by C K Ruppelt
Aina figured that sometimes human sacrifices might be needed for the greater good, but she hated the idea of the gods demanding them in the first place. She shook her head to dispel the darkness in her thoughts. Today would be a day of joy, and they could stay away from the dreaded altar.
As the families gathered, Aina stepped ahead to a stone stele sunk into the ground. The eight-foot-tall megalith had a hole carved through its middle at roughly stomach height. The druid stood to the side, shifting his attention between her and the other side of the stone slab. “Are you prepared for this contractual union?”
“I am prepared”, she answered, hoping Bradan had done the same. The druid looked around at all the other party members. “Are all of you prepared for this contractual union of families?”
“We are prepared!” she heard them answer loudly and in near unison.
“I see our great god Sucellos standing ready, with his big mallet lifted to strike asunder any attempt at a union not pleasing to the gods,” the druid continued. “Nantosuelta, his wife and companion, lifts her hand to the crow on her shoulder in warning. If you are both sure, step forward.” He now started a sing-song in the ancient and secret druidic language. As he sung, he walked behind the stele to Bradan, and soon she saw her groom’s hands emerge in the hole. The druid came back to Aina’s side, and now it was her turn to move in, holding Bradan’s hands in the middle of the megalith’s hole. The druid ended his song on a nice high note, showing off his exceptional singing voice.
He gestured for them to let go before ushering them to the side of the rock. Aina knew the common ceremony to bind any union, contractual or one-year casual, was next on the agenda. “Hold all four of your hands together.” They did. “Sucellos and Nantosuelta were pleased.” He pulled out two lengths of cord, wrapping each around their wrists and then tying them both together, securing all four hands. “Let nothing break this union except for the gods’ will. I declare you joined, now celebrate your new life together! I wish you many children.”
Aina hugged her new husband, and they kissed to loud whooping and laughter. The next hours seemed like a dream to her. As she expected, the celebration became loud and rowdy, with all guests enjoying themselves in the mead hall. Many flagons of imported wine, local mead and beer were emptied. The servants refilled the drinking horns again and again. The least hardy of the guests started slipping off their benches shortly after dinner. Aina and Bradan kept holding hands throughout, both increasingly drunk themselves. Every time somebody congratulated them or held a speech, they had to join the toast. Finally, it was time. She had dreamed of this night with Bradan for ages, but the moment they got up and started walking, her head spun. She felt sick to her stomach. “How do you feel?” she whispered into his ear as they walked to their designated bedroom for the night. “Any better than I do?”
“I feel like I had an ungodly amount of that wine. I better stick to mead in the future,” Bradan answered with a wobble in his voice. He followed her into the room, tripped over a stool and fell flat on his back. They both laughed.
“How about we wait with that,” she looked at the bed, “until we can both enjoy this more?”
“I think that’s a good idea. For now, I am just happy to have you alone with me,” Bradan answered. He seemed to have a hard time untying his laces, so she helped him take his leather shoes off. Next, she laid down beside him on the bed, and reached out for his hand before instantly falling asleep.
688 AUC (66 BC), fall
Cirta, Kingdom of Numidia
It took three weeks for them to make it to the Roman recruitment center in Cirta, a sprawling compound on the outskirts of the large Numidian capital. Oz and Adhe walked through the entryway to the open courtyard, happy to use the shade of the compound’s walls to avoid a strong morning sun. A grizzled man with short cut gray hair and a face full of scars walked up to them.
“Good morning, my name is Barbus. I am the head-recruiter here,” he greeted them in Latin.
“Salve, I Ozalkis, this boy nephew, Adherbal,” Oz answered in a heavy accent.
Barbus raised his hand and shook his head. “Wait.” He turned and walked away.
Oz and Adhe looked at each other. Oz shrugged his shoulders. Two minutes later, the man walked back with a young Numidian in tow. “I am to be your translator,” the man introduced himself.
Barbus apologized with his hands held up. “I do not speak or understand any of the Numidian dialects, and I simply cannot understand your horrible Latin! If you end up signing, I suggest you learn it properly.” He lowered his hands. “So now as to why I think you have come here. You Numidians are quite sought after as auxiliary fighters, and the generals are hiring for all our legions. We used to hire whole mercenary groups, sometimes whole tribes under chieftains or nobles, but had a lot of problems with that over the years. Some chieftains think it’s fine to renegotiate their terms right in the middle of a shitstorm, others just walk their entire group home on a whim after a year or two, resetting the legions back to square one.
“So, Pompeius changed the rules and we opened this.” He pointed at the compound behind him. “We are signing you people on as individuals. That means all units get attached to specific legions.” Barbus paused to inspect their clothes and their gear. “Before we get into more details, I want to see your bows.”
Oz took his weapon from his shoulder to hold it out. Adhe followed suit.
“Nice. Strong wood, glued with horn for strength, plus all joints are wrapped in leather for protection. Straight rather than pre-curved when unstrung, and quite long. Hm.” He nodded. “Unusual length, but fine bows. May I see your arrows as well?”
They both pulled a couple of their limited selection of arrows from their quivers.
“Just what I thought,” Barbus replied. “Your bows are taller than we usually see from the locals around here. I bet you won’t get a full draw with our shorter arrows.” He turned to shout to another Roman currently bent over a ledger inside an open doorway across the training ground.
“Heius, forget about your paperwork for a moment! Bring me some of the big arrows from that last shipment from Utica.” He turned back to the two Numidians. “You must understand, Rome wants you and your bows if you know how to handle them properly, but we cannot rely on your own arrows. Those are fine for hunting, when you can stroll up and collect them again afterwards. But for a soldier.” He shook his head. “Surest way for any archer to die is going into battle with only a handful of arrows.”
The other Roman returned with a couple of sealed packages. Barbus opened one and pulled out the arrows from inside. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I thought so. We received some of the longer arrows the army buys for Cretan archers. Their bows are much shorter than yours, but with a hefty recurve that gives them a longer draw. Note that these arrows aren’t just long, they are also quite heavy. Feel the weight of the heads.”
Oz inspected the big steel head on the arrow and discovered that it was countered by much bigger fletching on the other end.
“Let’s see what you can do, and if it’s not too bad we’ll talk details. See these targets?” Barbus pointed to three straw bales at different distances from them. They had black dots painted roughly in their middle. “Start with your own arrows and try to hit each of the three distances with your first one, then try again with our arrows. I’ll watch from over here.”
Both Oz and Adhe strung their bows and took out three arrows from their quivers. They nocked the first one, while holding the other two squeezed between the fingers of their left hand and the right side of the bow. Oz glanced at Adhe, who nodded for him to go first. To the side, he noticed Barbus’ raising an eyebrow, likely because of their hunting habits. Oz sighted to shoot and emptied his mind before letting go of the string. The middle of the first target. Good. Close to the middle on the second. One more. Just above the middle on the third. He had taken only a few seconds between each shot and now took a deep breath as he stepped to the side.
“Adhe, relax! No need to be nervous. Empty your mind like I taught you. Just imagine yourself hunting. You are hiding in a thicket, waiting for your one chance at a good shot.”
Adhe drew the string on his third arrow, took a few deep breaths and released. He barely scratched the corner of the third target, the arrow going down to the ground twenty feet beyond. Oz glanced at Barbus. The man scowled.
“Kid, the third target is only fifty yards out. You will need to shoot a hundred yards in battle, with angry enemies running at you. I don’t think you are up for this.”
Oz looked from Barbus to Adhe, who looked down in apparent shame. The boy can shoot much better than this.
He walked to the side table to grab three of the Roman made arrows. They were indeed much heavier than his own with their thick shaft and much bigger arrow head. He weighed one in his left hand, drew it fully, and released at a much steeper angle than before. It hit the first target, though barely at its lower edge. The stiffer shaft gave it less wobble in mid-air. Nice. He grabbed the second arrow and sighted at an even steeper angle. Hm, close to the upper edge. These will take some getting used to. He took his time aiming for the third target. Release. Bullseye!
Barbus applauded but held up his hand when it was Adhe’s turn to walk over to the Roman arrows. He turned to Oz. “I want to sign you but send the boy home. He should come back in another year or two, after his skills have improved.”
Oz shook his head in response. “Adhe usually shoots as well as I do. And since there is no more home for him to go back to… I’m sorry, it’s both of us, or not at all.”
Barbus scratched his chin in thought, then he nodded to Oz before walking off.
A minute later, he was back with a scroll in his hand. “I’ll sign you both.” He opened the scroll. “There are currently two options for deployment, either Greece or Hispania. The second is much closer and would be with one of Pompeius’ three new legions raised there. He is asking for a large contingent of Numidian and Cretan archers for each. The duty, at least for now, would be keeping the peace and enforcing Roman law. Hispania hasn’t had real fighting for a few years, and the previous legions stationed there are shipping East. If you sign up to go to Greece, you’ll be right in the middle of the third war against Pontus. That would likely mean money from the spoils, but I would choose Hispania for the sake of the boy. There, he might have a chance of growing into it.” He closed the scroll.
“Now to the details. There is no predetermined service duration, but it’s usually capped at around twenty years. The legions get directly sworn to any new legate, or a provincial governor if he’s in overall command. A governor would also have the right to dissolve legions after successful campaigns. If that happens, you will get a discharge bonus, but don’t expect that for at least ten years. I’ve been discharged twice, took close to fifteen years both times. So, after a discharge you can always sign up again if you want to keep going.
“Now to your pay. You will start at four hundred sesterces a year, that’s equal to one hundred denarii. I know, that’s a lot, but it’s only a third of what the Roman legionaries themselves make, if you can believe it. If you get promoted to decurion, which is a squad leader, it’s going to be half again as much at six hundred, and so on.” He looked up from his scroll. Oz had raised both eyebrows.
“Oh. I wonder, seeing your faces. Not sure what the numbers mean, or is it sesterces and denarii? Let me rephrase. It’s a lot of money for a year, more than most people here in Numidia make in a life time. Once the legion does go to war, which it will sooner or later, you will get a portion of any spoils. That can amount to much more than the salary, but hey, there’s no guarantee. If you survive until your discharge, there is also a good chance for a full Roman citizenship to look forward to. At the very least, every auxiliary will get Latin rights plus a good parcel of land, wherever your commander can manage.” He paused, looking to see if they had any questions for the translator, and looked at them both.
“Your choice, sign up now and get a signing bonus, come back later, or don’t come back at all.” He spread his hands, palms facing upwards. “I’ve said my piece.”
“Let me discuss this with my nephew,” Oz replied and took Adhe by the arm. They walked over to the wall of the courtyard.
“Are you truly ready to do this? You just heard, we could be stuck with a legion for twenty years. The citizen status and money sound enticing, but we won’t be able to just leave if we don’t like it anymore…”
Adhe rolled his eyes at Oz in response.
“Uncle Oz, come on. We’ll always have something to eat, and we’ll see Hispania. I’ve heard it’s much greener there.”
Oz had to smile at the last comment. He turned to Barbus to give him a nod.
“Tell us where to sign.”
689 AUC (65 BC), spring
Port southeast of Corduba, Roman Province of Hispania Ulterior
“How long has it been since we walked into Cirta? Three months?” Adhe asked, standing with Oz at the railing of the main deck of the big trading vessel.
A quick glance up let Oz know the westerly breeze was still strong and steady, filling the sail as the ship tacked back and forth to make headway. “Four. Finally, we’re close to our new home,” he replied. “Barbus said we’ll be either Eighth or Ninth legion. Don’t know that I care which one.”
“Ho Oz,” he heard from behind. He turned to see Massinussa walk up, followed by his brother Gulussa. The two were from Southwestern Numidia, and as dark skinned as Oz and Adhe, which had instantly endeared them to each other in the midst of name calling by lighter skinned recruits. Oz was glad they had connected with the brothers. Adhe had trouble investing emotionally with anybody but had opened up enough with these two to hold normal conversations. He still had few words for anybody else.
“Ho Massi!” he said in answer. “We’re nearly there. I thought we’d never leave Cirta. Adhe and I celebrated when we had two-hundred recruits and they shipped us out.”
“And that long march to Igilgili through the mountains was something else,” Gulussa added, now standing next to Adhe.
Two groups of fifty had traveled on foot to Igilgili, followed by two more on horseback. Barbus had explained that there was no difference in pay between foot or mounted archers, except that the men bringing their own horses would sell them to the legion’s camp prefect on arrival, earning them a bonus and relieving them of the need to buy tack or fodder.
Igilgili was the next closest port from Cirta, where passage had been arranged to Hispania on three big merchant vessels.
Two of the five weeks of travel had been spent lying at anchor in some bay or other, waiting out raging spring storms. Adhe had been seasick for the first week before finding his sea legs. “This must be our port!” he shouted now, pointing at some barely visible buildings along the coast line.
“Finally! I can’t wait to get off this tub,” Oz grunted. “The legions are stationed straight to the north. The sailors told me that there’s also a river that could be sailed later in the year, but for now they wouldn’t chance it. The mouth of that river is on the other side of the Pillars of Hercules, where the spring storms are much worse with waves taller than any ship.”
“Not sure I would want to be riding them in a ship, but I would love to see waves like that,” Massi answered. They held their spot at the railing as more of their fellow archers came out to join. Massinussa and Gulussa pushed them closer together. The sailors trimmed the square sails, cussing at the passengers not moving out of the way quickly enough, and rowed the last half mile into the harbor against the wind.
The ship docked at one of several wooden piers, and a simple gangplank was pushed out from the side of the ship. Several men in legion armor had gathered during their slow approach and now guided newcomers into a single line toward a desk set up in the open space between the piers and sever
al warehouses. As they crept up the line, Oz saw it was occupied by a single man in Roman officer’s armor, checking over several rolled-out scrolls. The line was moving slowly.
“Next!” Finally, his turn had come. “Your name!” the officer bellowed.
“I am Ozalkis, and behind me is my nephew Adherbal.”
The man looked down the names in the first scroll, then halfway down the second. He started making marks and spoke without looking up.
“Welcome to Hispania. You are now part of the auxilia of the Ninth legion. Go stand with your legion’s standard in the plaza behind me. Next!”
They walked on and quickly found their place under a standard with the legion’s number IX embroidered in two big black letters below a brown bull on red background. Their group was steadily growing. “Look Adhe, Massi and Gulussa are coming over, they also made the Ninth.”
He hadn’t realized how tense he had been until that moment. It feels good to have close friends by our side.
Illustration: Typical Roman Cohort field camp
690 AUC (64 BC), summer
Thirty miles north of Anas delta, Border area, Roman Province of Hispania Ulterior and Lusitania
“We hardly had any time to figure out how things work around here,” Oz complained to Adhe as they marched out of their camp close to Corduba, the capital of the Roman province. It had only been a month since their arrival and now they had already left for their first campaign of sorts.
