Son of Mars

by Vincent B Davis II

  My first taste of combat went like this:

  We were moving through an untamed land. The forests had grown up all around us, nothing but a path worn down by locals surrounded by a massive throng of ancient trees and overgrown weeds.

  Even after marching like this for days, we were on high alert. Everything frightened us. There were strange animals all around us, and we were as frightened of them as we were the enemy. We had not seen the Celtiberians yet. Most of them were trapped in the besieged city of Numantia, but we knew they had men skulking in the mountains all around us, and many allied tribes who wouldn’t mind seeing a few more dead Romans.

  As we moved along the path, we were forced to move into a single column.

  Everything was silent before it happened. Even the birds and little animals clinging to the trees seemed to understand something was about to happen. Only us, the Romans, were unaware.

  They appeared on all sides as if materializing like Shades of Pluto. They pounced like wild beasts, giving a shout to rival an army ten times their size.

  One took a leap right at me. He had the high ground from the hill beside our path and toppled me from my horse.

  I hit the ground, my neck whipping and my head cracking against the cold earth. My vision dissipated for a moment as the man climbed atop me with a sword poised in the air.

  I remember my only thought because it was so strange: why does this man want to kill me? I’ve never met him, never harmed him. We had been training on combat, and I was prepared physically, but I wasn’t prepared for the aggression from this man I had never met.

  Luckily my senses came back like a violent current. I shoved my palm into his nose and elbowed the sword from his hand. He leaned back, blinking rapidly. His eyes watered and his nose bled.

  I struggled to pull my gladius from the sheath at my side. The man, recovering, tried to punch me and fingered at my throat violently, trying to get a hold on me. Once I had my sword in hand, I plunged it into his unguarded belly.

  His face contorted like he was about to scream, but only blood poured from his lips. Letting out the roar of a Carthaginian lion, I shoved my gladius deeper, to the hilt.

  I stood up, over him, and stepped on his chest. I ensured he was dead. And he was.

  I hadn’t realized until then that the barbarian Celts were attacking the men around me. I was locked in a world where only I and this strange, angry man existed. Everything outside of our contest was shadow.

  Collecting my wits, I ran to the aid of Gratidius, whose plumed helmet and crest made him a target.

  That feeling, one you must know well by now, is something I cannot express. My body moved quicker than it ever could. I had more strength in my arms than I ever had before. I was elated. This was battle. I had succeeded. I had done what my father didn’t think I could do. I had taken a life. As powerful as a god.

  It was something like sexual gratification, except maybe better.

  I rushed into the fray, and pulled a Celt away from my brother-in-law, who was still atop his horse. I flung the man to the ground and plunged my sword into his chest, again and again. The look in his eyes was surprise, more than anything else. When you try to fight the Roman legion, death should be expected. This man didn’t seem to know that.

  When I turned again, the Celts were scrambling. They ran off to whatever cave in the hills they had come from.

  The order passed down from one end of the line to the other for us to remain in our positions, and to not give chase. It could be a trap. Whether or not it was, I was relieved that the battle was over. And that I had survived it. That I had killed. I was not a coward, and now I had proved it.

  I looked at Gratidius, who was breathing heavily. We both chuckled.

  Suddenly, whatever force had overtaken me dissipated. My entire body went weak, and I dropped to take a knee. Shame and guilt overcame me. I don’t know why. It was the same shame one experiences after sex.

  I vomited a few times, and a tremor ran through my body.

  At that moment I felt something wet on my leg. By all the gods, I had been cut. I patted my thigh to find it was drenched. A vein in my leg was severed, perhaps.

  But after a moment of sheer terror, I realized it was piss. When the battle was won, and I victorious, I lost all control of my entire body. I was at once both relieved and ashamed, but looking around I noticed I wasn’t the only one. Most of the men were demobilized in the same way.

  I laughed at myself and remained kneeling until I mustered the strength to stand.

  Killing men is a strange thing, isn’t it, Sertorius? You should know by now. There is nothing else like it. Nothing so exhilarating, nothing so repulsive.

  After our first battle was completed, we returned to Numantia. No one resented Scipio’s discipline any longer. In return for the legion’s new found appreciaton for military bearing, Scipio loosened his reins some. But only a little, mind you.

  Scipio increased the fortifications around the city, building two main camps and seven siege towers connected by sturdy walls. Some of this was perhaps unnecessary, but he had a message to send to the Celtiberians: you will not make it out alive this time. Surrender or die.

  The Celts received their message and believed it.

  The entire bulk of their force outside the city walls, combined with the bravest of their allied tribes, marched against us. As a result of Scipio’s walls, we were besieged as well. But Rome is not a nation one should ever besiege. Scipio, unconcerned, marched us out in full order to meet them.

  This was the first pitched battle with the Celtiberians in some years, to my knowledge. Their warriors prefer to hide in the hills and attack our baggage carts or scouting parties. Cowardly, you might say, but they were proficient killers in this manner. Now we would see how they would fare face to face with the Roman legion.

  I rode up beside my brother-in-law, who was in charge of all of our cavalry on the right flank. Most of our horsemen were Numidian allies, who were hungry to prove themselves. Their leader, who submitted only to Gratidius and Scipio himself, was a man named Jugurtha. He seemed like a fine man but I had no idea I would forge my career on destroying him. But I'll leave that tale for another day. Scipio placed himself at the rear of our cavalry, and we were all aware of it. This was our chance to prove ourselves. No one felt this more keenly than Gratidius. He had already earned a name for himself in the legions due to his discipline and military bearing, but now he could show his military brilliance.

  The tribes halted before us to let out their war cries. They made an awful noise, something that would strike fear in the hearts of the bravest of men. But we were given the order to remain silent. Silent as ghosts, we were told. And our silence disturbed them.

  When they gave up their posturing, they ran without discipline into our line.

  Gratidius held his gladius and directed us to wheel-about. The thunder created by our thousands of horsemen must have been much more terrifying than their war cries.

  Their cavalry charged from the center of their formation to meet us. We knew the Spanish Celts had some of the finest horses, and their riders were respected for their bravery. But they were a smaller force, and they did not have Gratidius at the helm.

  We met them like a violent wave against a stone wall. I’m not sure which of the two we were.

  Their horsemen shot into the ranks of our own, and all was confusion. All senses were dulled in the tumult.

  “Fight them hard, men!” Gratidius shouted, and we meant to obey him.

  A few of the Celts met me, long spears pointed at my chest. I batted them away with my sword before they could reach me. I wished I had a far larger sword: the Gladius wasn't crafted for horse combat.

  But when the momentum of their horses carried them closer, their spears were rendered useless, and my gladius lethal.

  I didn’t have the reach to stab, so I slashed violently, cutting through the thin leather armor of the rider’s chest. I turned the other way and attempted the sam
e thing to the other rider approaching. Both let out screams and crumpled from atop their horses.

  By now, chaos was ensuing amongst the ranks of the Celtiberian horsemen, and most had pounced from their steeds.

  “For Rome!” Gratidius said, ever a patriot. He led the charge forward, enveloping the broken Celts.

  From the wood line in the distance appeared a band of soldiers. They charged our line from the flank with javelin in hand. They launched a volley.

  I narrowly dodged a few of the missiles, but before I could thank the gods, I saw one strike Gratidius.

  It struck his throat from the side and ripped right through.

  His patriotic shouts stalled.

  He collapsed to the Spanish dirt, trying to plug the massive hole in his throat.

  “The Tribune is down!” some shouted.

  “Gratidius!” I alone yelled and pounced from my horse to meet him. It had been my job as his aide to protect him, and I had failed to do so.

  When I reached him, I realized how bad the wound was. His head was barely hanging on. His jugular had been severed.

  He clasped my neck as I reached him. His mouth was open but he could not speak. He would have said something about my sister, or perhaps the good of Rome, but no words came out.

  “I’m sorry, brother,” I said as his eyes rolled back in his head, “I’m so sorry.”

  When his body softened, I stood.

  I could see nothing but red. Tears filled my eyes, but I only saw red. Who did this? Who took the life of my brother-in-law, my friend? Who killed this great man of Rome, who had so much ahead of him? Never mind all that about “thus is life”, or “thus is war”. He was my friend, and now he was dead.

  I ran, not to my horse but at the attackers. I lost all control of myself.

  When they spotted me, they were surprised at my daring, and hesitated for a moment before launching a few of their javelin at me. I dodged two and blocked another with my shield. I discarded the shield and ran to meet them.

  One Roman was enough to frighten most of them. Those that stayed, died. By my hand.

  They tried to surround me, but only made it easier to slaughter them all.

  I stabbed one and used his punctured flesh as a guard against fresh assailants. I thrust him off as I slashed at another, severing his throat like Gratidius’. I kicked another in the stomach, and as he bent over to empty to his stomach, I severed his head from his body.

  They killed my brother-in-law.

  “Reform!” The shout rang out. “Reform!”

  I didn’t heed it. I continued to kill. I had to. Roman glory be damned they killed my friend.

  “Marius, that’s an order! Reform!” I heard the shouts, but couldn’t discern them over my fury.

  They widowed my sister.

  The wounded Celts around me crawled off to safety, leaving only one assailant to meet me.

  He had wild eyes and a spear as long as a Macedonian pike in hand. He crouched behind a shield, but I knew he wasn’t afraid.

  But neither was I.

  I grabbed the shield of a fallen enemy and I charged him. I slashed up at him, roaring with fury as I did so. He leaned back like an athlete, narrowly dodging the blade. As he recomposed himself, he brought his pike around with a wicked swipe. My shield was raised, and I was undefended. It sliced through my armor, but only nicked my flesh. The sight of my own blood regenerated me, and I stepped towards him. I bashed his shield with my sword, over and over again. He crouched behind it, and I could see his arm was breaking and his spirit shaking. I batted his shield away, and he stumbled. Then I buried my sword in his stomach, deeper and deeper, until he was falling into me like an embrace. The gladius could go no further, but still I shoved it in, until blood spilled from his mouth onto my shoulders.

  When I pushed him from the sword, I turned back to my men. And who was there, watching it all? Scipio Aemilianus himself.

  Rather than reprimand me for my foolishness, Scipio gave me a crown. The corona aurea- given to a man who kills an enemy in single combat and holds his ground until relief comes. I was honored, and have that crown locked away at my home, even to this day. Sometimes I look at it, and it comforts me. The only thing that haunts me is that this glory was bestowed on me at the expense of Gratidius’ life.

  I would have gladly traded the two.

  Scipio demanded an audience with me later that night after the medicus patched me up. I had been around the General some, being on an officer’s staff, but I had certainly never addressed him.

  He was a larger-than-life personality, and I was rather intimidated at first.

  His disposition was as calm as a cup of water, his demeanor serious but never severe, funny but never lax. All the soldiers hung on his every word, not only because he was our general, but because he was Scipio. A few trite old sayings and we were ready to conquer the world under his command.

  When I approached the General, he was reading over some old documents. He had poor eyesight, so he was holding the document so close to his face I could not see him.

  “Will you have a little wine with me?” He said, stretching out a cup, still barricaded behind his document.

  “Certainly, sir.”

  “I drink the same swill you do, so don’t get excited about the quality.” Scipio said, noticing my enthusiasm.

  “I don’t much care what it tastes like, as long as it gets the job done.” I said, to which he chuckled.

  “Very well,” one of his slaves filled the cup and handed it to me, careful to ensure a drop wasn’t spilled on all those documents.

  “I saw what you did today. It was reckless, foolish even. You got lucky today, but eventually actions like this will get you killed.”

  “The gods favor me, sir.” I said.

  “They do? I was unaware. Here I thought Gratidius said you were from a frog-spawned village in the hills. Is that not true?”

  “It is, general,”

  “Seems like the gods do not favor your then,” he lowered his document and met my eyes. I didn’t know what else to say, and I was afraid whatever I might come up with would be the wrong thing. I declined to speak and kept my mouth shut. He seemed to be testing me. “But the gods certainly looked over you today. How many was it? How many did you kill when you charged them like that?” He leaned back in his chair.

  “I lost track, general,”

  “That’s a good number. So the gods favor you. And I need men with friends like that on their side. I have issued orders that you are to be made part of my freshly instituted unit: the praetoriani. You’ll be my bodyguard. You’ll protect me the way you protected your brother-in-law.”

  “A bodyguard? Forgive me, general, but I thought there was already a designated unit for that?”

  He waved the question away like batting a fly.

  “Yes, yes. A unit full of senators' sons and magistrates' cousins. They can’t be counted on for anything- lazy, disrespectful, and they quivered in their sandals during that battle today, I saw it with my own eyes. And whats worse, they’re a bore. And who wants to spend time with spoiled little brats like that anyhow? I want men like you, Gaius Marius.”

  “I’m honored, sir.”

  “You’ll move your gear to the Praetorium tomorrow.” He returned to squinting at his documents.

  “Yes, sir.” I stood and saluted.

  “One more thing, Marius,” he said peeping over the document. “I want you to kill men the way you did today before I die, and not after.”

  I nodded and spun on my heels to depart.

  When I returned to my tent that evening, a surprise was waiting on me.

  A prostitute that worked night and day in the baggage camp was standing by my cot waiting on me. She was a savage creature, probably Spanish or maybe a Gaul. She was beautiful, to my recollection. I can remember her face even still although I do not remember her name.

  “Who sent you here?” I chuckled.

  “Your king,” she said with no laughter in
her eyes.

  “We have no king, girl. Rome has no need of a king. We have a general.”

  “Whatever you call it,” she said.

  She had a wild look in her eyes. She would as soon stab you as sleep with you, and it was her job to sleep with people. But there was something about her that fascinated me. She wasn’t a creature that could be conquered or subdued. She was mystery, she was intrigue. She was the opposite of my mother in every capacity.

  The next morning I was sore from my time with her than I was from the battle.

  “Girl, I’d like to make you an offer,” I said.

  “What?” she was already disinterested.

  “How about you sleep with only me for the next month or so? Huh? I need some company out here on campaign, and I don’t like sharing.”

  “Are you willing to pay me what all the others pay me?” she said, her accent thick.

  “How much?”

  “200 denarii,”

  “Cac! That much? You’re an expensive taste.”

  “I work a lot,”

  I sifted through my things to find the coin purse I had hidden, feeling foolish even as I did so.

  “Here,” I exhaled as I handed her the entire purse.

  She tested the weight in her palms and then counted a few of the coin.

  “Then I will see you tonight.”

  She turned and left, leaving me alone to put on my armor and helm, for another day of battle.

  Our next orders were to turn our aggression on the neighboring Vaccaeans. In peacetime, they were great friends to the Numantines, known for their overflowing granaries, and most of their exports led straight to Numantia. This wasn’t peacetime, but old bonds weren’t quickly forgotten. Scipio knew they we had to deal with them.Given the chance, they would rise against Rome just the same as their neighbors had.

  “Your General is getting rid of our camp,” my girl said, storming into my tent as I was donning my armor.

  “You’re not wrong. I heard the news last night myself.” It was true. Scipio had disbanded all the camp followers: 2000 courtesans and prostitutes, priests and soothsayers. They were told to pack up and leave. If Scipio’s men weren’t fighting, they would be digging, building. “And I think it’s a good thing too. Your women in that camp are a distraction. It ruins the discipline we’ve been taught.”