Bloody Romans!

S01E01

Sure, the show's called Rome, but it begins in Gaul. Julius Caesar, having come, seen, and conquered, is basically a rock star back home. Which makes some folks nervous -- specifically the Roman aristocracy, as well as Caesar's homie and partner in rule, one Pompey Magnus. Pompey's lost his wife in childbirth, a wife who just happened to be Caesar's daughter. So a woman named Atia of the Julii plots a double-suck-up: she offers her daughter as Pompey's new wife, and sends her son Octavian to Gaul with a white stallion as a gift to Caesar. Meanwhile, in Gaul, some guys sneak into Caesar's camp and steal the golden eagle that his army uses as a standard. A couple of hapless soldiers are assigned the impossible task of finding it. Luckily, they stumble upon the band of ruffians who have not only taken the eagle, but have also kidnapped Octavian. Who helpfully explains the significance of all the machinations going on between Caesar and Pompey, so I'm glad he didn't get killed, or I'd be totally confused. There are some other people, too: Timon, who likes to have sex in front of the help; Cato and Cicero, a couple of windy senators; Mark Antony, who likes being a bad-ass; and Marcus Junius Brutus (he of the famous "et tu"), who's uptight and snobbish even when drunk. Anyway, it turns out that the standard-thieves were working for Pompey, who was hoping to weaken Caesar (and who also declines to marry Atia's daughter after shtupping her). So Caesar sends back word that he and his army are on their way back to Rome. What's Latin for "it is on"? Also, there are lots of boobies.

Welcome, citizens, to the Rome recaps. This is the IIIrd show on which I've been the regular recapper, and the Ist I've covered from the beginning. I'm pretty excited, but I just hope that after IV months of covering XXIV, followed almost immediately by XII weeks of VI Feet Under, and then coming right into this without a break, that I don't end up exhausted in the hospital with a 4 in my arm. Sometimes it's hard to be 1000 Giant.

(I'll give you a second to think about that.)

The opening credits are set against shots of busy Roman streets, where faceless citizens stroll past, taking no notice of the fact that the bloody and bawdy graffiti on the walls is moving. And the final image is that of the word ROME appearing in black caps on a red wall. The font? Times New Roman, of course.

Hey, it's a map of Middle-Earth! No, it's actually Southern Europe -- Italy and the Adriatic Sea. A plummy-voiced narrator begins, "Four hundred years after the last king was driven from the city, the Republic of Rome rules many nations, but cannot rule itself." Fade to a guy crouched over a flat stone, drawing a crude picture of two guys fighting. The narrator continues, "The city is constantly roiled by conflict between the common people and the nobility." And yet this doofus can still find a peaceful spot to do his little drawrings. "Power is shared and order maintained by two soldiers: old friends Gnaeus Pompey Magnus, and Gaius Julius Caesar." Shot of a big, middle-aged, dark-haired guy -- Caesar -- embracing a shorter, stouter, older guy and kissing him on the cheek while both wear laurel crowns and flower petals rain down upon them. It's so romantic. "Once, Pompey was acknowledged by all to be the greater man." Pompey -- the shorter, older guy -- stands in a red-trimmed white toga. "But for the last eight years, while Pompey has kept the peace in Rome [aside from all the roiling, I take it], Caesar has waged a war of conquest in Gaul that has made him ever more rich and popular." Dissolve to a close-up of Caesar, looking serious over images of battle. "The balance of power is shifting. And the nobility have grown fearful." A laurel-crowned Caesar casts his eyes humbly skyward. "Though of noble blood himself, Caesar stands with the common people. A man like that, an aristocrat with soldiers, money, and the love of the people, might make himself King." So we're all up to speed, right? Good. Fade to -- black? Weird!

Remember the beginning of Gladiator, with thousands of Roman soldiers arrayed for miles along a ridge line? We don't get that here. There might be a couple hundred, though. Although this is a joint venture between the BBC (or "the Beeb," as some call it) and HBO (or "the Aitchbuh," as I can't seem to get anyone to start calling it), but they still have a small-screen budget that they have to stretch out for twelve hours. In this first scene, dirty and bloody Roman soldiers stand in formation in a wood somewhere, watching as hordes of screaming barbarians approach their lines. The Centurion in command -- identifiable by the red sideways mohawk adorning his helmet -- blows a whistle, and his men place their shields in front of them. The armies clash. As we've heard for thousands of years, the Romans are organized and disciplined, while their enemy is basically an armed mob. Which is why most of the known world was run for centuries by people who didn't know what zero was. The barbarians basically face an impenetrable wall, but one that frequently reaches under itself with swords and stabs them. I'd prefer a regular wall. One guy vaults over the front line, but is skewered by a Roman sword immediately upon hitting the ground. The Centurion blows his whistle again, and the soldiers at the front move to the back, to be replaced by fresh ranks who hold the line against the screaming horde like riot police. Except for one large, short-bearded Roman, who wades into the enemy force and starts wreaking havoc with his sword and shield, mano a army-o. "Pullo! Formation!" the Centurion hollers at him. Pullo ignores the order. The Centurion orders a group of his men to surround him as he follows Pullo into the fray, where his fancy helmet quickly gets knocked clean off his head. Here's where we get our first good look at the show's ostensible lead, who will later be introduced as Lucius Vorenus. He looks a bit like a sharper-faced Anthony Michael Hall in the present day. I'm embarrassed to say that in this entire huge cast, the only actor I can remember seeing in anything else is Ciaran Hinds, who plays Caesar. And that was in Tomb Raider: The Cradle of Life. Oh, like you come to this site for culture. Anyway, back to the show. ["Maybe it would jog your memory if I said Lucius played the nice junkie who died of AIDS in Trainspotting?" -- Wing Chun] Pullo gets double-teamed, and the enemy who's about to kill him gets killed by the Vorenus instead. "Get back in formation, you drunken fool," the Centurion orders Pullo, which earns him a sock across the chops from his underling. Vorenus takes Pullo down with a savage blow from the edge of his shield, and gives the order to regroup as an unconscious Pullo is dragged off the field by two other soldiers. I can't believe they're fighting when there's a battle going on.

The subtitle reads, "Caesar's Camp in Gaul, 52 BC." Now that the battle's over, Vorenus is putting on a little show, which consists of having a shirtless Pullo flogged while the Centurion makes a little speech about the "sacrilege" Pullo committed that's going to cost him his life. Plus there's a handy breakdown of the penal code, for future reference: "Brawlers and drunkards will be flogged. Thieves will be strangled. Deserters will be crucified." Pullo is finally untied and led away while making a macho comment. Vorenus takes off his helmet and looks annoyed. If macho guys bother you, dudeus, maybe you should be in another line of work.

Elsewhere in the camp -- which is pretty much a sprawling tent city out on the Gallic plain somewhere -- Caesar is all set up on an outdoor throne. A lone Gaul stands before him, raises his sword, and drops it to the ground. A herald announces the Gallic chieftain's name and rank -- which is "Vercingetorix...King of all the Gauls." So this isn't just some random French dude here. Soldiers strip Vic of his helmet and clothes and force him to his knees. "What would you have of him?" The herald asks Caesar. The man standing behind Caesar on the dais is holding Caesar's standard: a carved golden eagle mounted on a long staff. This will be important again later. The standard-bearer now steps forward and lowers the Eagle to Vic's face, and jabs it at him until the naked prisoner kisses it. Every Roman in the camp draws his sword and begins chanting Caesar's name. Caesar himself just looks annoyed, because now he has to find a whole new bunch of guys to go kill.

In the stockades, or whatever they called them then, Pullo -- now stripped of his armor and wearing just the rough brown tunic that goes underneath -- hears the commotion and raises himself to peer through the slats of the shack, where he tries in vain to attract the attention of someone outside to tell him what's going on. "You piss-drinking sons of circus whores!" he bellows, in the show's first decent round of cursing. Finally, the prisoner in the cage takes pity on him and says that the war is over. "The boys have been given two days' liberty to sack the town and take personal spoils," the inexplicably well-informed fellow prisoner elaborates. "They'll all be rich." Pullo's pissed that he's missing it. If I lived in the town, I'd be pissed at Vercingetorix for not cutting a better deal. What's the point of surrendering if you're going to get just as raped and pillaged as you would have anyway?

Out in the camp, Gauls are already being loaded up into cages to be sold into slavery. As Caesar looks on, a courier approaches him with a scroll from Pompey Magnus. "My dear friend and partner Gaius," it begins, "I have terrible news."

Flash to a dimly-lit room, where a very bloody woman with a bulging belly is about to give up the ghost. Pompey, her husband, leans over her helplessly. She laughs at his hair, because for just a moment he's the only man in this entire show who doesn't have his too-short bangs scraped down over his forehead. But even that's temporary, as we'll see later. Smiling, the woman dies. Pompey cries over her body, complete with drooling and everything.

Back at his camp, Caesar finishes reading the letter. In his first line of the show, he puts an end to the dickering over the slaves and heads into his tent...

...where he's quickly joined by a boisterous young soldier who looks like a cross between a young Marlon Brando and an even younger Richard Burton. Which is appropriate, since he will later turn out to be Mark Antony. He realizes from the letter Caesar holds that something's up, and Caesar exposits, "My daughter Julia died in childbirth." So Pompey is not only Caesar's partner, but his son-in-law. Well, not anymore, I suppose. Mark Antony crosses behind Caesar and puts a comforting but manly hand on Caesar's shoulder, saying, "I grieve with you." He asks about the child. "A girl, stillborn," Caesar says. So both Pompey and Caesar are without heirs now. Caesar comments, "Pompey will be needing a new wife." Wow, that's kind of cold. I'm not sure what it is about Ciaran Hinds's face that bothers me so much. Probably that it's so damn big. I suppose I'll just have to get used to it, but I'm glad I do my recapping on a small TV.

In Rome, Pompey kneels in a black hooded robe, watching his dead wife, who's been stood up against the far wall between two flaming braziers. A bald man comes in behind and leans down to whisper in Pompey's ear. Ever since The Empire Strikes Back, all bald servants are pretty much Lobot to me. But instead of a computer on his head, this guy has a tattoo above his right ear that reads "something POMPEIUS." Lobotus whispers to his boss, "More of Caesar's spoils from Gaul."

Still in his mourning robe, Pompey emerges onto the busy, sunlit street, which is cluttered with all manner of Gallic statuary and urns, including the giant marble foot from the opening credits of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Soldiers ride on the back of a horse-drawn cart, tossing smaller items to the teeming crowds who are joyously chanting Caesar's name. Pompey looks annoyed. Probably because he wishes the soldiers were throwing statues at the crowd instead.

By M. Giant

Further up the street, a little group of three aristocratic gentlemen look on with distaste. "What a dreadful noise plebes make when they're happy," says one of the men. "This is music," says the older, slighter man at his side, who would be played by Derek Jacobi if they could have afforded him. "Wait until Caesar starts them howling for our blood. Then you'll hear something dreadful."

Elsewhere, a burly, goateed man leads a riderless white horse through the street. It's another crowd scene. In fact, I think I can safely say that unless I specify otherwise, you can pretty much assume that every street scene on this show is going to be a crowd scene. The budget for extras on this production must be phenomenal, between costuming them and teaching them how to do ancient Roman stuff and speak Latin. Of course, they could all be wearing suits and playing GameBoys and I probably wouldn't notice the difference. The camera follows the horse and its escort past bakers, smiths, and other tradespeople, all the way to the main street from the magazine ads for this show, the one with the view of the building with the red-and-white columns. Except instead of just one guy there like in the ads, there are about five million. The camera lingers so that the production can get its money's worth as the guy turns the horse over to an ostler. Look, I took a couple of Shakespeare classes once, so I'm allowed to use words like "ostler." You're just going to have to deal. Goateed Man makes his way past a corpulent town crier who is giving the day's news, which includes notice that the Senate will be sitting the day. Goateed Man continues on, towards the solid black gate in a large, red-and-yellow-walled compound.

We see him inside. Not just inside the compound, but inside its owner, a woman we'll later learn is named Atia of the Julii (pronounced "Julie, I," as in "Julie, I am a little bit scared of you"). She bears a certain physical resemblance to Melinda Clarke from The O.C., as well as sharing her character's haughty manner. Which is made even haughtier by her British accent. Seriously, imagine Julie Cooper with a British accent, and you've got this woman. Who, at the moment, has the even greater distinction of being naked and riding pole. You won't see Julie Cooper in that position on Fox without some artful framing. Man and woman fuck quite vigorously while attendants attend. There are always attendants around on this show, even in the most private scenes, which probably tells you something about the upper classes' opinion of the attendants' humanity. After they finish, Julii Cooper reaches out and is handed a goblet, from which she drinks. She compliments the man on his performance, and lets us know his name is Timon (pronounced like "Timin'" as in "my daggone timin' belt busted"), saying, "Two stallions have come to Rome today." Timon realizes that she was just doing him in return for the horse. Without dismounting, Julii Cooper tells him not to take it so hard: "I've always found something perversely erotic about goaty little men." Wow he got demoted from stallion to goat in like ten seconds. He'd better clear out of there while he's still a vertebrate.

Later, Julii Cooper takes a bath alone. Except for the servants surrounding her, of course. A blond, curly-haired teenager peeks through the diaphanous curtains surrounding Julii Cooper's bath chamber, then starts to shrink away. Rather than being offended at being glimpsed in the altogether, Julii Cooper stands up to show off her anachronistic landing strip, and calmly invites her son to join her. But she means him to join her in the room, not in the bath, and he gets a full view of her ass as she climbs out. As the servants wrap her up so that she can finally play a scene where she has clothes on, she announces that she just bought a horse: "The best horse in Rome, by all accounts." And now she's sending the boy to Gaul to give it to his great-uncle Caesar in person. As she speaks, a servant sets something down to the boy, and gets thoughtlessly cuffed by him. It's played like such a non-event that it passes without comment by anyone present, which of course makes it a fairly telling detail. Julii Cooper explains to her son that Caesar will be showered with gifts when he gets back to Rome, and that she wants their family to be the first: "While yet a mere boy, you would risk your life to honor your beloved great-uncle. You ride into Caesar's camp alone, on a noble white stallion. That's a gift he won't soon forget." Yeah, thanks for the horse with a shitload of miles on it, lady. The boy isn't too thrilled about being part of this plan, but Julii Cooper isn't about to let him off the hook. Did I mention that the boy is Octavian, who will one day grow up to be Augustus Caesar, the first emperor of Rome? Actually, this is probably a good time to clarify our spoiler policy. It doesn't count as a spoiler if (a) the show has already aired on the East Coast, or (b) it happened two thousand years ago. But to spare you any other knowledge you'd rather not have, I'll leave you wondering whether, after following Julius as the leader of Rome, Augustus gives way to Septembrus.

Pompey presides over a fractious Senate. ["Wait, so Pompey is the President of the Senate? Why does that remind me of someone else for no reason?" -- Wing Chun] There are three groups of white-togaed senators arranged on curved bleachers wrapped around one side of the room, and each group is in a different state of disquiet. The group on the far right is the least-populated, I should mention. An old man with the voice of Dr. Claw from the Inspector Gadget cartoon gives the floor to Cato, the Derek Jacobi-looking guy from earlier. Cato, the only guy in the room wearing black -- and a kicky, off-the shoulder number, to boot -- launches into his speech. He demands of Pompey the reason that Caesar hasn't returned home to his co-consul's seat, and returned his soldiers to their families, now that his "illegal war" is over and Caesar has become obscenely rich off the spoils of Gaul. He wants to know why Caesar is always sponsoring races, fights, and feasts, and has paid off the debts of certain member of the Senate. These are, of course, rhetorical questions, because Cato thinks he knows the answer: Caesar "wants to buy himself a crown! He wants to destroy the Republic and rule Rome as a bloody tyrant!" The pro-Caesar faction of the Senate -- the minority -- jeers Cato angrily. Undeterred, Cato calls for Caesar's governorship in Gaul to be terminated, and for Caesar to be called home "to answer charges of illegal warfare, theft, bribery, and treason!" He sits as the rest of his section applauds him madly and the Caesarian Section of the Senate continues jeering. Pompey stands and calls for order, and then says in Caesar's defense that his generosity is borne of love for the people. "It is the people who rule, not you fine noblemen," he sneers at Cato. Another senator in the middle section mutters to his neighbor, "It is Pompey's soldiers that rule, not we fine noblemen." Pompey uses his consular veto to quash Cato's motion. The majority hoots angrily, and the Caesarean Section cheers, until the muttering senator, Cicero, stands up and calls for silence. He tells everyone to let Pompey speak, but has a few words to say himself first. He compares Caesar to a snarling wolf, whom it would be unwise to goad as Cato suggests, or to befriend as Pompey does. "Perhaps you would have us climb a tree," Pompey shoots back, and everyone laughs and applauds like that was a really good one. Nice to know the Roman senate chamber wasn't always such a tough room. As Cicero sits, defeated, Pompey announces that he will never betray Caesar. Which means he totally will. The Caesarean Section stands and applauds as Pompey leaves the dais.

Later at night, Pompey sits with a boisterous crowd in the street, laughing at some piece of bawdy mime-like theater. You can tell it's bawdy because a guy comes out on stage with a giant black phallus protruding from under his tunic. Pompey is approached by Cato and his friend from earlier, whom Pompey greets as Scipio. Scipio introduces his daughter Cornelia, a skinny, bird-faced woman. Pompey compliments Cornelia's dead soldier husband, and she complains that she shouldn't be there, what with a woman walking around on the stage with her ass hanging out. They make sure to show said ass, just so we know she's not making it up. It's totally relevant to the story. It is! Scipio hurriedly escorts his daughter out of there. Cato takes this opening to ask for a private convo with Pompey. Pompey agrees, and they head somewhere quiet.

Cato has a pitch: "Neither we aristocrats alone nor you and your soldiers alone can crush Caesar." Pompey tells him to stop right there, and insists that he could defeat Caesar; he just doesn't want to. As he turns to go, Cato urgently advises Pompey to renounce Caesar, since it's Pompey whom the people love, and who therefore has the real power. "You ask me to openly betray a friend," Pompey says. "I cannot do it." Well, not openly.

We watch young Octavian pack up all of his possessions in a little pouch that hangs around his neck. His possessions are very small, you see. Packing must have been so much easier in Roman times. His older sister, Octavia -- that should be easy to remember -- comes in and drops a ring of her own into the little sack. "Everything will be all right," she promises him. Sure, now that she's made his luggage 10% heavier.

The morning, Octavian mounts the white stallion to head for Gaul. His mom assures him that he's not scared, and sends him on his way, surrounded by a retinue of armored servants. Julii Cooper tells the leader, "Bring him back safe or I'll have the eyes of your children for beads." On that warm and fuzzy note, the compound gate swings shut behind Octavian and his party. Surprisingly, the street is not ridiculously crowded.

Over at Casa Pompey, Lobotus is giving his boss a massage. A blue-tuniced servant enters Pompey's chamber with the bad news that the horse Pompey wanted to buy -- although we didn't know it until now -- has already been sold. The man brings Pompey up to speed pretty efficiently on Julii Cooper's plan, and is quickly dismissed. Pompey angrily shrugs off his massage: "Damn him! Must he have everything?" Well, yeah. Crack a book sometime, Pompey. "As you are going to be in Gaul anyway," he tells his bald, tattooed servant, "I might kill two birds with one stone." Lobotus goes back to massaging.

Caesar's camp at night. In one of the many tents, an aging soldier polishes the Golden Eagle standard. There's another, younger soldier in the tent with him -- and then there's just the bleeding corpse of another, younger soldier in the tent with him, as a nearly naked, blue-painted man has just slit the other soldier's throat from behind. The older soldier hears the noise, but doesn't bother to get up and investigate behind the curtain blocking his view. But he finds out the skinny soon enough -- or, rather, too late -- as two members of the Blue Man Group ambush him, kill him, and take the standard, leaving a blue-stained corpse lying on the floor of the tent.

In the dawn light, Octavian and his party ride slowly across the countryside.

Titus Pullo rots in his cell. Actually, he's exploring his artistic side. He uses a piece of chalk to scrawl a doodle on the wall of a gigantic, spurting cock. It doesn't seem to satisfy him. Maybe he should ask for some clay.

Elsewhere in the camp, Caesar is warmly greeting a new visitor -- a young, thin-faced civilian whom he addresses as Brutus. He ushers Brutus into his tent, and the younger man compliments Caesar's decorating style: "It's almost like a proper house." No, Caesar, don't turn your back on him! Instead of stabbing Caesar, though, Brutus expresses his sympathies over the loss of Caesar's daughter: "Horrible business. Condolences, really." Here's a good time to mention that obviously the ancient Romans didn't speak English, and they probably wouldn't have spoken with English accents if they did, but I for one find it less distracting than American accents would be, or Latin with subtitles. But these characters all have different English accents according to their class, rather than some homogenized Masterpiece Theater lilt. Brutus, in particular, talks like he's one of the upstairs people in Gosford Park or something. It's actually kind of entertaining.

Later, over breakfast, Caesar asks about Brutus's mother, and says he has some letters to send back with his visitor. Brutus starts complaining about the length of the ride, but he doesn't get very far before Mark Antony comes striding in, bellowing, "Brutus, me old cock! What on earth are you doing here?" "Mark Antony, how nice," Brutus lies, rubbing his head where the other man just cuffed it. He explains he was visiting his cousin, but Mark Antony quickly cuts him off to hit Caesar up for a half-talent of gold, whatever that is. He explains that it's for the standard, and Caesar calls for his servant to set Mark Antony up. As the soldier follows the guy to cash out, Brutus complains about Mark Antony: "The way he carries on, one might think he came from no family at all." Caesar confesses that he doesn't mind Mark Antony's vulgarian streak. If by "streak," he means "entire wingspan." Brutus asks about the Eagle Mark Antony mentioned, and Caesar gives his future murderer an appraising look before explaining about the stolen standard. He claims that its theft has brought his men, already low in morale, to the point of mutiny. Brutus says he didn't notice any unhappiness. "They never flaunt their discontent," Caesar explains. "Gets them whipped. Really, Brutus, I'm at my wit's end." Brutus looks down at the table sympathetically, and Caesar steals a glance at him to see if he bought it. I think Caesar's up to something. You can tell, because he's awake.

But Octavian's not. As his party rides slowly along, he naps in the saddle until the servant leading his party calls a halt. He wakes Octavian to say there are only a few more miles to go. Octavian bitches about being touched without permission, and demands water. As the servant reaches for his canteen, an arrow streaks from the surrounding trees and buries itself in the servant's throat right above his breastplate. Nice shooting, Tex! The other slaves go down in quick succession under the arrows of more hidden archers. One of the ambushers drags Octavian down from the white stallion, and appears ready to do more until Octavian boots him in the groin and crawls into the underbrush. He hides there until a long-haired, bearded man peeks into his hidey-hole and grins, showing a mouthful of gold teeth. Wow, I didn't know the Gauls invented hip-hop.

Vorenus -- you remember, the Centurion from the opening scene -- waits patiently in Mark Antony's tent. That worthy does us a favor by entering and addressing the Centurion by name for the first time. "You have a brain," Mark Antony comments, which is why he wants to know what Vorenus would do if it were up to him to retrieve Caesar's standard. Vorenus thinks quickly on his feet: "I'd take captives from every tribe in Gaul and crucify them one by one until someone tells me where the Eagle is. Then I would go in quick and quiet with one or two men and steal it back." Mark Antony tells Vorenus to make it so, to Vorenus's ill-hidden dismay and annoyance. Mark Antony hands the Centurion a pouch of gold coins, which he says is a quarter talent: "For bribes and such. Spend it wisely." I'm sure Mark Antony gave the other quarter talent to needy Gallic orphans. Vorenus gives a Roman salute, of all things, and takes his leave.

Cut to a few Roman soldiers doing what Roman soldiers are famous for in a certain religious tradition, i.e., crucifying some poor bastard. Vorenus watches impassively as a few screaming Gauls are nailed to crosses, which are raised to vertical positions and none-too-gently dropped into shallow holes in the ground dug for that very purpose. Owie. There's lots of screaming, of course. French people get so pissed when you don't let them smoke. "I know where the Eagle is," the first crucifee wails. "The Blue Spaniards! They came to stay for one night and then rode to the Cadurci lands." Vorenus is annoyed to hear the word "Cadurci." "Fortune pisses on me," Vorenus grumps, which is pretty rich coming from a guy standing at the foot of an occupied cross. He stomps off, remembering to order the Gauls taken down. Aw, what a softy. The solder he leaves standing there sighs in irritation, like, "I just put them up, dammit!"

Pullo is still in his cell, and is now resorting to prayer. He appeals to Forculus, whom Google tells me is the Roman god of doors, asking to be set free. Actually, he's negotiating, offering to sacrifice a white lamb or six pigeons. He's barely finished speaking when the door swings open behind him. A soldier enters and tells a grinning Pullo to stand up. But Pullo stops grinning when Vorenus walks in. The soldier tells Pullo, "You are to be released to the command of Second Spear Centurion Lucius Vorenus. Do your duty to his satisfaction and you will be spared damnation in the arena." Pullo says he'd rather rot. The soldier explains that the orders are from Mark Antony, and Pullo is assigned to help retrieve Caesar's Eagle. Pullo laughs incredulously while Vorenus -- who hasn't said a word in this scene -- smirks down at him.

Brutus is back in Rome already. His mother comes and greets him, and they embrace happily. She asks about Brutus's cousin -- "Tedious but healthy," reports Brutus -- and Caesar. "Who?" Brutus deadpans. MamaBrutus asks if Caesar asked about her. Brutus pretends not to remember, then hands over Caesar's letter. "Oh, you beast," MamaBrutus ribs.

Later, MamaBrutus -- whose name I'm going to stop pretending I don't know is Servilia of the Julii -- reads Caesar's letter in her bedchamber. In the letter, he makes excuses for not writing: "Be sure I have been thinking of you with great affection. I long to be together and alone with you." As always, the text of the letter is read in voice-over by its author. I may have to come up with some kind of shorthand for that. Or maybe you can just assume that's what happens when someone reads a letter from now on. I have faith in you. Servilia disgustedly hands the letter over to a waiting servant, and goes over to her dressing table. The servant thinks it's great: "You think he says such things to his wife?" she scoffs. The servant, like Lobotus, has an accent I can't place. Rather than British, she sounds like she's from some unspecified region of Foreignia. Servilia wonders why Caesar says "affection" in his letter instead of "love." The maid scoffs, and Servilia snaps her fingers to retrieve the letter and dismiss the maid. "Our guests will be arriving," she says. Once alone, she reads the letter again and allows herself a small smile.

Vorenus and Pullo ride through the forest on horseback in single file, Vorenus in the lead. Pullo's now back in his soldier's armor and red cape. He's suddenly decided to get all friendly-like with his superior, and informally compliments Vorenus's riding. "Almost as well as me," he "gushes." Vorenus tells Pullo to address him correctly. "Almost as well as me, sir," Pullo agrees pleasantly. "My father was a Ubian, probably." Vorenus shortly explains that his own people raised horses in Mutina. Pullo thanks Vorenus for tapping him for the gig: "A noble way to make amends...for getting me into this cac by calling me names." I don't know what a cac is. Must be Latin. Titus says he never forgets a favor. Vorenus darkly explains he's done Pullo no favor; their chances of finding the Eagle are slim to none. "Not finding the Eagle is much the same as losing it. We'll be disgraced." They're on a doomed mission, which means they're doomed themselves. Vorenus goes on to say that he chose Pullo because, "in effect, [Pullo's] dead already. The loss of one drunken fool does little damage to the legion." Pullo asks, if that's true, "what's to stop [Pullo] from cutting [Vorenus] into little gobs and riding off?" Vorenus easily says that if Pullo's honor as a soldier isn't enough, Vorenus will have to rely on his superior fighting skills. Rather than taking up the implied challenge, Pullo just says, "Very good."

At Servilia's place, there's a party going on. Brutus is rather drunkenly holding forth to an appreciative crowd that includes Julii Cooper's daughter Octavia and her husband, as well as his mother Servilia and Pompey. He's describing the Gauls: "Of course, you have to imagine long hair down to here, huge mustaches, the most horrific stench, they eat only raw meat and never wash." Brutus rode the subway to Gaul? He does admire the Gauls' tradition of resolving political differences by single combat to the death. "Mother's always telling me to attend to politics," he complains. His mom, gently taking the goblet from his hand (too late), points out that it's been a tradition in their family for five hundred years. Brutus complains that politics is dull: "If our Senate conducted business in the German style, I would certainly go and watch." Gee, Brutus, maybe one day you can help make that happen. Pompey leads the young man away before he can embarrass himself and his mother further.

When the two men are alone, Pompey asks how Caesar is. Brutus worries that Caesar seems demoralized. "His standard was stolen," Brutus explains. "His men are in uproar about it. You know how plebians can be about such things." Brutus grabs a fresh goblet from a nearby table as he says that Caesar's men are on the verge of mutiny. "Can you believe it? After all he's done for them, he's not sure whether they will fight for him anymore." He goes on about lower classes and their "crude sense of loyalty," and then realizes he's insulting Pompey before Pompey does, and makes himself scarce. So it looks like Brutus has fulfilled his function as Caesar's pawn admirably. I wonder if he'll make Caesar pay for that one day.

Julii Cooper has also gotten a letter from Caesar, which she's reading as the party goes on. In the letter, Caesar asks her to find a new wife for Pompey. He says he'd ask his own wife, Calpurnia, to do it, but that "she has no eye for this kind of business." He wants Julii Cooper to choose someone and present her to Pompey in Caesar's name. As she's reading, Servilia approaches, and the two women exchange compliments -- on the party, on Julii Cooper's dress, and on her daughter Octavia. Servilia asks where Octavian is. "He's in Gaul," Julii Cooper says matter-of-factly.

Which is correct. In fact, Octavian is face-down on the Gallic ground, his hands tied to the handles of a parked wagon while his captors carouse loudly at their campfire nearby.

Later, Julii Cooper kneels in a temple somewhere. Her long, curly hair hangs loose, and she's wearing a simple white gown and chanting to the sound of drums. There's a small equestrian statue of Octavian in the room. Clearly, some kind of ritual is about to go down. On a platform directly above where Julii Cooper is kneeling, a bull is chained on a platform, wearing a laurel garland on its head and moaning in panic. Handlers keep it subdued. A priest stands by and dancers gyrate while Octavia looks on nervously. Uh-oh, I think I know where this is going. The chanting and drumming accelerate. The priest nods. One of the men standing with the bull raises his arms. Julii Cooper lifts her face to the platform above. Octavia looks away. The bull's throat is slashed, and the drumming and chanting stop, so that all we can hear is the blood raining down onto Julii Cooper's face and hair and dress, until the bull moans and collapses. The blood shower seems to continue forever as Julii Cooper gasps orgasmically beneath it. Now there's something you won't see on Desperate Housewives. I wait for Julii Cooper to telekinetically blow up the whole prom, but instead she rises and walks up to the priest, who tells her, "Great Mother says no harm shall come to your boy." "Good," says Julii Cooper, quite cheerfully for someone who's completely covered in gore. I wish she would give the priest a relieved hug. I don't know if that was a scrying ritual or a protection ritual. Either way, it's a pretty clear message that even two thousand years ago, religious figures were exploiting rich and gullible people and dealing in things that come out of bulls.

We see Julii Cooper bathing yet again, still wearing the gown, which is white again. That water must have so much bleach in it I'm surprised her eyeballs aren't blonde. Octavia sits at the edge of the tub, and Julii Cooper asks how her marriage is going. Octavia says it's going fine; she and her husband have gotten over their past difficulties, and they love each other. "Well, that's a shame," Julii Cooper says. "Now I feel bad." Octavia wonders what she means, and Julii Cooper swims over to break the news: "Uncle Julius intends to marry you to Pompey Magnus...You shall be the first woman in Rome." Octavia turns away in shock. Obliviously, Julli Cooper continues, "We shall have to get you divorced from Glabius, obviously." Octavia's not down with that at all. Julii Cooper says that if Octavia won't divorce Glabius, then Caesar will ask Glabius to divorce Octavia. Octavia confidently says that Glabius will refuse. "Doubtless," Julii Cooper agrees. "And then he'd be killed, and does anybody want that to happen?" Octavia doubts that Caesar would do any such thing. "The man's been in Gaul for eight years," Julii Cooper insists. "He's practically a wild beast."

Cut to Octavia kissing her husband goodbye, in what looks ironically like a bridal dress. She then boards a litter that's already carrying her mother, who complains about the tears in Octavia's husband's eyes. "A womanish husband is no use to anyone," carps Julii Cooper. Nice of her to look on the bright side.

And then Octavia is being made up for her meeting with Pompey, with a beauty regimen that apparently includes arsenic. We know this because Julii Cooper tells the servant, "A little more arsenic, I think, Gaia." An experienced recapper like myself is pretty astute about such things. Julii Cooper exhorts her daughter to be strong, pulling the whole Rose's-mother-from-Titanic routine about their family being alone in the world. "Caesar is in Gaul. Pompey's here. Courage, my love."

Pompey, Julii Cooper, and Octavia are enjoying a private banquet. Or, at least, Pompey is enjoying it. He regales them with some war story they clearly don't understand, although Julii Cooper -- who's barely realized that the story is over -- calls Pompey's battle-winning tactic "masterly," prompting Octavia to agree reluctantly. She changes the subject to Octavia, asking whether she pleases Pompey. Pompey allows that she does. Julii Cooper takes this moment to announce that Caesar is offering Octavia to Pompey in marriage. "Ah," Pompey says uncertainly. "Hem," he adds. Pompey, looking a little trapped, asks whether Octavia isn't married to Glabius. "Divorced," Julii Cooper quickly assures him. Pompey recovers, and graciously says that he couldn't possibly refuse, although they'll have to wait a month to make it official, since that's when his dead wife's morning period ends. Julii Cooper agrees, although I think she makes a misstep when she offers, "You may take your betrothal privileges any time you wish." Octavia and Pompey look at her in varying degrees of shock. "Now, if you like," Julii Cooper elaborates quite seriously. "We're all family now, after all." The real Julie Cooper would never give away the store like that.

Cut to Octavia, being undressed by servants in Pompey's bedchamber while Pompey watches appraisingly. Once naked, she climbs on the bed and presents. Pompey begins undressing himself, his expression inscrutable.

Vorenus and Pullo have made camp, and the former is roasting some unidentifiable varmint over the campfire while Pullo makes crude remarks about British poontang. Vorenus asks whether Pullo cares about anything but women, and Pullo readily admits that that's about it. That and food. "What's the matter, don't you like women?" he asks. Vorenus says he likes them so much that he's married to one named Niobe. It's news to Pullo that Centurions can marry. Vorenus says he got a special dispensation. Pullo laughs that Vorenus's wife "must be some good --" Off Vorenus's sharp look, he sheepishly finishes, "Woman." Vorenus agrees, and says it's been seven years and 140 days since he saw her. Pullo sympathetically offers, "May fortune smile on you. Me, I have simpler tastes. I like to kill my enemy, take their gold, and enjoy their women." That's a pretty clear shout-out to a famous and similar line from Conan the Barbarian, which of course was written by Rome creator John Milius. Yes, Six Feet Under is to American Beauty as Rome is to Conan the Barbarian. Pullo wonders why anybody would tie himself to one woman. Vorenus asks, "Pullo, when was the last time you had a woman who wasn't crying or wanting payment?" With that zinger, he wraps himself in his cape to go to sleep without his dinner, telling Pullo to take the first watch: "Wake me when the moon's at the zenith."

When we see Pullo, sleeping peacefully on the ground, it's clear that the zenith has come and gone, as has sunrise. Vorenus sits up in alarm as their horses whinny loudly, and jumps to his feet to chase after the two hooded thieves who are riding off with their mounts. Pullo sits up and watches with a certain amount of sleepy interest. Vorenus quickly gives up the chase and sinks to his knees, cursing, "Sons of Dis!" Pullo, suddenly waking up enough to realize that this is all his fault for sleeping through his watch, makes an "Oh, Dis" face.

Whatever recriminations may pass immediately afterward, we don't get to see them. Just the two men walking through the wilderness. "They weren't such good horses anyway," Pullo tries. Yes, a womanish horse is no use to anyone. Vorenus carps about being reduced to "unhorsed and robbed by children" after his noble family history. They hear the sound of carts approaching, and dart behind a tree to watch the traveling group draw near. At the head of the line is Octavian, dragging an oxcart and being whipped every few feet for his trouble. The soldiers don't recognize him, of course, because this is before the invention of paparazzi. Among the other bandits is the gold-toothed hippie astride the white stallion. "Nice horse," Pullo remarks. Vorenus looks at him. But how will just the two of them take on an armed group of ten or more?

Easily, as it turns out. Octavian watches from the ground as the two red-caped figures take out the entire band with little apparent effort. Vorenus gives Pullo an approving nod, and goes over to take possession of the horse. Pullo, in turn, raises his sword and commences a prayer to Mars: "I am Titus Pullo; these bloody men my gift to you." Octavian, the gold-toothed hippie sprawled across his body, thanks Pullo for showing up. Instead of helping Octavian up, Pullo responds by reversing his dagger and using the butt to savagely bash out the dead hippie's gold teeth. Octavian orders Pullo to release him, and Pullo says that's no way for a slave to talk. Octavian angrily protests, "I am Gaius Octavian of the Julii, great-nephew of Julius Caesar." "Gaius who?" Pullo says. Octavian again orders Pullo to cut the ropes binding him to the cart handles. "Say please," Pullo suggests. Octavian swallows his pride and his sense of entitlement -- which very nearly gag him to death -- and complies. Smiling, Pullo cuts him loose. Octavian rises just as one of the wounded bandits is struggling to his own feet. The kid walks over, picks up a heavy stick, and clubs the guy VII times until the weapon splinters. Even Pullo looks a little bummed out by that display. Vorenus hands the exhausted boy some food.

Later, as the Romans finish looting the site of the "battle," Octavian assures Pullo and Vorenus, "You'll be amply rewarded for your services to me." Octavian tells them to take him to Caesar, who will prove his identity. Vorenus says that they already have orders to find the stolen Eagle. Octavian tells them that they're on a fool's errand. Vorenus -- who doesn't appreciate being told what he already knows -- asks why Caesar sent them to find it if he doesn't care about it. Octavian explains that Caesar has to look like he's making an effort. "Actually, losing the Eagle is useful to Caesar," he asserts. He's got the soldiers' attention now, and they encourage him to elaborate. Octavian: "Pompey is no deep philosopher. He will take a symbolic loss for a real weakness. Caesar doesn't want to strike the first blow against an old friend. So he wishes to lure Pompey into attacking him first. Pompey will only do this if they believe Caesar is weak." Pullo doesn't believe that anything could come between Caesar and Pompey. Octavian explains that the death of Pompey's wife and Caesar's daughter did just that: "Caesar has taken the love of the common people from Pompey, and that was his most prized possession. A battle is inevitable." Wow, I bet this kid does great in Social Studies. But for such a cynical little cuss, he certainly seems sure about the soldiers' loyalty to Caesar. And I don't know why Julii Cooper would have risked such an astute political mind on this errand.

Octavian walks off as the soldiers take this in. Vorenus wanders over to one of the carts, and curiously dips his hand in a crock hanging from the frame. "Pullo," he says quietly, showing the other man his blue-stained fingers. Pullo takes a second, and then realizes, "Blue Spaniards!" He whips up the side curtain on the wagon he's standing to, to reveal Lobotus, Pompey's bald servant, sitting inside. Busted, Lobotus smacks Pullo upside the head with the heavy bundle he's carrying, and then makes a break for it. As Pullo rubs his sore melon, Vorenus calmly picks up the nearest spear and hurls it left-handed at the fugitive, with perfect aim. Impaled, the man drops the bundle before falling himself, revealing none other than the stolen Eagle. So two birds were indeed killed with one stone as Pompey hoped, but they were the wrong birds with the wrong stone. Good thing for Caesar that Lobotus didn't get back to Pompey with everything he heard from Octavian, no?

The threesome rides triumphantly back into Caesar's camp, Vorenus bearing the standard on a dark horse while Pullo and Octavian ride the white stallion tandem. In his tent, Caesar hears the commotion and exits, smiling proudly at his restored standard. Or at least pretending to. "Now I have to come up with another way to make Pompey think I'm weak," he's probably thinking. "Those two soldiers are so crucified." "Good morning, Uncle," Octavian calls from behind Pullo, and Caesar is genuinely surprised and pleased to see his great-nephew. He recognizes him after eight years away, when the kid was maybe half the age he is now? Caesar must not have many nephews.

Inside his tent with the little group, Caesar unwraps the other gift Vorenus and Pullo brought him: the severed head of Lobotus, his scalp tattoo clearly visible. "One of Pompey's men," he obviouses, and comments to the also-present Mark Antony, "I misjudged him. I thought it would take strategy to turn him against me, but he must have turned the moment Julia died." Mark Antony reminds Caesar that Pompey was defending him in the Senate all along. "He has the cunning of a sardine, poor fool," Caesar sniffs. Yeah, sending a guy on a covert mission with your name tattooed on his head doesn't really say "cunning" to me. Meanwhile, the Sardine-American community launches an angry letter-writing campaign. "The battle begins," Caesar pronounces. "About time," Mark Antony says. Whatever, Attentionwhore McLastword. Somebody had better tell Brutus to break Mark Antony of that nasty habit of his before it's too late. Vorenus and Pullo look amazed to be present at this historic moment. Something tells me that since their names come first in the credits, they'd better get used to it. If Julius Caesar were Hamlet, I think they'd be our Rosencranian and Guildensternus.

Back in Rome, Pompey's sitting for a bust-carving. Someone comes in and thumps a wooden crate down on a nearby table, and lifts out the decomposing head of Lobotus. Pompey approaches in amazement, and the unseen courier thrusts a little wooden folder into his hand. Does Pompey have to sign for it? No, it's just a letter from Caesar: "Dearest Pompey, I believe the enclosed man belongs to you. A quick note to tell you I have decided to winter the XIIIth Legion closer to home at Ravenna. So I shall soon have the pleasure of paying you homage in person." Pompey looks XIII kinds of busted.

Pompey's wedding procession makes its way through the cheering throngs on the main street. He waves as people dance and sing and blow trumpets, and his bride walks alongside, her face completely covered by a red-orange veil.

Inside Pompey's house, a sheepskin rug is placed on the floor. The new Mrs. Pompey stands on it. Two servants approach, each holding a small wooden bowl. One is filled with water, and the other holds an oil flame. The bride holds one hand over each bowl and then pulls her hands back. I'm sure all of these ancient Roman traditions and customs are very interesting, but the problem is that since all of the characters live in ancient Rome, there isn't anybody on the show who needs them explained, like we in the modern viewing audience do. That's what this show needs, I think: a wisecracking time-traveler. Let's make him a plumber named Steve. And let's cast Bruce Campbell. You can never have enough Bruce Campbell. I'm serving notice right now: if the show doesn't introduce such a character, I may have to invent him. But for now, back to the show. Pompey announces, "Everyone, this is my new wife, Cornelia." And indeed, the woman who draws back her veil is the plain, bird-faced woman who is the daughter of Scipio we met earlier. Pompey kisses her chastely on the cheek, because that's probably all he can stand to do.

Over at the Julii Cooper house, the ladies aren't taking this news well at all. Julii yells at her daughter, "Maybe if you'd summoned a little charm instead of moping about like some torpid old she-cow, this would never have happened!" Octavia flings herself on the bed, crying. Julii Cooper takes pity on her, apologizing and saying that Pompey's move was a political repudiation, "because Pompey and Caesar are enemies now. One only has to look at Cornelia." Octavia wonders if Glabius will take her back, and Julii Cooper says they'll find Octavia an even better husband. Both women complain about how Pompey has dishonored them. "I want him dead," Octavia suddenly blurts. Julii Cooper sits to her daughter on the bed and promises, "And that you shall have." They embrace. "Pompey will eat sand for this," Julii Cooper vows.

In the early morning twilight -- or perhaps late evening -- Caesar's army rides out in full strength, its standard restored. A crane shot zooms over the Golden Eagle and pans down at what's left of Caesar's camp, burning merrily now that he's done with it. That seems like kind of a waste, but I suppose the Romans couldn't bring back anything that didn't fit into little leather pouches around their necks.