If Caesar had some plan to negate this little advantage he wasn’t telling me about it, nor anyone else. He seemed to assume that his legendary luck would overcome anything. This was another reason I was determined not to follow him into any more of his military adventures. I had rolled the dice too many times to believe that good luck lasts forever.
That day he was on the field of Mars reviewing a cohort of his new troops that had marched in from Capua the evening before. They were bright in new equipment and their shields shone with fresh paint. Something looked odd about them and it took me a moment to realize that their helmets were made of iron instead of the traditional bronze. They had been made in the Gallic armories Caesar had captured in the war. The Gauls are the best ironworkers in the world.
I was not surprised to see a large number of senators standing about, observing. Besides the general Roman fascination with all things military, they were all curious about the latest manifestation of Caesar’s ambitions. They commented on equipment, on drill and discipline, on the alacrity with which the men obeyed orders conveyed by voice and trumpet. On command the soldiers advanced and hurled their pila, then drew their swords and charged upon their invisible enemy. Senators and other veterans in the crowd tut-tutted and lamented the decline in strength and fortitude since the days when they were legionaries in service against Jugurtha or Sertorius or Mithridates.
Some commented that the shorter, wider sword carried these days was not as effective as the old one, while others said that it encouraged aggressiveness, since a man had to get closer to use it. Someone thought it odd that men so young had weapons adorned with silver. Someone else said that Caesar issued them expensive weapons so they’d be less likely to drop them and run, raising a general laugh.
I had been hearing talk of this sort all my life, the old-timers forever denigrating the new recruits. In truth, they looked like excellent material to me, and sore experience had given me a good eye for soldiers. Most were just young and inexperienced, but there was a good salting of grizzled veterans among them. These would provide a steadying influence when the arrows started to fly and slingstones rang from the fine iron helmets. They would probably prove to be as good as any other soldiers Rome had fielded.
Caesar was resplendent as usual, sitting in a leopardskin-draped curule chair upon the big, marble reviewing stand dressed in his triumphal regalia complete with golden wreath. This time I saw a new touch to his turnout, and I was not alone.
“He’s wearing red boots!” said a scandalized old senator.
“What’s wrong with that?” demanded an idler. “Caesar can wear anything he wants!”
“Not red boots,” the old man insisted. “There was a time when only kings of Rome were allowed to wear them.”
Caesar’s impressive footwear resembled the thick-soled buskins worn by actors on the stage, elaborately strapped and pierced, and topped with spotted lynx skin. They would have been merely a showy affectation had not the color been an affront to the Senate, as I had no doubt was Caesar’s intention.
“He’s asking for trouble, isn’t he?” Hermes said in a low voice.
“He’s done little else for the last ten years,” I affirmed. “He adds a bit more royal glitter to his appearance from time to time, testing the waters. If the Senate is outraged, so what? Just so the people stay behind him. That’s where his power lies.”
“You think he really intends to be king?”
“I’ve tried to deny it for a long time,” I said, “but those boots may be a bit too much. He’s outdone the consuls of the past. Now he wants to outdo Alexander. What’s the one thing left that will place him unassailably ahead of every Roman who has ever lived?”
“King of Rome. But there have been kings before.”
I shook my head. “They were petty kings, lording it over an Italian city-state still being regularly whipped by the Etruscans. With Parthia added to his conquests and Cleopatra making him Pharaoh, he’ll effectively be emperor of the world.” I shrugged. “Well, never let it be said that Caesar lacks ambition.” I shut up when I saw a little band of senators heading my way. I plastered a silly smile on my face but I was too late. Cicero was among them, and he was steeped so deeply in the rhetorical arts that no nuance of facial expression escaped him.
“So, do you believe now, Decius?” Cicero said, gesturing toward the podium. Brutus and Cassius were with him, as on the day when Caesar had rebuked Archelaus. Lucius Cinna, Caesar’s former brother-in-law, was with them, and some others I did not know as well.