by Gary M Burge
The decor of Appius’s villa was carefully tended—paintings on the plastered walls within showed garden scenes and animals, fountains fed gardens that interrupted winding paths, and open-air rooms were shade cooled from the desert sun. Statues of the Greek god Apollo—Appius was a collector—occupied almost every corner. Tullus had never seen such opulence. While Tullus’s own family was poor but comfortable, Appius was rich by any standard. The villa was on a small hill far enough from the markets that the smell and noise of the crowds were undetectable. A high-desert breeze blew through the villa from the west as dusk fell.
Tullus, left to himself, wandered aimlessly around the villa. He met other servants, and there were numerous hired workers who came in each morning to tend the property. One impressive household slave, a large Arab man named Gaius, was clearly in charge of everyone else, from the kitchen to the garden. He never walked but seemed to float over the pavement, his robes like ship’s sails following him. And when he appeared, often by surprise, fear filled the room. His face was scarred where it once had been lacerated in a fight. Gaius’s right eye seemed milky white. His stare was both intimidating and unsettling.
Tullus observed that Gaius treated him differently. Was it his youth that evoked sympathy? Tullus sensed something else, something that set Gaius ill at ease. Was it his connection to Appius? Was it his access to some of the centurion’s most confidential matters? Was it his ability to write—something that even Gaius could barely manage? It seemed that Gaius directed the affairs of the estate by memory. Every contract and detail was recalled, every agreement memorized, no payment forgotten. But Gaius never appeared to put reed to paper. Could literacy intimidate? No, Tullus decided. Gaius feared something. Something connected to Tullus. And the young slave sensed it had to do with Livia.
Apollo and Daphne
Figure 1.3. Bust of Apollo, son of Zeus
The Greek god Apollo and his romantic pursuit of the goddess Daphne was one of the most celebrated themes of antiquity—likely depicting the tension between seduction and chastity. After Apollo teases and offends the god Eros for his lack of military prowess, Eros shoots Apollo with a golden arrow, filling him with desire for the woodland goddess. She flees, which only further inflames Apollo’s desire. (In Latin mythology, Eros is Cupid, and this is the source of romantic “arrows” today.)
Ovid was an early first-century Latin poet whose epic poem Metamorphoses (Transformations) depicts the history of the world and its major themes. In book one, he describes Apollo and Daphne. This myth drew enormous attention in the fine arts throughout Christian history and was depicted repeatedly in the Renaissance. Its most famous representation may be Bernini’s marble sculpture (1625), now at the Galleria Borghese in Rome.
“So you are Appius’s new trophy?” were Livia’s first words to Tullus. Her voice was unlike any woman in his experience. It was sensual. And it drew all of his attention at once.
They were standing near the atrium fountain. She was leaning against a full-size statue of the young Apollo, almost as if she were his consort. Young, fluent in Greek, Livia was dressed in folds of embroidered white fabric that draped from her shoulders to well below her knees. Silhouetted by the bright sky, the fine fabric of her Greek tunic (a chiton) appeared transparent. She was intentionally alluring.
Tullus was shocked and sensed danger immediately. In Emesa a young woman would have barely looked at him, much less started a conversation. But here was a woman potentially attached to Appius—his wife? his concubine?—and Tullus knew he must tread carefully.
“A trophy?” Tullus began to plot a way to escape. He unconsciously took a step back.
“What else could you be? Another campaign, more spoils, more trophies. Perhaps you reminded Appius of Apollo himself.” Livia began walking toward him. She bore the confidence of one closing in on her prey. Tullus tried to step back but couldn’t move.
Fear rose in Tullus’s throat. Even this conversation posed danger. He imagined Appius rounding the corner, seeing both of them, Livia laughing in the garden, and Appius drawing his own conclusions. Behind Livia, a mural covered one wall: it was Apollo, the god of music, chasing the beautiful Daphne, the goddess of the woodlands. Tullus recalled the words of the Roman poet Ovid describing her:
Enchanting still she looked–
her slender limbs bare in the breeze,
her fluttering dress blown back,
her hair behind her streaming as she ran;
and flight enhanced her grace.2
Tullus withdrew. He had no experience with such women, and it was clear that Livia had taken an interest in him. Tullus was young, but not so young to think that attention like this did not matter. He knew the story of Apollo—how frustrated desire could lead to profound disappointment—and that Eros’s work could change the course of one’s life. But he had not been struck by Eros’s golden arrow yet, and he knew its dangers. Livia watched as he quickly and awkwardly retreated.
Figure 1.4. Artist’s rendering of a Roman villa
Clearly life in the villa required delicate skills of diplomacy. The shadow of the tragedy in Emesa still hung over Tullus. He did not know what had happened to his family, and he could not imagine how he might find them. But a pattern eventually set in, with Tullus usually following Appius throughout the day. When the Legion Gallica was mustered, Tullus became a secretary and assistant, running to collect everything from papyrus bundles to provisions.
Drilling was the constant routine of the cohorts. These were professional soldiers, and the maintenance of their uniforms and their weapons preoccupied them. Skilled, older centurions led hundreds of young men through training in combat. Charged with the war readiness of the legion, the roving Appius watched much of the training. They rehearsed and drilled until the movement of the cohort on the field was efficiently and effortlessly coordinated. They could lock shields to deflect incoming arrows. They could dismantle and rebuild catapults in the dark. And they had endurance. They could break camp and move through the night with a practiced stealth, assaulting an enemy before they knew what had happened.
The legion maintained a camp on the perimeter of the city, and within weeks Tullus knew it intimately. He understood the defense-works of the camp—its trenches, gate signals, patrol patterns—he knew the cohort billeting arrangements, and he had begun to recognize the centurions who led their eighty-man centuries.
But the first cohort was different. It was larger, filled with the legion’s most skilled men, and divided into five centuries, each made up of about 150 men. Tullus knew these five centurions best because they were under Appius’s direct command and worked closely with him. Tullus often served as a courier for Appius, whose authority over the legion’s soldiers was absolute. When Tullus arrived with a summons or correspondence, the centurions treated him as if he were bearing Appius’s own powers. With time he became a trusted courier, returning to Appius with personal messages from the centurions. And he began to believe that this was a life he might master.
Life within the legion seemed simple enough to Tullus. Rank had its clarifying benefits, and because of it everyone knew the privileges and duties that held him. Few broke the boundaries set between officers and legionnaires. Centurions were not officers per se. They were middlemen who understood the soldier’s life, for they had lived it themselves, and they could interpret it for camp officers who were generally short-term political appointments. The uniform of Gallica seemed ill-fitting on many of these aristocratic officers. And occasionally Tullus observed how centurions, who had given their lives to the legion, gave only formal respect to those above them. It took very little beer to get the centurions talking off duty in their exclusive barracks at the center of the camp. The centurions were the true engines of the legion, and they knew it.
Figure 1.5. Organization of a Roman legion
They could motivate and lead a fighting force, and they enjoyed the absolute loyalty of their men.
But it was life in the villa tha
t Tullus found difficult. There were no clear boundaries, or at least none that Livia wouldn’t break through anyway. Rank? It was invisible, though real. No average slave spoke with Appius. Slaves who worked the estate only spoke with Gaius, who had the power to guarantee their future or ruin their lives. It was Gaius who reported to Appius, and it was Livia who seemed to distract them both.
With time Tullus settled in, while one season moved to the next. The heat of the summer would lift, the early rains would fall, and the Syrian desert would fill with flowers. And Tullus slowly learned the rhythms of the household. He could see how deeply Appius trusted Gaius. He could also see how much Appius enjoyed Livia. She was probably twenty years younger than he, and she knew how to distract him from the pressures of the legion. She was mysterious and evasive and flirtatious, all with a skill that Tullus grew to admire. And with this she won Appius’s daily attention. Tullus began to think that Apollo and Daphne were not just myths for this household. In some odd way they set the roles played unconsciously by both Appius and Livia.
“You spend far too much time holding a quill.” It was Livia again, in her flirtatious voice. It was her practiced habit to surprise someone, particularly Tullus when he was working on Appius’s correspondence. The small scribal room at the villa was barely furnished, but it did have a couch. She reclined, her bare feet buried in pillows at the far end, and leaned statuesquely on one elbow. Clearly she was posing—Tullus could see it—aiming her seductive skills at the young man.
“Appius is an important man, and he gives me more than I can do,” Tullus responded, trying hard to appear busy. Seated on a floor cushion against a wall, legs crossed and with a manuscript on his lap, he looked every bit the professional scribe.
“But a man like yourself, surely you have other interests.” Livia looked at him intently. Tullus noticed the details of her face—the heavy Roman eyeliner, her dark gold earrings. The jewelry was foreign and expensive.
“I have little time for entertainment. And Gaius rarely lets me out of his sight.”
“But if you were with me, Gaius wouldn’t say a word.” Livia slipped off one of her earrings and began playing with it. She looked from the earring to Tullus, smiling.
“I have not left this villa on my own for six months, and I would now leave with you?” Tullus felt sweat rising on his arms and neck. Suddenly the room felt close.
“Of course. Appius loves his centurions—that’s what takes up his time—and he hasn’t taken me to the theater once this year. You would be doing him a favor.” Livia crossed her legs and laid her head back on the arm of the couch. She stared at the ceiling.
“Have you discussed this with Appius?” Tullus set down his quill. He couldn’t be sure what he was feeling. He was nervous but also intrigued. He felt drawn in as toward a hot flame. Livia had his attention. And she knew it.
Livia rolled over and turned to look at him directly. With a practiced toss of her loose hair behind one shoulder, she whispered, “Of course not. Appius wouldn’t care.” She paused. “Trust me.” The words hung in the air.
The interruption came as suddenly as Livia’s entrance. It was Gaius. At the door, he clearly did not approve of what he saw. His devotion to Appius was complete, and while he didn’t trust Livia, still he knew how much Appius loved her. And yet scenes like this seemed to dishonor that love. Gaius silenced his thoughts, but his posture spoke more eloquently than words as he stood motionless. Both Livia and Tullus leaned back, retreating from where they had been.
Then Gaius spoke to Tullus: “There’s a courier. From Damascus. You must find Appius immediately and bring him. The courier will see Appius alone. It is urgent.”
2
From Raphana
to Dura-Europos
Gaius spoke as if Livia were not there. He looked firmly at Tullus, who sprang into action. Tullus, knowing Appius was not home, announced his plan to run to the centurion barracks. But Gaius pulled him into a side room, where Tullus met a man hot with perspiration and covered in dust. His uniform signaled that he was a cavalryman. The sight of the courier spoke the urgency of his message. This was not how legions communicated. This was a man on a private mission, delivering a secret to the most powerful centurion in Raphana.
Tullus and the courier left the villa and hurried through the town until they reached its outskirts. A short distance outside the city’s walls, they arrived at the wooden fortifications of the Gallica camp, where sentries were posted. Tullus was recognized immediately, and the two quickly made their way into the interior of the camp, the courier now with a small scroll in hand. Within minutes they were in the centurions’ quarters. Accompanied by a road-soiled man from a different legion, Tullus drew immediate attention. Word spread quickly among the soldiers. Appius was summoned at once.
Appius was a weak reader, and Tullus knew it. So when Appius arrived, Tullus broke the seal, unrolled the scroll and began to read aloud.
From Albus of Legion XII Fulminata, Primus Pilus.
To Appius of Legion III Gallica, Primus Pilus.
Honor to you in the name of Tiberius Caesar, son of the divine Augustus.
At Dura-Europos, Syria.
We have prayed and sacrificed on your behalf for many days before the gods, hoping that you would be found in good health and strength. Peace to you and your household.
Many months have passed since our last meeting in Damascus. Now I come to you in need of help. We have been sent to the far north to guard forts along the great Euphrates River. But we are extended dangerously thin. I have two cohorts in my command, and I know now with certainty that Parthian armies are moving against us. I urged the Fulminata Tribunes to send us reinforcements, but they refuse. They say we have enough. But they are mistaken. The other legions in Antioch have moved their forces into the Taurus Mountains, where tribes are threatening rebellion. They cannot come to us.
I have no one. My good friend Appius, we both know what this means. Infantry are cheap to those who do not march. The Tribunes only look to Rome and their careers.
Join us as quickly as you can. Bring what centuries you have. I am at Dura-Europos. You know the place.
Welcome my messenger Felix. He has traveled far. Send him on his way so that I may be encouraged by your word.
Pax tecum. Peace be with you.
Centurions from Gallica’s first cohort surrounded Appius. These were senior centurions, each deeply trusted by the primus pilus. Appius stepped away from Tullus and calmly gave orders to his officers: they would march at first dawn. One centurion was dispatched to muster the two hundred cavalry the cohort would need. Another was sent to muster a hundred mercenary archers from Phoenicia who had been in training. Two centurions would organize the baggage train that would carry all provisions as well as medical wagons. Nearly one thousand men would soon be moving swiftly north toward central Syria. Appius assigned mappers to plot their course.
Appius would lead the first cohort and its auxiliaries north to Damascus, where they would be resupplied. Then they would pull east toward the ancient oasis of Palmyra. He predicted he would be in Dura in ten days. He would need to push the cohort, but he knew these men, and they understood their task. They lived for such assignments. They were like horses straining at their bridles, ready to leave immediately. But wiser heads knew order and planning were necessary. Impulsive armies were defeated. Disciplined armies won.
The legionnaires responded instantly. Tullus could hear the noise and chatter of excited packing and arranging. The men were readying for war. They were rushing to rescue the cohorts of Fulminata in Syria. Gallica would not permit the Parthians to destroy Rome’s honor.
Appius told Tullus to follow as he strode toward the tribunes’ barracks nearby. There Tullus saw, as he had before, how the Gallica tribunes deferred to their primus. He carried a gravity and strength that these lesser soldiers found unsettling. Appealing to their honor and the honor of the emperor Tiberius, he explained that this might be a great moment for Gallica as it
sent its best centuries to aid one of Rome’s proudest legions.
There was no discussion. Gallica would be well protected at the fortress in Raphana, since nine cohorts would remain behind. The surrounding region was quiet. Appius, his cohort and his auxiliary troops were free to go north immediately. Appius thanked them and departed at once.
It took hours for the logistical planning to be completed. The mapping was checked and rechecked by skilled Syrians who knew the desert intimately. Distances were noted. A travel itinerary was built. And the baggage train was double-checked for supplies. More than sixty mules and a dozen camels would travel with them, along with dozens of wagons. All gear was kept in a constant state of readiness for times such as this.
It was late evening when Appius returned to his villa, but everyone was awake and discussing the rumored crisis that was brewing. Gaius stood at the villa’s entrance with its decorated doors open as he watched the street for Appius’s return. He was worried. The movement of the legion never came except when battle was at hand. And everyone knew that many would not return alive or whole.
Appius had prepared for battle many times, and the drill was well rehearsed. He embraced Gaius in a manner unexpected by the household slave. They spoke of the concerns he had for the estate during his absence. In his private quarters Appius saw that Gaius had already assembled his armor. In the morning a legionnaire would arrive with a mule carrying Appius’s tent, equipment and extra weapons.
But it was Livia that Appius was most eager to see. She stood in the darkness behind a chair piled high with the centurion’s gear.
