Marching With Caesar - Civil War by R. W. Peake

Rome to attend to the political situation, getting himself appointed dictator, which under Roman law gave him absolute power over the Republic. Needless to say, this did not sit well with Catonians like Vibius, meaning I had to endure dark mutterings whenever I got close to the fire of my old tent section, or what was left of it.
    As quickly as Caesar gained the upper hand in Hispania, the fortunes seemingly swung back to favor Pompey and the Senate, again making me wonder about the fickle nature of the gods themselves. Did they truly favor one side over another, or did they just enjoy watching us struggle with the events they put in front of us? Caesar had to leave Rome to go to Placentia to put down the rebellions of the 7th and 9th, while we continued marching to Brundisium. The only excitement came when we got within a half-day’s march of Rome, whereupon we started coming into contact with some of the traffic that poured into and streamed out of the capital city. Traders, merchants, caravans of exotic animals from all the corners of the known world were forced to step aside as we marched by, the Legions always having the right of way on the roads. There was a constant buzzing of excited talk among the ranks as we were assailed by new sights on an almost momentary basis. At one point on the Via Appia, we crested a hill, giving us a view down a valley towards the city, and we could see a dark smudge on the horizon that one of the people we passed heading away from the city swore was the smoke from the fires of the city of Rome. I found myself standing with Vibius, gazing in that direction, straining our eyes to try to pick out any detail possible.
    “It’s hard to believe we’re this close but we can’t go into the city,” Vibius said with a longing that surprised me. He had never expressed all that much interest in visiting Rome, and I glanced at him with a quizzical expression.
    “What?” he asked defensively, then shrugged his shoulders. “It just seems a shame to be this close and not be able to see it.”
    I slapped him on the back and said, “Don’t worry, we will. I promise."
    "I should live that long,” he said sourly, then fell back in.
    “All right ladies,” I roared. “Get back on the road. We still have miles to go before we can take a break and we’re not going to get there if you stand here grabbing ass.”
    I was gratified to see the men obey me with some alacrity, Figulus’ blackened eyes and limping gait doing more to instill discipline than any flogging.
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    We were almost to Brundisium and in camp one night when Zeno announced that Celer was requesting entrance to my tent. Knowing how much he loathed having to take such action, I realized that it must be of some importance, either as it pertained to the Cohort or because of our personal feud, but I still decided to let him wait for a bit. I told Zeno that I would see him after I finished the very important paperwork I was doing, which in fact was a letter to Gisela, and while it did give me a twinge to see the discomfort on Zeno’s face at the prospect of telling a Centurion to wait, it was not enough to stop me. I wish I could say I was above such petty revenge, but I was still relatively young and despite now having been Pilus Prior for some time, I still experienced moments of insecurity, most of them caused, at least in my mind, by Celer. Therefore, any regret I felt at forcing Zeno to have to tell Celer to wait was outweighed by the satisfaction I felt at exerting my authority. Finishing the letter, although to be fair I did wrap it up fairly quickly, I called for Zeno to bring Celer into my office.
    A Centurion’s tent is actually composed of two parts, the parts created by a partition provided by a leather panel that basically cuts the tent into two pieces. The front half of the tent serves as the Century or Cohort office, where Zeno worked, and the second half is a combination of my personal office and private quarters. I