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

knew some Centurions who had ordered the creation of wooden floors for their personal quarters, but I disdained such luxuries. It was partially because I thought it useless frippery, but mostly because I was still not secure enough in my position that it did not worry me, except that was something I would never share with others. I sat at my desk, seeing by Celer’s body posture that he was extremely angry, so I congratulated myself on making him wait. Any victory over Celer was one to be celebrated, at least in my mind.
    “Yes, Celer?” I asked pleasantly, leaning back in my chair, enjoying the sight of his clenched jaw grinding his teeth at the insult I had offered him by making him wait.
    “Pilus Prior, I bring some news I thought you might be interested in,” he began, albeit through clenched teeth.
    I affected an air of disinterested nonchalance, but my mind was instantly alert, knowing that Celer would never share something with me that was not momentous, such was our mutual hatred.
    “And what news is that, Centurion?” which was something of a further insult, since I did not refer to him by his proper rank as Pilus Posterior, and for an instant I worried that I had gone too far, but to his credit, he overlooked it and continued.
    “I have a cousin in the 9th, and he sent me word of what happened when Caesar faced the Legion to answer their demands for a discharge.”
    I dropped my feet from the desk and sat forward; this was indeed something in which I was interested. The talk in the Legions had been rife with speculation about how Caesar would handle the mutiny of the 9th, so I was definitely attentive. Now, Celer held something of the upper hand, and I swallowed my irritation at his smug expression. Reaching for the amphora of Falernian, one of the last ones willed to me by Pulcher, I offered him a cup, and it had the desired effect. He took a deep draught, smacking his lips in appreciation before silently holding the cup out for a refill. Now it was my turn to grit my teeth, but I decided it was a small price to pay for what he had to tell me, and I poured some more.
    “So, what did you hear?” I asked, and I was rewarded with Celer’s tale of what had happened in Placentia.
    ~ ~ ~ ~
    Even now, all these years later, it still amazes me how often men of all stripes continually underestimated Caesar, and in the case of the mutiny of the men of the 9th, they committed a serious error. I am sure they were sincere in their belief that Caesar would cave into their demands, particularly since Marcus Antonius had made a bad situation worse. As Celer told it, his source was a cousin who was a Centurion in the Fifth Cohort, and he had relayed to Celer that a delegation of men of first the 9th, and then the 7th, had attempted to seek an audience with Antonius to air their grievances, only to be continually rebuffed. As far as the men were concerned, their mutiny was justified because they were not given their due process under army regulations, a sentiment with which I had to agree. Antonius then sent a desperate message to Caesar, who already had his hands full pacifying Rome while proving that he was not a blood-drenched dictator in the mold of Sulla, begging him to come pull his fat from the fire, as it were. The men of the 9th were sure that once Caesar was told of Antonius’ refusal to give them a hearing, he would want to address their grievances to make up for Antonius’ blunder. They were wrong. Calling an assembly of the Legions, Caesar responded to the demands of the men of the 9th, whose chief complaint was the non-payment of a bonus promised by Caesar, plus their discharges. Caesar, in turn, reminded the men that they had agreed to follow him for the entire campaign, not for part of it, and if anyone was to blame, it was our common enemy for refusing to acknowledge that their cause was doomed and for running away rather than fighting. Caesar pointed out that he was not known for the slowness of his