A Week in the Life of a Roman Centurion

by Gary M Burge

  Appius began drinking not many days later. It was a combination of self-pity and medication, for when he could barely feel his head it seemed that the pain in his shoulder receded. And he cared less about the consequences of what was happening around him. Gaius supplied him with all the wine he wanted. The slave felt no ability to resist Appius. He was a slave, after all, and as the days unfolded, his own life seemed to lose the respect and honor he had once enjoyed. In the markets everyone knew why he was buying countless jars of wine. And Gaius’s friends began to pity his household, his master, his life.

  It was Livia and Tullus, together united, who often tried to intervene. Late one morning Appius was reclining on pillows in the dining room. It had become his usual posture. Angry, drowsy and pitiful, the great warrior had shrunk to a shell of what he once was.

  Figure 3.6. Statue showing a Roman woman’s garment of the period

  “Appius, the physicians will be here shortly.” Livia missed the relationship she had known only weeks earlier, before the debacle of Dura-Europos. She had said farewell to a lover, and now she had a patient. And with it she could sense Appius’s affections for her flowing away.

  “And when they come, they cannot see you like this.” Livia sat next to him on the floor on cushions. She had taken to wearing her older linen tunics. This one was frayed and colorless. When she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the person looking back at her. Appius had pulled her into his darkness as well.

  Tullus was cleaning the room and stopped to listen, knowing that such conversations had failed many times before. But this day was to prove different than all the rest.

  “The tribunes will hear of it, and the legion will be finished with you. Appius, you must hear me. Without the legion, where will you be? Where will we be? This entire household will end. And you will be a man without a life.” Livia’s voice carried desperation, not love, in its words. Appius sensed it.

  “And am I not such a man now?” Appius slurred. “The gods have robbed me of my strength, and in their delight they have robbed me of my life.” Appius was looking directly at her. His tone showed interest but barely any respect. “My fate has already overtaken me. I am without a place because I am broken. And broken things have no value. I have no life.”

  “At least there is no life here, living on the floor. Living like an animal. Finding your only hope in this . . . this wine that takes you away from yourself and us.”

  “It is all I have.”

  “You have me. You have us.” Here she looked at Tullus and reclaimed the deep love she had held for Appius for so long. “Appius, hear me clearly. I will not lose you! I will stay at your side until you heal.”

  Gaius interrupted. The physicians from the legion had arrived for their daily visit, but now the senior tribune was with them. What once was a demeanor of sympathy had changed to something colder, impatient and official.

  Tullus recognized the dreadful scene unfolding and backed silently into a corner. Appius was lying prone on large floor cushions, with Livia at his side. He reeked of wine and soiled clothing. Livia sat beside him, while the physicians and the tribune stood over them in their best attire. The contrast of their uniforms—gleaming leather, white and red linen, and brass—stood in sharp contrast to the shameful scene on the floor.

  Appius did not try to stand or sit up. Livia stood at once and stepped away from the men. Seeing Tullus, she quietly moved into the corner next to him. They knew they should leave, but they couldn’t.

  “Primus pilus, how do you fare?” The tribune was distant. Official. There was little warmth in the question.

  “Look at me and judge for yourself.” Appius rose on his right elbow and regained a measure of composure. “What the physicians say is true. My arm is useless, and I no longer can stand in battle.” Here he lifted his left arm level with his chest and let it drop to his side. “I can lift a spoon but not a sword. I am broken.”

  The tribune drew in closer, knelt on one knee, and spoke slowly to him. “Primus Appius, we have known each other for many years. You have saved our lives and the honor of our legion many times. And for this we are grateful. Your strength has always made us strong.” The tribune placed his hand on Appius’s shoulder.

  Appius drew himself up, knowing that this was the beginning of something he did not want to hear.

  “The senior tribunes have spoken. And decided. And I speak for them.” There was silence.

  “We have chosen another primus from your cohort—Andronicus of Cilicia—your first assistant. We know you trust him, and it is to him the legion now looks for strength.” The tribune picked up an overturned chalice, smelled its contents, and set it upright next to Appius. He watched Appius’s face carefully.

  “And what will become of me?” Appius withheld his anger. He had been preparing for this hour.

  “We have spoken to the governor of Judea in Caesarea on the coast. We urged him to consider who you are, what you have done. And because of his long respect for Legion Gallica, he has heard us. He is welcoming you to his barracks in Caesarea.”

  “Caesarea?”

  “Gallica is a frontier legion, Appius. We move, we fight, we patrol. You know this. Caesarea needs men of experience that will help rule a province. They will expect you within the month.”

  “I must do this?”

  “Your other choice is to leave our service. But I urge you not to do so. Take up your household, leave this place, and remember that Gallica will always be your legion. But for now you must serve the emperor and Gallica away from us.”

  The tribune seemed to move in yet closer. “Appius, you are broken. And in ways that you cannot even see.” He looked at the empty chalice. “You need to begin again, even though you are broken. Go to Caesarea. Take this introduction with you.” He handed Appius a scroll sealed with the Gallica wax stamp. “We will provide all you need in wagons and escort. Already men in your cohort are asking to ride with you, to see you to the coast.”

  Appius looked at the tribune and the physicians who were nodding in agreement. He glanced at Livia, who was holding her breath, hoping he would agree. Tullus knew he would.

  “Then I go.”

  Appius sat up. He gained his feet and stood firmly in a manner no one in the room had seen since before his injury.

  “I will depart at the close of the week.”

  4

  From Raphana

  to Caesarea

  When Appius stepped in front of his cohort for the last time, the men were arrayed in their finest uniforms, standing at ranks, with their imperial standard held high. Dozens of other centurions from throughout the legion were present as well. The new primus pilus, Andronicus, had declined to take his post and joined the ranks with the other legionnaires. For this morning, Appius was the Gallica primus, and all the soldiers of the first cohort desired to honor him.

  The tribunes addressed the cohort, announcing the decision that had been reached just a week earlier. But most had already heard its rumor. And the few who had not heard expressed shock that Appius would not return.

  “Appius will always be one with us,” the senior tribune concluded. “He travels to Judea to serve the governor, and there he will bring honor to Gallica, just as he has always done. Andronicus of Cilicia will now lead. And you know his worth. We know that Andronicus has become what Appius has made him.” Nods of approval could be seen in every rank. The rattle of swords hitting shields echoed from the ranks as hundreds of men made themselves heard. Many looked to Andronicus, who was giving his full agreement.

  “I give you Primus Pilus Appius of Attalia.”

  This was the first time Appius had worn his full uniform since Dura-Europos. Gaius had cleaned it thoroughly, and Tullus had helped him dress. Tullus had learned neither to favor the arm nor speak of it, but to work around it wordlessly. Carefully. As if nothing were amiss.

  Appius knew these men well. They had marched and camped together for years. They had fought in many battles. Most of the
centurions had been his friends for almost twenty years. There was a bond here, a bond known only by men who had shared missions together. And as Tullus looked on from the edge of the formation, he envied what he saw. These men shared a purpose, a life and, above all, trust. They knew where they belonged and to whom they belonged. And that belonging was for life. Appius spoke:

  Brothers of Gallica. My time to leave you has come.

  I have sacrificed to the gods on your behalf. And I have prayed to Apollo that he will prosper you with success just as he has done throughout these years.

  Gallica is strong because you love honor more than you fear death. It is strong because you would rather die than fail to conquer. You love the taste of honor more than life itself. And so the gods have honored you in all things.

  Be resolute in battle and disciplined in training. The wise man prepares for war while he lives in peace. How you train will determine how you conquer. As our poets have said, “He conquers who first conquers himself.” Train your mind before your arm. Discipline your passions before you discipline your sword. Take care of your sword, and your sword will take care of you. Trust the man who stands next to you, for it is with him you live or die. And trust the centurions whom the gods have placed over you, because it is their wisdom that will bring you success.

  I depart now for Caesarea. But I shall not forget. I shall not forget our victories at Damascus and Pella. Or when we brought the tribes of Emesa to order. I shall not forget the cheer of Legion Fulminata and their Primus Albus when we saved them at Dura from the Parthian foe. Parthia does not merely fear Rome. They fear Gallica, and so they should.

  Appius paused, and soon he could hear a swell of clamoring swords against shields rise once more from the ranks, punctuated by the rumbling shouts of the legionnaires.

  Remember that the divine Julius Caesar is your patron. He watches Gallica from the heavens and can send blessing or curse upon us in any year. Look to the stars, Gallica. These are the gods who watch us. They cheer our victories. They protect and strengthen us against the barbarian enemy. Without them we are nothing.

  Farewell. I am stricken, but I am strong. Fear has not seized my limb, though the Parthian arrow has. But know this. One Roman arm can best a forest of Parthian swords. And so if you meet the Parthian enemy again, complete my joy by returning to these barbarians gifts I could not give at Dura. Repair my honor with the boldest revenge.

  Peace be with you.

  With this, Appius saluted the tribunes, nodded to the centurions who were gathered in the field and raised his drawn gladius high above the cohort as each man raised his gladius in response. Appius turned, resheathed his sword and began to walk away. Tullus considered following him immediately, but he waited and let the primus exit the fort alone, silently and with dignity.

  Honor and Shame

  Farewell speeches were a common genre within Roman society. Appius’s speech is a composite of other ancient speeches given during this period. Notice how often he refers to honor. Within Roman society (and other societies at this time) the loss, preservation and accumulation of honor were foremost on the mind of most people. Personal honor was important, but how one contributed to corporate honor (the family, the clan—in this case, the legion) was critical. Honor was reflected and shared—few persons saw themselves as pure individuals—and so one could shame one’s community as well as escalate its honor.

  Honor was like a bank deposit, with many people holding a debit card. Everyone could see who was contributing richly and who was depleting the account foolishly. And if honor was lost in a manner one could not control (such as Appius’s injury and defeat by a Parthian), the group (or the legion) would feel a duty to reclaim that lost honor with revenge. That act would enhance Appius’s honor, but as an act of honorable revenge would also increase Gallica’s honor. The man who killed a Parthian archer in Appius’s name would be honored above all.

  Four wagons were loaded and parked outside Appius’s villa early the next morning. Appius’s personal battle guard was awarded the privilege of riding with him to Caesarea. They brought his horse, fully groomed and dressed. And not long after sunrise, with a half-dozen household slaves clambering into the last wagon, the small caravan pulled out and began its journey west.

  Figure 4.1. Remains of the aqueduct at Caesarea Maritima

  Descending from the high Syrian plateau, they crossed a region the Jews called Galilee. It was lush and green and hugged the great lake of Tiberius. But they were eager to move on, and after a night at the city of Sepphoris, they continued west. Traveling south, they soon broke through mountains and learned that Caesarea would be no more than two hours ahead of them. The travel was slow. Gaius was in the lead wagon with Livia, their pace set by the mules that pulled them. Appius rode out front with two of his guards, viewing the territory with new eyes. This would be his new home. This would be a place—he barely understood—that he would never forget. Soon they saw the aqueduct that fed Caesarea from northern mountains, and they simply followed it south until they saw the city of its destination.

  Caesarea Maritima

  When the province of Judea was conquered by Rome in 63 B.C. and formed into an administrative district, the Romans permitted the Jews to have remarkable freedom to rule themselves. Such imperial provinces enjoyed the personal attention of the emperor, who then let local leadership rule so long as no rebellion erupted. If conflicts arose, he could deliver a legion to the province to end it. This happened in Judea in A.D. 66.

  Judea’s first king was Herod the Great, who ruled from 37 B.C. to 4 B.C. One of his aims was to convert Judea into one of Rome’s finest provinces. He launched an expensive and massive building program that included not only Roman provincial cities but a complete rebuilding of Jerusalem and its temple.

  On the Mediterranean coast he built a deep-water port at a location that had once been a navigation point called Strato’s Tower. The harbor was larger than even that at Athens. This permitted Herod to receive large ships from the west, enjoy the immediate support of the Roman army and begin trading with other provinces nearby. Newly developed hydraulic cement, which could set underwater, made the port possible, since it was built directly into the sea. Writers such as Josephus remarked on the beauty of the port and its ambition to inspire visitors who might think of Judea as a primitive frontier province. When ships entered the harbor, they first saw an enormous temple to Augustus built on a hill above it.

  The city itself was impressive. Excavations have uncovered warehouses, the foundation of the Augustus Temple, large sections of the quay (or pier), the theater (seating 3,500) and a hippodrome, or horseracing track. The city was large, and today only a small portion has been uncovered. But from what we have seen—such as enormous public architecture, the remains of the pier underwater—we know that in the first century it was a prosperous and important province town.

  Figure 4.2. The hippodrome at Caesarea Maritima

  Tullus had never seen Caesarea. Of course, stories about it were told throughout Gallica because many had come in order to meet ships from the west bringing supplies and troops into the province. As the wagons entered the city’s gates, Tullus felt as if he were entering a world he had barely imagined. The city’s original patron, Herod, had built it out of white stone, and it glimmered in the sunlight. The markets were filled with merchants from throughout the Mediterranean. He saw styles of dress and overheard languages he did not recognize. They rode past temples, splendid in their construction, and enormous administrative buildings bustling with Roman clerical workers. Soon he saw what the Romans called Mare Nostrum, or “our sea.” The city encircled its harbor with a quay and entrance that was nothing short of spectacular. This day three ships rested at anchor. Two were warships, one a freighter hauling goods from some distant place. Tullus understood: this was “their sea,” the Roman sea, that no other could claim.

  Tullus realized that the Romans in this city were different. They were not soldiers, as he was accustomed to,
but men of education, men of influence. They were well dressed in expensive clothes that made Tullus feel as if he were—he didn’t know how else to express it—backward. This was a city that managed power and wealth. A city connected to Rome.

  He felt himself shrinking as they rode deeper and deeper into the city. He was not like these people. These were the men who told legions like Gallica what they were to do.

  The barracks of the legionary outpost was near the port. And while Appius dismounted and entered the main building, Gaius, Livia and Tullus stood near the wagons looking out to sea. The city was also called Caesarea Maritima, with good reason: Caesarea on the Sea. A carefully built quay arched into the sea and curved north, making this a deep-water harbor that could welcome the finest Roman vessels. And it was beautiful. Finely dressed Romans and legionary soldiers were standing on its polished granite stone beneath tapestry awnings that shielded them from the heat of the desert sun. The freighter was being unloaded, and large cargoes were hauled along the quay in wagons. As ships entered the port, their first sight was the Temple of Augustus. On a hill facing the harbor, its white marble columns housed the great emperor Augustus’s statue. Twice the size of any man, he was clothed in full battle armor, standing in a chariot pulled by two wild horses. There was no mistaking. This was a Roman harbor dedicated to the one man whose work built the empire that now ruled the world.

  Appius, emerging from the building, returned to the wagons with directions. There was a wooden fort, barely used, that was well protected and guarded, just outside the city. Gaius and the guards would lead the wagons to the small post and unload temporarily while it was determined where they would remain. There were accommodations enough for each of them. Appius was given a room in the barracks and was invited to bring with him an assistant who would make his quarters with the infantry living around the courtyard.