed. Waving at him to go ahead, he pursed his lips as he referred to the wax tablet he had brought with him. Scribonius was the only Centurion I knew who actually took notes on matters he considered important, and it was such a good idea that I had tried to get the other Centurions to adopt it, but with limited success.

      He looked up, then said, Overall, it’s a good bunch, but I'm concerned that we have a few too many former Centurions and Optios.

      With those words, Scribonius touched on one of the biggest problems with enlisting veterans from other Legions into your own. While it would seem that it could only strengthen a Legion to have former Centurions and Optios in the ranks, I had observed that other Legions who had done so did it to their detriment. As I have said before, every Centurion runs his Century, every Pilus Prior runs his Cohort and every Primus Pilus runs his Legion in slightly different ways, while in each of their minds, the way they do it is the right way. Of course, their thinking is shaped by their superior Centurion, as a Pilus Prior has his Centurions run their Centuries to his standards, while all the Pili Priores must conform to what the Primus Pilus wants. After years of doing things a certain way, it becomes ingrained in a Centurion that this is the proper way of doing things, which is why the first preference when promoting Centurions is to do so from within the Legion, so there is less of a ripple of confusion when he takes over his new command. Having men who had gotten accustomed to command, then finding them doing things their way while marching in the ranks had shown to be problematic in other Legions, and in fact, Scribonius and I had discussed it before he left. I did not voice the question that popped into my mind at Scribonius’ words, knowing that if he had allowed it to happen there was a good reason for it.

      How many, do you figure?

      He shook his head. It’s hard to say, because a number of them claimed to be rankers, but you know it’s impossible for a man who was a Centurion or even an Optio to hide it for long. Maybe 50 altogether.

      I whistled. That would be almost one such man in every Century, so depending on their intentions and attitude, it could cause a number of problems. Most concerning was the Tenth Cohort, which still was the weakest in numbers if not quality, so I made the decision that we would not put any of those men who had either claimed the Centurionate or who we suspected of being such into the Tenth Cohort. Frontinus was doing an adequate job of running the Cohort, but this would be the first big test of his leadership with the influx of men from outside the 10th.

      Otherwise how are they?

      He shrugged. They’re mostly old-timers who are long in the tooth for a full enlistment, but we promised them that they'd only be marching for the rest of this enlistment, which suits us anyway. We do have a few youngsters, maybe twenty percent of the men.

      Any troublemakers?

      He looked chagrined, but I did not hold his answer against him.

      More than I'd like. It seems as if some of our Centurions aren't the best judges of character, Decimus Ovidius in particular, he replied, naming the Princeps Prior of the Fifth Century. I was tempted to throw out half the men he signed up, and of the problems we had on the march, most of them came from his group. Numerius Cossus wasn't much better, but I think he’s a scoundrel at heart himself.

      I sighed, shaking my head at Scribonius’ words, not just because of the implication of them concerning the number of men who might cause problems, but I also knew that his assessment of Cossus was dead accurate. Cossus was the Hastatus Posterior of the Seventh Cohort, and was proving to be one of those Centurions I so despised, using his Century as a source of income by inflicting or withholding punishment depending on how much a man was willing to pay. His Century was one of the unhappiest in the Legion, but to that point, I had been unable to catch him in anything egregious enough to relieve him.

      Anyone stand out? Someone who might be worthy of being restored to the Centurionate or as Optio?

      Quintus Albinus, he responded instantly. He was a Pilus Prior in Pompey’s First Legion, or so he claimed, and I believe him. He’s about our age. Or, my age, he amended hastily, but he's fit. And he's a leader; you can tell just by looking at the way he goes about his business and the way he was helping the raw youngsters.

      My brow furrowed, trying to remember where I had heard that name before.

      Is he about this tall? I held my hand up to just above my shoulder.

      Scribonius laughed. Yes, but isn’t everyone compared to you?

      I shook my head in irritation, the memory of a man in Dyrrhachium slowly returning.

      Very fair?

      Yes, hence the name ‘Albinus,’ Scribonius replied dryly.

      The final piece of what had become a puzzle clicked into place as my mind’s eye recalled more details from that day and the man of whom I was thinking.

      Did he have a long, jagged scar up his arm?

      Now Scribonius was surprised, which made me feel a bit smug, I can tell you.

      Yes! You do know him! But how? From where?

      I explained the circumstances of my meeting with then-Decimus Princeps Prior Quintus Albinus, when I had led the Second Cohort to take a redoubt that Pompey constructed in the lines surrounding our positions, when Scribonius was my Optio. As I recounted what I remembered, my old friend’s eyes lit up, then he snapped his fingers.

      Yes! I remember now! I should have recognized him myself, but that was so long ago. Titus, you have the memory of Perseus himself. I didn’t speak to him that day. I was taking care of the wounded as I remember, but I certainly saw him closely enough.

      Once we had established his identity, I decided to renew our acquaintance, and I knew just how to do it. I called for Agis, and was about to send him to find Albinus. Then, realizing that he would disappear and never come back, I gave him the simpler task of finding Lutatius, who arrived shortly. If he was surprised at my order to go find a ranker out of the new men, he did not show it. Since we had not made the assignments of the men to their respective Cohorts and Centuries, they were in their own part of our area, meaning Lutatius had to parade up and down the streets calling out Albinus’ name before he was found.

      Quintus Albinus, new Legionary Gregarius of the 10th Legion was escorted into my presence by Lutatius, who I dismissed to return to whatever it was that Optios did in their spare time. Scribonius and I sat silently, surveying the man standing at intente¸ his eyes locked at the spot above our heads as they were supposed to be. He had not had the chance to look at my face, as I made sure that it was turned from him when he entered, pretending to be absorbed in some paperwork.

      Since I was seated, my unusual height did not give me away either, so the surprise on his face was unfeigned when I asked him, So, Albinus, did you ever give Labienus that message I asked you to relay?

      Along with the surprise came confusion, his eyes shifting nervously in my direction, but being the good Legionary that he was, his eye contact with me was only fleeting before he looked back at the original spot.

      Sir?

      His voice was hesitant, but I thought I heard the first glimmering of realization.

      I didn’t think I stuttered. As I remember it, I was very specific in telling you that as part of the condition of your surrender at Dyrrhachium that you were to convey to that bastard that Titus Pullus was going to cut his balls off.

      Now the flood of conflicting emotions was plain to read on his face as the memory of that day came back to him. There was the dawning of recognition, then his eyes moved back to my face, which I now made no attempt to hide from him, widening as he realized that sitting before him was an old enemy. Then I saw the unmistakable look of shame in his eyes as the memory came back to him of the day when he was forced to surrender the redoubt that he commanded, or at least had been the only surviving Centurion, so commanded by default. I suddenly felt a similar sense of, if not shame, unease at rousing what had to be undoubtedly unpleasant memories of a day when the fighting had been fierce and bloody. To counter this, I stood and walked over to the man, offering my hand. He hesitated for a moment, then clasped my forearm as we looked each other in the eye for a silent moment, both of us reliving that day of blood and chaos. Finally, he gave a hesitant smile, revealing surprisingly good teeth, which I returned, then turned to point to a seat next to Scribonius, who was also standing.

      I don’t have to tell you that this is unusual, as you're technically a ranker, but when I heard your name, I thought it was right to renew our acquaintance.

      Frankly, Primus Pilus, I've spent most of these years hoping that I never saw you again.

      Scribonius’ smile froze on his face, and I admit that I was taken aback. However, his tone was more rueful than defiant, and I found myself laughing at his candor.

      Fair enough, I conceded, then offered him some wine, which he accepted.

      We spent the rest of the evening chatting, Albinus admitting that he had never given Labienus the message, which I had truly not expected him to do, nor did it matter because he was long dead, getting what was coming to him for many years. Albinus talked of Pharsalus and I complimented him on the performance of the 1st Legion that day, as they had proven themselves to be worthy opponents and had been one of the only Legions to leave the battlefield in good order.

      Life as a farmer just didn't suit me, he admitted, a common complaint heard by more old Legionaries than any of us could count. It’s hard work, every day, and you can do everything right, you can make the right sacrifices to Ceres, and to all the different gods that control the weather, and one drought can ruin you. He took a deep swallow of wine then shook his head. Truth be known, I would rather lead men anyway.

      Well, that’s not going to happen right away. I wanted to make sure that he had the proper expectations, and while it was plain that he did not like it, he nodded in understanding.

      But, I said carefully, that doesn't mean that you can’t exhibit leadership in other ways.

      He looked at me sharply, his face a mix of interest and caution, and he was right to be wary.

      What are you asking of me, Primus Pilus? Before I could say anything, he shook his head. Because I won't be a spy for you.

      I don’t want you to be a spy, I said a bit more sharply than I intended, for he had unwittingly touched on another sore subject with me, the practice of some Primi Pili and lower grade Centurions to pay men to inform on their comrades.

      While I certainly appreciated the need and usefulness of a carefully cultivated network of men like Vellusius who would alert their Centurions to possible trouble, I refused to pay men, having seen firsthand the corrosive effect it had when it inevitably becomes known that a man marching next to you is spying.

      What I need is your leadership skills in the Tenth Cohort, I said as I proceeded to explain to him what had happened to the Tenth during the last campaign.

      I wasn’t going to put any former Centurions, or Optios for that matter, in the Cohort because I don’t want that kind of tension with the officially appointed officers, I said, and he nodded his head at the sense of this. But I know that I can count on you not to be disruptive, and to provide the new men with help and guidance, because it will be the rawest of the Cohorts in terms of experience within the 10th. Now it was time to dangle the promise of reward. And if you perform as I expect you will, I'll put you on the list to be promoted at the earliest opportunity.

      I felt Scribonius’ eyes on me, but he said nothing. At least not until after Albinus had left.

      That's not going to go over well with the veterans already on the list, he said quietly.

      No, it isn’t, I agreed. But if Albinus is the leader I think he is, I'm willing to risk it.

      Arriving in Damascus, we moved into the winter quarters, which are maintained by a staff of men who have been invalided out for injuries, but who are fit enough to keep up the various winter camps spread throughout the Republic in proper working order. All that needed to be done were sweeping the huts out and taking the shutters off the windows, as it was not winter and Damascus can get hot. There was a mad scramble, men with women and families who had not planned ahead running into town at the earliest opportunity to secure some sort of lodgings for them, paying exorbitant prices in the process. Not that I expected to pay that much less; moving an army of our size is not a secret and, as is usual, the citizens of the city knew well before we did that we would be arriving.

      As soon as we were settled in, Diocles came to camp with Gaius, but instead of just giving me directions, both of them insisted on escorting me to where Miriam was waiting, refusing to say any more. Intrigued and irritated in equal portions, I followed them through the streets of Damascus, past the district that I would have expected to be suitable for our circumstances. Still they refused to answer my questions, both of them looking very much like cats that had gotten into the cream. Reaching the outskirts of the city just outside the main walls, I saw it was in the area where the wealthier merchants obviously lived, with wide paved streets that were swept daily from the looks of it. My confusion deepened when they both stopped outside a Roman-style villa, with a wall enclosing it that bordered right to the edge of the street. There was a wooden door set in the whitewashed wall, with a peephole protected by an iron grille in the middle of the door. Without saying anything, Diocles went and knocked on it. He was clearly expected, because the peephole door opened immediately and I could see an eye set in wrinkled folds of skin peering out, looking up and down at the three of us, the sound of the latch as it lifted making a jarring sound. The door opened to reveal an old man, the rest of his face as wrinkled as the eye that had surveyed us before allowing entry. However, it was what he was wearing that gave me a shock, because the wizened old man was wearing a full Roman toga, folded perfectly and draped over his left arm in the appropriate manner. His skin tone was akin to a darkened walnut, but he addressed us in flawless, native Latin.

      "Salve, Primus Pilus Titus Pullus, hero of the 10th Legion."

      He laughed at my obvious confusion before stepping aside to beckon us into the confines of the villa as he did so. Both Diocles and Gaius were beaming at me in the same manner as this little Roman, but before I could say anything, the man I assumed to be our host spoke again, offering his hand in a thoroughly Roman manner.

      My name is Tiberius Flavius Laevinus, Primus Pilus, and I must say that it is a great pleasure meeting you. The man was positively bubbling over, pumping my forearm enthusiastically. When I heard that one of the stalwarts of Rome, a man who chastised the Parthian and Median scum and his lady were looking for accommodations, I absolutely insisted to your servant here that it would not do for you to stay anywhere else but with me. And please, I insist that you call me ‘Uncle Tiberius.’

      My head was positively whirling and Diocles, seeing how confused I was, stepped forward, grabbing my elbow.

      Master, he insisted on using a formal title in front of others, no matter how much I insisted that he could call me by my given name or my family name, if he preferred. When Gaius and I were searching for accommodations, I ran into Master Laevinus, er, I mean Uncle Tiberius, he grinned at the older Roman, who was beaming back at him, and when he heard that it was you that was looking for lodging for yourself and the Lady Miriam, he insisted that you be his guest.

      But that's too much to ask, I protested, mainly to be polite, but also because I had no wish to share a house with anyone, no matter how much of a kindly uncle he may have been. However, he seemed to read my true thoughts because he gave a laugh, which sounded remarkably like the braying of a goaded mule.

      My boy, clearly you don't understand. This is my second home. I live just over there. He pointed over my shoulder at some point across the street. So this villa would be entirely your own, for as long as you wish. It’s the least I can do. Without waiting for an answer, he turned, beckoning to us to follow. Please, come. I want to show you where you'll be living.

      I looked over at my nephew and servant, who were grinning at me, as Gaius whispered, Uncle, I wouldn't argue. Believe me, you're going to want to see this.

      I entered a residence that could have been ripped from the streets of Rome and magically transported to this spot outside of Damascus. Walking through the main entrance, we passed around the atrium, in which a number of plants and small trees were growing, clearly attended to with much care and love. Ringing the atrium was a number of rooms, while on the left side was the oecium, in which there were a number of couches and chairs, the floor covered in rich carpets, with marvelous frescoes decorating the walls. Seated on one of them, and astonishingly dressed in a Roman gown, with her hair swept up in the Roman style, sat Miriam, looking more beautiful and radiant than I had ever seen her. Her smile washed over me, making me feel warm and loved, my desire for her never greater than it was at that moment. Seated next to her was an older woman, dressed in the same manner as Miriam, except her hair was as gray as iron, but I could clearly see that in her day she had been a great beauty herself. Nevertheless, I only had eyes for Miriam at that moment, and I barely heard our host speaking.

      This is my wife, Pompeia. She absolutely insisted on being here to meet you, for she is as much an admirer of you as I am. Judging from the way she's mooning at you, I daresay she's an even bigger one.

      He chuckled, and I was astonished to see the older woman blush.

      Tibi, she chided the man I was even beginning to think of as Uncle Tiberius, you really shouldn't say such things! People will get the wrong idea!

      What people? It’s only us here, he boomed, sweeping his arm in an expansive gesture. "Besides, you know it’s true. I can tell by the way you're blushing.

      "So, as Diocles here, a good man, a great fellow I can tell you, says, when I heard that it was the Primus Pilus of the 10th Legion, of Caesar’s 10th who was looking for some hovel in which to shelter this lovely, lovely creature! Well, I just wouldn't hear of it! I told Mother that since we had this great huge house sitting vacant, it would be absolutely silly for you to stay anywhere else!"

      He turned his wrinkled, bald head towards me, the gaps in his teeth not detracting from the dazzling smile he gave me.

      I realized that all eyes were turned on me, and I found myself stammering, Sir, I mean, Uncle Tiberius, that is most, most generous of you. But a house like this, I swept my arm at the wonderful carpets on the floor and the equally impressive frescoes on the wall, I simply can’t afford something this grand.

      I was worried that I would offend the man, but he threw his head back with that braying sound of a laugh again. My boy, he gasped, after he had recovered from his spell of mirth, this trifle of a house won't cost you one brass obol. As I said, it’s my second house. Mother forced me, he grinned at her squawk of protest, to build something a bit more suited to the style to which she aspires, and because of you and the Legions, business has been good enough that I could indulge her. He gave me a wink then continued in a loud whisper that he clearly meant for his wife to hear, Though why I don’t know. My mistress is much less demanding.

      Despite his wife spluttering in protest, it was clear that this was all done in fun and love. I felt myself relaxing as my mind started to accept what was taking place.

      I believe it was the sight of Miriam’s face, aglow with happiness as she sat on the couch that clinched the decision for me, so I sighed and in the same playful tone, Well, sir, I know when I've been outflanked. I surrender, and I thank you for your kindness and generosity. I winked at Uncle Tiberius. Besides, I know if I refused, I'd be sleeping by myself.

      Yes, you would, Miriam said sweetly, causing all of us to laugh.

      The villa was the largest house I had ever lived in, despite the apologies of our host for its small size. Uncle Tiberius was Roman, a native of Campania who had come to the East some 20 years before to import, among other things, olive oil and wine, obviously making a fortune in the process. He was one of the most powerful and influential Romans in Syria, though you would not know it to look at him. He took us on a tour, passing through the atrium where a host of plants and small trees grew, every name of which he knew, pointing them out while giving a brief explanation of their origin. Surprisingly, very few of them were native to the region, but had been brought from Italia, an expense that I did not even want to consider.

      It reminds me of home, he sighed. Whenever I miss Campania, I'll just come here and sit and drink it all in, then I feel better.

      If you miss Italia, surely you have done enough to go home, have you not?

      Miriam never ceased to surprise me, for underneath her meek exterior and seeming submission there was a soul that seemed to be unafraid of asking someone from any station any question. I marveled at how graceful she was in doing so, never arousing anyone’s ire or making them uncomfortable. Uncle Tiberius gave her an appreciative smile, clearly enjoying being asked something other than polite questions.

      I have, I have indeed, young lady! He heaved a sigh, affecting an air of melancholy that was so theatrical that it made all of us laugh. But you see, I talk a great deal, as you undoubtedly have learned by now, about all manner of things that I never do, because ultimately I'm perfectly happy here. It’s just bad form not to profess to miss your homeland, particularly if you're a Roman, so I whine and wring my hands and shed a tear for dear old home.

      Moving through the atrium back into the first wing of the house, he took us into the triclinium, where a massive low table inlaid with citrus wood arranged in a series of geometric patterns was lined with couches covered in some sort of rich fabric and was the central feature of the room. Completing this wing of the house was the oecium, where Uncle Tiberius entertained other rich merchants, and where we had first met our benevolent host and his wife. Moving back through the atrium, he ushered us into the main bedroom, and I had to suppress a gasp of astonishment. The walls were plastered in frescoes of an erotic nature, where satyrs were cavorting about doing all manner of sexual things with nymphs in woodland settings, while in others Bacchus was holding court at what was obviously an orgy. Located in each corner of the room were statues of men and women coupling in a variety of positions, the floor decorated with a colorful mosaic of a surprisingly detailed scene of the sun rising over the seven hills of Rome. Prominent landmarks like Pompey’s Theater and the Forum Julii were plainly visible, along with the Circus Maximus. As I studied it more closely, it did not appear that the creator of the mosaic had ever been to Rome, or perhaps he just had to stick the landmarks in places where they would appear. Against one wall was the largest bed I had ever seen and Miriam was standing by it, which I reached out to touch with a hesitant finger.

      It’s not straw, she marveled. I have been sleeping on it now for several days and I still do not know exactly what it is made of.

      She turned to Uncle Tiberius with a questioning glance.

      Straw! Straw? Well goodness no, my dear! There’s nothing better than goose feathers. I trust you and the Primus Pilus will no doubt put this to good use, neh?

      He turned to give me a lewd wink, but his manner was so jovial that it was impossible to take any offense, and I found myself laughing. Even Miriam, whose people do not have the same open attitudes about sexual relations as we do, was smiling shyly, shooting me a glance through lowered lashes that told me that Uncle Tiberius was correct in his prediction. On each side of the bed, there were carpets of the type that abounded here in Syria, with deep, rich reds and golds, so striking that even I, who never took notice of such things, had to stop to admire the handiwork, recognizing that they were smaller versions of the much larger one on the floor of the oecium. There were two wooden chests, while on top of each were a set of cupboards where our clothes and personal items would be stored, and I assumed Miriam’s were already in one of them. Adjoining the bedroom through a short passageway was the bathing area, where a steaming bath was already ready for us, complete with a set of slaves to attend to our needs. There were a number of smaller bedrooms arranged around the bath, each with their own access. This was where Diocles would stay instead of the servants' quarters, which was in a separate building, though I did not tell him that yet. Uncle Tiberius led us back out past the atrium to the far side of the house, where we passed through another hallway and into the kitchen area and storerooms. There were perhaps a half-dozen people, men and women, bustling about obviously preparing a meal.

      I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of having the cooks prepare a dinner that I hope you will allow Pompeia and me to attend before we leave you two to make yourselves at home.

      Even if I were inclined to disagree, I did not see how I could refuse without appearing to be completely ungrateful, so I naturally said that we would be absolutely delighted, which had the added benefit of being the truth. In the short time I had known the man, I had grown to like him immensely, and I could tell that Miriam felt the same way, as did Gaius and Diocles. With the tour of the house complete, we returned to the oecium to sit on the couches, as I fumbled with the words I wanted to say. Despite being extremely grateful for the kindness being shown to us, there was still a nagging buzzing inside my brain that told me that such things just did not happen; rich people are not kind to poorer people as a general rule, so I struggled to find a way to properly frame the question I wanted to ask. Fortunately, Uncle Tiberius was an astute judge of character, or at least was able to divine what was on a man’s mind, because he turned serious.

      So, Titus Pullus, hero of the 10th Legion. You're sitting there trying to come up with a polite way to ask me why in the name of Hades am I doing you and your lady this kindness, neh?

      I had to laugh as I nodded. Yes, Uncle Tiberius, that's exactly what's going through my head right now. I mean no disrespect…..

      He waved me to silence, shaking his head as he said, I would be more concerned if you didn't have doubt about my motives. But please allow me to defer answering your question until dinner. Is that acceptable?

      I of course agreed, whereupon Uncle Tiberius and Pompeia excused themselves, saying that they needed to go to their home to take care of some things, all of us agreeing to have our dinner in two parts of a watch.

      Uncle Tiberius turned to Miriam, telling her, Prepare yourself for a truly Roman banquet, dear lady. The wine will be unwatered, and there will be more food than you have ever seen in your life.

      I am looking forward to it, she replied, and I could see that she was truly excited.

      After the older couple left, I turned to see all three of the conspirators beaming at me with smiles from ear to ear.

      I told you that you'd be surprised, Gaius said smugly, and I had to laugh in agreement.

      I sent Diocles back to camp to arrange the transfer of my baggage while I enjoyed a bath, trying to fight the feeling of unreality as I let the hot water soak my doubts away. Miriam and Gaius were off somewhere exploring the grounds, as I had been forced to promise Miriam that Gaius could attend the dinner before returning to camp for the night. When the time came for the dinner to be served, I went to find Miriam and my nephew. With a man on each arm, she was as beautiful as any of the highborn women I had seen in Rome, at least in my eyes. Our manner of women’s dress showed off what I had learned to be an exquisite figure, the upswept hair emphasizing the long line of her neck, slender and graceful. I could not have been prouder if it was Cleopatra on my arm. Uncle Tiberius and Pompeia were already there, reclining side by side in the second position, leaving the Lectus Summus vacant. Remembering the occasion of my one previous formal Roman upper class experience, I guided Miriam to the middle of the couch to my right, pointing Gaius to the third couch. Then, I turned to Diocles, who was hovering just outside the dining room, again pointing to the third couch. One would have thought I had let out a tremendous fart, as everyone in the room froze, even the two slaves bringing in the food. In retrospect, I suppose that it is unusual for a master to insist that a slave recline at a table with freeborn company, yet I had stopped thinking of Diocles as a slave so many years before that it just seemed a natural thing to do. Diocles looked horrified; even Uncle Tiberius looked uncomfortable, while Gaius sat there surveying the dishes being laid on the table, almost drooling and paying no attention to what was going on around him. Then I saw Miriam out of the corner of my eye, smiling up at me proudly, so any thought I had of reversing myself vanished like smoke before a strong wind. I pointed again, and Diocles, visibly gulping in nervousness, came in to lie gingerly on the couch, as if expecting the thing to suddenly sprout wings and fly away.

      I refused to make any comment about Diocles’ place at the table, turning instead to Uncle Tiberius and saying, So Uncle Tiberius, you promised to tell us what was behind your extraordinary act of kindness. Before he could answer, I continued, But first I would like to raise my glass in a toast to you, Tiberius Flavius Laevina, and to your lovely wife Pompeia. Thank you for making my life here much easier, in more ways than you can imagine.

      I grinned as I shot a sidelong glance at Miriam, who blushed prettily. As I lifted the vessel into which a slave had poured the wine, I saw that it was indeed a glass, an incredibly fragile thing that I was afraid I would crush in my rough hand. I had only seen such finery once before, not surprisingly in Egypt and I had been twice as petrified then that I would break something. Holding it carefully, I lifted the glass then drained it, as did the others, Miriam and Gaius looking similarly apprehensive as they tentatively touched the rim of the glass to their lips. Fortunately for everyone, nothing bad happened, then with the toast finished, I turned back to Uncle Tiberius, who was smacking his lips, his glass already empty and already reaching for the pitcher. Sensing eyes on him, he looked up guiltily, giving a chuckle as he shrugged.

      I do like my wine, yes I do. What was your question, Pullus? May I call you ‘Pullus,’ or do you prefer to be referred to by your rank as well?

      Seeing as we're practically family, you can call me ‘Titus,’ or ‘Pullus’ if you prefer and I don’t require being addressed as ‘Primus Pilus.’

      Except when we’re around other men, Gaius mumbled, his mouth full of the tiny shrimps that had been soaked in brine from the taste of them.

      That’s different and you know it, Nephew, or do I have to send you home early without supper?

      Sorry, Uncle. He sounded anything but as he continued munching, while Diocles was trying to hide his own grin without much success.

      Very well, ‘Titus’ it is. Well, Titus, my boy, I wasn't always the picture of the successful merchant that you see before you now. He shot his wife a sly grin, which she returned in kind. In fact, you and I have much more in common than you would think. You see, when I was much, much younger, and much spryer, I marched under the standard, as you do now.

      I had been reclining partially on my stomach, but I pulled myself to more of a sitting position to stare at the older man.

      "I know, I know; hard to believe looking at me now, but a bit more than 50 years ago, I was a Hastatus in the 3rd Legion of Lucius Cornelius Sulla when we defeated Mithridates at Chaeronea."

      Now he had everyone’s attention, for the name of Sulla was almost as well known throughout the world as that of Caesar, albeit for far different reasons. His reign of terror was both bloody and had lasted much longer than the brief reign of Gaius Marius after he went insane during his last Consulship. It was Sulla who started the practice of proscriptions, offering rewards for the heads of proscribed citizens. I looked at Uncle Tiberius through new eyes then, not as a smiling, somewhat silly old man, but a veteran and I raised my glass to him again in a salute, which he returned with his own glass. Gaius had stopped eating altogether, and I suspect his reaction was much the same as mine, as I saw him staring at the old man with undisguised interest.

      So, was Sulla as terrifying as they say?

      I distinctly remember when I had been a tiro, the older men had spoken of Sulla as we sat around the fire, and they still shuddered at the mere mention of his name.

      Oh, he wasn’t so bad, as long as you stayed on his good side, if you know what I mean. He gave me a wink. In fact, you could say that it was the Dictator, that’s what he wanted to be called, you know, who staked me when I left the Legion and started out on my own, though it was in a, shall we say, a roundabout fashion.

      He chuckled at his own wit, but I felt a shiver run up my spine, the full import of what he had just said hitting me. The veterans had always claimed that there were men who had gotten rich from informing on men who were proscribed, and here was a man sitting next to me essentially saying that he was one of those men, at least if I read him correctly.

      He had a fearsome temper, that's true, he continued. But it was more of an icy, controlled kind of thing that I can see men finding absolutely terrifying, though I never worried about it much. I just did what he wanted me to do and I never felt his wrath. But you marched with Gaius Julius Caesar, and the gods know that he had his own temper, didn’t he? I've heard tales of it.

      While I had suddenly become reluctant to share much with Uncle Tiberius I saw no harm in speaking of my dead general, chiding myself for being so suspicious, but immediately I countered that with the reminder that these were suspicious times, where it was impossible to know who to trust.

      Still, I was not willing to be rude, so I answered honestly. He did have quite a temper, I acknowledged. But he never lost it without cause. And he wasn't one to be vindictive.

      That's certainly true, Uncle Tiberius countered. Much to his detriment, I would add. He showed mercy to his enemies, and look where it got him. Sulla, on the other hand, never forgot a wrong done him and would always exact vengeance, even if he had to wait 20 years to do it.

      Where it got him, I said quietly, feeling the first flickering of anger at what I took to be a criticism of my general, "was to be considered a god by his people, and what Rome got was more new territory and people at one time than it's ever conquered before.

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