He watched the young Tribune leave the room, then he gave a deep sigh. Another young man was starting the road to high office, or disgrace. The young man seemed so confident, as if nothing could go wrong. Well, he would soon find out! Fortunately for him, there was one important fact in his favour. Behind him would be almost fourteen hundred of the hardest men in one of the prime legions of Rome. Almost irrespective of what he did, the Jews would almost invariably back away, or suffer.
Chapter 28
His fellow Tribune, Lucius Vibius nodded impassively as Gaius outlined the route and the orders. Vibius was of equestrian in rank, which was why he was under Claudius' orders, but he had been a tribune for almost seven years, and he was obviously annoyed to have a novice Claudian as an immediate superior. If Vibius wished to progress, the next step would usually be election to a quaestorship, and it would not please him that as yet he had been overlooked. That he was overlooked had little to do with him; Tiberius had effectively given up administration in the last few years of his imperium, and Gaius Caesar had relied on the people immediately under him. His legate was always drunk, and Governor Vitellius seemed to be hoping the wretched Scipio would show some sort of life. All of which left Vibius exactly stationary, but he believed he was gradually earning the reputation from those who mattered that he lacked the ability to move upwards, and he made little effort to conceal is bitterness. Vibius would do his duty and would obey orders, but he was unlikely to go out of his way to save Gaius from himself. Respect would have to be earned. Vibius would know far more than he did about the region, so effectively the decisions should be Vibius', or the decisions could be worse than uninformed.
The best outcome would be for nothing to go wrong and the best way to achieve that outcome, Gaius thought wryly, would be to become well informed. So on every day, twenty scouts would go ahead to provide a situation report on each stopover before he arrived. Today's scouts had already set off. He had also persuaded Timothy to go two days ahead in case something could be learned only by a non-Roman. Accordingly, on the morning of departure he felt everything he could have done had been done.
When the moment came, he saw Vibius looking in his direction, as if waiting for something to go wrong. The soldiers were standing around, waiting for something to happen, making silly comments here and there. Not quite the auspicious start he had hoped for. He remembered Libo's advice: delegate. He looked towards Vibius, who was talking to the first centurion, and gave the order, "Tribune! Get the men to smarten up and commence the march!"
Vibius' face went a little red and he scowled. The Centurion gave a slight grin, and without waiting for Vibius, turned to the cohort. An order roared through the air, and suddenly the cohort snapped to attention. The men might snigger at a new Tribune while he was not watching, but the First Centurion of the first cohort was a completely different matter. You obeyed, or else. And in the Roman army, else was designed to be very unattractive.
"Our new Tribune has noticed slackness!" the Centurion roared. "Eyes forward you!" He stormed towards one of the few new recruits embedded in the first century and roared again, "What I am doing, or what the Tribune is doing, is none of your business." He paused again, then continued, "You are the first cohort! You are supposed to be the best this legion has. You will show that you are the best!"
He paused again, then roared, "First, leeeeffft. turn!"
The entire nine hundred men turned as one, followed by a near thunderclap as nine hundred hobnailed caligae smashed into the stone simultaneously.
There was a quieter roar from the distance, and the third turned, with another crash of boots.
"By the right, by centuries. . quiiiick march!"
Thump! Thump! Thump! Nine hundred boots smashed into the stone as one. The first century, as one, marched forward, the remaining men marching on the spot until it was their century's turn to march. Together with the thumps of the boots, was the noise of the armour, each piece on each soldier moving simultaneously. Whatever else happened, Gaius realized, he was not going to manage a surprise attack. On the other hand, this thumping could be heard for miles. The shear act of the cohort marching might even be heard an hour before it arrived. Plenty of time to demoralize the opposition, who would have to stand and wait.
Gaius stared in admiration at the precision of the marching. The men would not permit him to criticize their discipline, or perhaps, more to the point, the Centurions would not. Then he realized he had to do more than stare in admiration. He sat upright, as impassively as he could as the centuries moved out, and when the last of the first and the first of the third began to move, he nudged his horse's flanks and began to ride slowly alongside them.
He was so proud as he rode along on what was quite a splendid horse, with a new uniform, the insignia proclaiming his rank and the thunderbolt emblem of the Fulminata. That he would take with him forever. And he had independent command. Everything he had ever wanted! Perhaps he would get the chance to deploy troops in battle! Anything could happen. It was just when he was feeling so proud of himself that he glanced down to the men marching slightly behind him. One was laughing, then, seeing Claudius' glance, he suddenly looked embarrassed. They were laughing at him, Gaius realized.
His pride was pricked. For an instant he was furious, then he realized that that response was the quickest way to end his military career. He had to earn the men's respect. He glanced back, impassively watching the embarrassment and almost signs of fear, then he gave a forced chuckle and winked at the man, before waving a finger and riding on. He had to find something useful to do and to stop looking like such a prat!
Easier said than done, he found as the days passed. The fact was, the legion, or at least this part of it, marched quite well without him. He had absolutely nothing to do, except ride up and down, and listen to reports which told him little more than where they were, which he knew already. Vibius had arranged the places where they would camp, and these were largely those traditionally used on such a march. There was no reason to change these, and after decades of occupation, the legions would know where the good sites were.
One thing he did do was to look after his own horse. If the road looked awkward for the horse's feet, he would dismount and march. He made sure his own horse was fed well, and by so doing made sure there was adequate food for all the horses. While camps were being set, he would supervise proceedings, more so that he could become familiar with the procedure than to offer anything, then he would brush down his horse, and ensure it was fed, watered, and secure.
This was his first step towards earning respect. He could easily order anyone to look after his horse, and it would be done. By personally looking after his own horse, he gave the message that he truly valued his horse, and of that, the men approved.
He would then wander through the camp to make himself known, and around mealtimes, he would check the quality of the food. At first this annoyed Vibius, but later he rather grudgingly realized that by making sure he could not take the shortcuts with food purchases, Gaius was ensuring the men got properly fed. Worse, the men had realized this, and Gaius was becoming more popular with them.
The march into Judea was at first uneventful. They were not welcome, but then that was to be expected. Although the lands had been conquered since Pompey's time, an underlying problem remained. Rome believed in religious tolerance; any religion could be worshipped, provided the worshippers gave everybody else the same rights. Here, the basic premise seemed to be, thou shalt believe what I believe, for I am right and everything else is wrong. The cohorts marched on to surly stares. They were not welcome, but nothing was done to force the unwelcome to stay.