by Dan Wallace
Sextus broke into a beaming grin, saluted, and turned to march out of the gateway.
Tiberius glanced at his father-in-law, who also smiled broadly. He pivoted back to the forgotten horse, and happily saw that Strabo had grabbed hold of him close at the halter.
The size of the beast took him aback again. “He’s huge,” he muttered.
“Yes, Tiberius,” agreed Appius, staring up at the big horse’s head, “but his stature will give you your best chance to win.”
“Maybe so,” Tiberius said, not completely convinced. He inched forward to the horse and lifted his hand to the side of the gray’s head just beneath his eye. The horse snorted and Tiberius moved his hand back.
“My best chance,” he murmured, stroking the horse on its neck. “Then, Chance you shall be.”
“He liked the horse?” Cornelia asked.
“He did,” Appius said, “after getting used to it. When he first climbed up, I thought he might swoon.”
Cornelia frowned, “He never really liked trying new things. Now, Gaius, he would have been up and away, racing through every bread stand in Rome. But Tiberius, no,” she said.
“Well, he seemed fine with it by the time we left. And, it’s a steady horse, steady in a fight. Strabo guaranteed it.”
“That’s something, I guess. No matter, Tiberius is cautious, but he will do his duty. He is brave that way.”
Appius stopped looking at the flowers in the peristylum and faced Cornelia. “Why didn’t you tell him that you bought the horse? Or gave him the bribe money, for that matter? Why create this fiction that I sponsored him so?”
Cornelia shook her head, “He’s a grown man. He cannot have his mother paying his way. Better his father-in-law be his benefactor. Aside from the obvious association with Claudia, he can think that you backed him for political gain when Numantia falls.”
“I would have given him the money, if you hadn’t” Appius murmured.
Cornelia smiled, “Now, what makes you think I would have allowed that? He needs to be his own man when he returns, too, Appius.”
Appius sighed his frustration. “But the horse. At least you could have openly given him the horse. That wouldn’t have been too much for his mother to do.”
Again, Cornelia shook her head, slowly this time. “No. He must stand alone. He must see himself achieving glory by himself, without the support of his mother or anyone else who might indulge him. He’s a Roman quaester, now.”
Agitated by her words, Appius said, “He’s already achieved glory! Can’t you take any joy in what your son has done? You’ve had twelve children, and lost all but three of them, two if you consider Sempronia lost to Scipio. Tiberius is your oldest living son, and he’s going off to war. Can’t you enjoy him at all? “
Cornelia said flatly, “My joy died with his father. Now, it is only duty that moves me to go on.”
Chapter 5. The Via Aurelia
Tiberius dragged himself out of bed and over to the chamber pot. He relieved himself for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. Too much wine again, he knew, for one who seldom drank at all. No matter, he wouldn’t have slept that well anyway.
The stars were still out on a clear night, their light casting the city in a soft, pale glow amid dark shadows that seemed to promise peace rather than fear. Yet, Tiberius felt a few vague, timorous pangs. The day promised to unfold in such a way that he could expect his nerves to be on end, knowing himself.
When morning broke, he and his cohort would leave for the north to raise the rest of his legion. They were ready, he had seen to that. Casca and his brethren had driven them hard for the past month, marching the wine and bad victuals out of them, bringing back the muscle tone usual to veteran legionaries. Three other centurions had signed on, Didius from Sicily, Ulpius, from the city of Lucca in northern Etruria, which should be helpful, and the most interesting, Shafat. Shavat was the son of Carthaginian slaves who had declined taking a Roman name, although his reputation as a Roman soldier in battle was outstanding. The fourth that Casca had suggested could not join up, having had his left arm nearly slashed off in drunken brawl.
“If the arm heals up well enough for you to raise a shield,” Casca had told him, “you can join us in Numantia. Otherwise, brother, you’ll need to find a job as a guard. Don’t become an assassin, their life span is too short, often ended by dangling on a cross.”
Casca and the others worked on squaring away the soldiers and supplies while Tiberius went home to see about his own packing, and to sit at a final dinner with his family. Claudia tried to insist upon several more layers of clothing, winter trousers, and fruit, as if it would last all the way to Hispania. After Tiberius had objected repeatedly to no avail, he mentally made a note to tell Lysis later to quietly remove the excess garments. He’d told Casca and the others that he did not want the usual baggage and camp followers to trail the march, that they had to move as swiftly as possible to reach Mancinus before the consul had ended the war. So, it wouldn’t do for him to show up with a cartload of camp luxuries while his men slept in little more than their cloaks.
Appius and his family joined them for dinner, as did his old comrade Gaius Fannius. The meal was superb, too much, Tiberius thought, and the wine flowed freely. Appius took his leave early, knowing enough to allow for Tiberius to spend time with his children, his mother, and Claudia. Fannius lingered, however, until Claudia finally said goodnight, and withdrew.
Fannius watched her leave, then said, “Well, old mate, you’re off to war again. How does it feel?”
Tiberius rolled his head, “I can’t fool you, Fannius, I’m nervous, scared even.”
“Oh, you’ll be fine once you’re underway. I’ve seen you, Tiberius, you stand up when there’s a need. Don’t worry so.”
“I’m more afraid of the trip than the actual war,” said Tiberius. “Raising troops is new to me. Where do you find them, anyway?”
Fannius nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard. “Locating men who own land is not easy these days. Too many killed in the past few years. I say don’t spend a lot of time near the larger towns, Piso, Firenze, that sort. Sweep farther afield in the smaller villages, places where other recruiting officers couldn’t be bothered.”
“Yes, but 4,000 men?”
Fannius shook his head, “It’s a formidable task, all right. Easier to find cattle. But I’m sure you’ll be resourceful.” He looked toward the bed chambers, hearing some noise. “I better go, now. No doubt, your wife would like to see as much of you as she can before you march off.”
Tiberius walked him to the door, an arm around his shoulders. He hugged him and kissed his cheeks, then sent him walking down the street following the lamp in his body slave’s hand. After seeing him off, Tiberius headed for his bedroom, swaying between the hall walls, and realizing that he’d had more to drink than he’d thought.
Claudia awaited him in his bed, and they embraced silently, their passion tinged with a hollow, open-ended sorrow. Afterwards, she left him to sleep, also not to feel her tears.
Now, here he was, ready to leave his family and home for a year or more. Little Tiberius, and Cornelia. Tiberius would be close to school age by the time he returned, and his baby girl would grow, too, and perhaps forget her father a little bit. Claudia had gripped him tightly before she’d left last night, saying in a harsh voice, “I hope this night brings me another child. I want more to remind me of you if the gods command the worst, and you do not return.”
He consoled her, naturally, saying of course he would return, in victory. But he remembered those who hadn’t from Carthage, their bodies darkened and bloated in the brutal, African sun. Their families wore ashes and torn, black linen for the longest year of their lives, and then what? Destitution, disease, deaths of their own? This, in victory?
A scratch at his door. He draped the bedcover over his legs and pushed his hair back with both hands.
“Enter.”
Cornelia slipped into the room, looking a
lmost deferential for the first time in his life.
“Mother,” Tiberius said evenly.
She sidled up to him and stretched out her hand. In it was a long dagger, beautifully crafted of the best Hispanic steel, with an ivory handle carved in an elaborate scene of battle and conquest.
“Your father’s,” she said, “presented to him by the Hispanii chieftains when peace was reached. I give it to you now, to wish you your own success.”
Tiberius felt a little stunned at the gesture. He was surprised by his mother’s emotion, something he couldn’t remember seeing since he was a child.
“Thank you, Mother. I will bear it with honor.”
“I know you will. Tiberius, your father told me about the Hispanii people. They are not fur-swathed, long-bearded barbarians, they’ve been trafficking with all parts of the civilized world for more than two centuries. Your father remarked upon their skill as warriors and their valor. They shouldn’t be taken lightly. Mancinus will need every man he can get, and certainly every man that you can bring.”
“I understand, Mother. Don’t worry, I will enlist a full legion.”
“I know you will.”
Then, Cornelia leaned over to hug him, murmuring, “May the gods be with you.”
She gathered herself and swiftly left the room, leaving Tiberius still sitting on the edge of the bed, astonished.
In full armor, Tiberius walked briskly from his room to the front of the house, Polydius at his side.
“Do what is necessary to keep this household together. Pay attention to your mistress, but also exercise your own judgment. If she and my mother disagree, do not attempt to mediate. Simply leave the room until the dust settles. And, try to keep track of Gaius. Make sure he continues his schooling and training.” He turned and put one hand upon Polydius’ shoulder. “I’m counting on you, Polydius. If all goes well, when I return, you shall no longer be in my service, only in my employ, if you wish.”
Polydius flushed, “I would serve you anyway you desire, in any fashion.”
“Spoken like a true slave on the brink of freedom,” laughed Tiberius. “Well, just try to keep the peace around here, and don’t let any hawkers or our property managers steal us blind.”
They stepped outside the door, where Philea and Lysis let loose a covey of doves. As they furiously flapped away, Tiberius craned to watch them, shading his eyes from the sun with one hand, murmuring “If an eagle doesn’t take them now, I guess we’ll know that this effort isn’t ill-fated, at least.”
Before Mancinus marched for Numantia, the priests had sacrificed two white bulls to Mars, and signified that all had gone well, that the campaign would be successful. Now, Tiberius was leaving to a flight of mourning doves.
Lysis came up to him, “All is ready, Master Tiberius.”
Tiberius looked at the slender young Greek and sighed. He gazed at the slight youth, so fair and slender of frame that he looked more like a river sprite rather than a half-grown man servant. Ever since they’d purchased him five years ago or so, Lysis had kept his eyes in the stars. Philea and Polydius forever had to bring him back to the firmament to do his chores. Yet, his constant, wide-eyed, warm demeanor charmed everyone, so much so that they couldn’t stay angry at him, never mind punishing him. The children loved Lysis, too, playing with him all the time. He sang to them and told stories, plying a wild gift of imagination in such an utterly enchanting way that many of the adults found themselves caught in the net of his fancies. Yet, it had been decided that Lysis would be Tiberius’s servant at camp instead of Polydius, who was too old and could be so much more useful with the family. Everyone left at home would miss Lysis, Tiberius thought, maybe more than their master. Certainly, the children would miss him more.
Lysis greeted the decision with wide-eyed fear, one slave who didn’t dream of winning his freedom on the battlefield, Tiberius thought. When they headed off to the baths, the boy could barely hike up Tiberius’s training bag to his shoulder and stagger after him. How on earth would he be able to lug around a full military kit? Tiberius wondered.
He glanced away and said, “All right then, let’s go.” Claudia, red-faced from crying, hugged him one more time. His mother Cornelia waved her hand wanly while Appius cheered and clapped his hands. The others who had wished him well at the farewell feast last night―Fannius, Marcus Octavius, Crassus, Mucius Scaevola, and his old teacher Diophanes―must still be sleeping, Tiberius thought. He waved his hand at those in the vestibulum as he walked toward the house gates, only to turn and abruptly stop.
In front of him, the cart requisitioned for his personal belongings stood loaded almost to the height of the house’s roof tiles.
“What in the gods’? Lysis!” The slight Greek youth hurried to his side. Tiberius struggled to control the volume of his voice. “Lysis! What is this? I told you to take away most of this, this detritus. Why is this cart still buckling from this extraneous stuff?”
Lysis began to stutter until Claudia stepped forward to save him. “I ordered him to return these necessities to your wagon. I’ll not have you conquer the Numantines only to have you succumb to the elemental gods. I won’t have a hero husband taken away by a fever or an attack of ague. You need to care for yourself well enough so that you can resolve upon the best stratagems to defeat the Numantines. A sick, cold man is no effective praetor.”
Tiberius looked at her in complete exasperation and said, “I’m not a praetor. Oh, very well.”
He turned and marched to where Casca was holding his horse. The centurion kept a stern expression, though his dancing eyes betrayed his enjoyment at the scene. As Tiberius reached Chance, he whispered to Casca, “First thing in camp tonight, give all of this to the men. I’m not going to have them think of me as some spoiled son who cannot leave home without his pillows. At once!”
“Your tent, too, sir?” Casca said sardonically. Tiberius stared at him fiercely, then scornfully said, “I didn’t know you to have such a sense of humor, Centurion. Give away all, except for that which I need to keep from freezing my ass off.”
Casca nodded as he held out his clasped hands for Tiberius to mount. Tiberius swept up onto Chance, pulled the reins to turn his head, and nodded to his family, saying “Salvete” as he rode out onto the street.
At the Campus Martius, the men of his cohort immediately snapped to attention when he arrived. Casca handed the reins of the cart he was driving to Lysis and jumped off to take his position at the front of the rows of men. Sextus and his retinue of young horsemen rode up to the front of the column in split ranks on both flanks, and reined in.
Lysis handed the reins of the cart to a drover and climbed down. The drover flicked his long whip to prod the oxen toward the other carts and mules at the end of the column.
“Are we ready, Casca?”
“Ready to march, sir,” Casca said.
“Then, get them moving.”
The centurion turned and bellowed the order to move forward. Tiberius walked Chance to the front of the slowly advancing column and took his place next to Sextus up front to lead the column of men north.
The chill of the early spring morning had given way to a pleasantly warm day, occasionally cooled suddenly by a slight breeze from the purple mountains in the distance. After crossing the Pons Aemilius over the Tiber, the column stepped lively along the Via Aurelia, one of Rome’s oldest roads. It was a perfect day for marching, and the men were thrilled to be on their way at last, so much better than constant drilling and endless haranguing by the centurions and optios. Never mind that they had hundreds of miles to travel and other recruits to press into their ranks, the men sang their marching songs with carefree spirits in the exquisite spring air.
Tiberius felt exhilarated himself by the day’s warmth. He’d dismounted to stroll in front of the marching legionaries, with Lysis leading Chance behind him. Casca walked next to Tiberius, ready to send back orders as instructed. Instead, Tiberius preferred to chat.
“Did you ever se
e a more beautiful day, Casca? A brilliant day, full of promise!”
“I did, once, sir, on the island of Capri.” Casca said. “It is a wondrous place, with cliffs covered in beautiful foliage all around, and amazing birds. Apollo himself blessed the island, bringing it closer to his level so that he could more easily reach it to rest. Thus, the reason for its miraculous height, so the locals say.”
“Amazing. And, what were you doing in Capri, Centurion?”
“Fishing, to pay off my gambling debts. But I didn’t do any better at fishing than gambling. War ruined me for everything else but war.”
“Indeed,” said Tiberius. “Still, this is a spectacular day to start a campaign. The only way it could be more promising is if we could see a falcon beat to the sky with its prey in its claws. That would seal our success.”
“Yes,” mused Casca, “unless the catch is a snake that bites the bird on its breast. That would be a bad sign for both hawk and snake.”
As if summoned, a small raptor flapped hard up in the air with a huge rat in its talons. The rat struggled fiercely, twisting until it was able to latch onto a wing with its teeth. The small bird began to pinwheel in a parabola caused by the uneven weight of the rat. They both plunged into a stand of cypress trees, flushing a flock of starlings into the blue, then away across the meadow.
Both men stared silently at the sight. Finally, Tiberius glared at Casca sourly and said, “Apparently, you have a much greater ability than I do to divine the true sentiments of the gods.”
“I wouldn’t say that, sir. After all, it was a rat, not a snake.” Seeing Tiberius glower, he said, “Shall I go back and check on the order of the carts?”
“By all means, you do that.”
The day grew hotter, unseasonably so this early in the spring. The men’s singing had stopped, and only the drumbeat could be heard, and the occasional bark of a centurion or optio goading a legionary to keep up. Tiberius himself grew peckish because he knew that every mile took him closer to fulfilling the single promise that he’d made to his mother, the idea of which he utterly loathed. But the seasoned troops had made good time despite their layoff, which meant that they had covered ten or more miles already. This meant that they would soon reach the place he’d selected for their midday halt, the destination he’d promised to his mother, the estate of Scipio Aemilianus. He hadn’t had much to do with the Hero of Carthage during the past ten years, he hadn’t seen his sister Sempronia very much either. When he had run into him in the Forum or the baths, Scipio had been more than congenial, asking after Claudia and the children. Such solicitude galled Tiberius, of course, knowing how unhappy Sempronia was and how utterly ruthless Scipio could be when it served his purposes. But he had to keep the pleasant pose to maintain the peace, particularly with his mother. Paying his consular brother-in-law a courtesy call on his march to Hispania was one of these occasions.
