by R. W. Peake
Despite my feelings for her, they were still overridden by my love for Vibius. Suddenly grabbing both of my arms, in a grip that was surprisingly strong for a girl her size, she whispered urgently, “Swear it on Jupiter’s stone, Titus. Swear that you’ll bring him back to me alive.”
Flattered that she put that kind of faith in my ability, and somewhat unnerved by her passion, I made the oath, which calmed her down. While I was making my farewells to Juno, Vibius’ father had ridden his mule over to our wagon, where he saw Lucius sprawled in the back of it, snoring away.
Glancing over at me, I could feel the heat in my face rising, but before I could speak, Phocas said smoothly, “My master has been suffering from ague and flux, and it’s weakened him considerably. But despite his illness, he didn’t want to deprive his only son of his greatest wish to join the Legions.”
Vibius’ father nodded gravely, clearly not convinced in the slightest but not wishing to make a fuss about it either. Farewells done, we turned our little caravan towards the road out of town leading towards Scallabis.
The trip was pleasant enough; the weather cooperated, and Vibius’ father turned out to be a veritable fount of chatter, telling awful jokes and fantastic tales of the exciting life in the tanning business. He was not that bad, truth be known, and as we talked, I could see where Vibius got his sense of humor and buoyant nature. Lucius regained consciousness a watch or so into the journey, leaning over the side of the wagon to retch violently. Phocas handed the reins to Gaia in order to aid Lucius, his help being in the form of handing him an amphora of wine.
Seeing Vibius and his father watching and unable to ignore what was taking place, Phocas announced, “This is a potion that’s served to ease my master’s suffering in the past. We paid a Greek doctor for a large quantity since it’s proven so effective.”
I silently thanked the gods for Phocas and his quick thinking; despite the transparency of the fiction, neither Vibius nor his father seemed inclined to dispute it, and given that Lucius’ sickness seemed to pass as soon as he drank of the “potion”, there was no unpleasantness. In fact, once Lucius was fully conscious, he began a conversation with Vibius’ father, who rode beside our wagon as they talked. They began discussing the current political situation, with the aftermath of the Catiline conspiracy still fresh on every citizen’s mind. While they talked, it gave Vibius and I the opportunity to drop back a way, he riding and I walking as we talked. The only topic of interest was our immediate future, and we both speculated on what was facing us. As much as Cyclops had told us, there was as much and more that we did not know, of which we both were all too aware.
Arriving in Scallabis after almost two weeks of hard travel, it was the first time I had been to the provincial capital. To my country-boy eyes, it was the height of glamour and excitement, a bustling metropolis that always seemed to be buzzing with activity as farmers, muleteers, merchants, whores and all sorts of shady characters flocked to the city. Of course, it was not a metropolis, but I had yet to see Rome or Alexandria, another point about which Lucius was only too happy to remind me, seeing it as one more sign of my inadequacy. Just as our party entered the city through the main gate, my father made a loud declamation how this pile of cac was nothing when compared to Rome, going on to relate how his father, who loved him well, took he and his brothers to the eternal city to see none other than Pompey Magnus. His words immediately drew hostile stares from the others around us, and I felt my face turn red from embarrassment, with Phocas turning to give Lucius a warning look as he sat in the back of the wagon, swilling wine and running his mouth, completely ignoring the both of us.
Vibius and his father looked equally embarrassed at this display, and finally I dropped back to the wagon to hiss, “By the Furies, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill you on the spot!”
He opened his mouth to say something back to me, but evidently the look on my face stopped him, because he snapped his mouth shut and remained quiet, sullenly sucking on his wine skin.
Making our way to the Praetor’s residence, this was the site of the dilectus, the dilectus being the official recruiting effort for the Legion. Because it was just after mid-day, there was a line of young men, accompanied by the men who would vouch for them, waiting for their turn in front of the conquistores, the group of officials charged with finding qualified enlistees to enroll in the name of the Praetor. It was in this line that I first heard the name of the Praetor, a name that every citizen of Rome and probably every human being in the known world has heard of by now. It was by way of overhearing a couple of the older men, obviously the fathers of other boys.
“So do you know anything of the new Praetor, since you’re recently arrived from Campania?” asked one of the men, some sort of artisan by the look of him. The man he was asking was dressed as a member of the equestrian class, although it was clear that his toga had seen better days.
The equestrian nodded, and said, “I know of him. Gaius Julius Caesar is his name, of the Julii.”
The artisan shrugged, responding, “Never heard of him. What do you know?”
The equestrian gave a snort of derision. “He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. He’s so ambitious,” he said with a sly grin, “that he supposedly became Nicomede’s ‘woman’ when he was serving under Marcus Thermus in Bithynia.”
This caused the other man to hoot with laughter; it has always been the case that the lower classes love any hint of scandal attached to their social betters.
The equestrian became serious, “Whether or not that’s true, that’s what’s said. But what I do know is that Caesar is well-loved by the people of your class.”
He did not say this as a compliment, yet if the other man took offense, he gave no sign,
“Well,” the artisan grunted, “what I care about most is whether or not he can properly lead a Legion. The gods know in my day it was hit or miss.”
The equestrian looked at the other man in some surprise, “You were in the Legions, citizen?”
“One of Marius’ mules,” the other replied with quiet pride, as well he should have.
The men of Marius’ head count Legions were the first of their kind, and showed their supposed betters that they could fight just as well as anyone in the higher classes, better perhaps. In fact, it was the reforms of Marius that opened the door for those of my class to enter the Legions and perhaps advance their own fortunes. For the rest of the time we stood in line, the equestrian was completely respectful of the artisan, and indeed began plying him with questions about Gaius Marius.
Such was the nature of the conversations all along the line as we shuffled slowly towards the entrance to the building, which even I could see was not much more than a large villa. It served as the headquarters and the living space for the Praetor sent by Rome to govern the province, and as I was to learn, carries the same name as the headquarters tent of a Roman military camp, the Praetorium. While we waited, we saw much bustling about, with couriers coming and going, jumping from their horses to walk quickly into the building, then reappearing in a matter of moments, their dispatch bag full, either of answers to the original dispatch they had delivered, or some sort of counter-orders or further questions, or at least so I imagined. Phocas was monitoring Lucius carefully, to ensure that while he was sated enough to be lucid and appear to have all of his faculties, my father was not allowed to render himself insensible. With the day passing and the sun sinking lower, I began to worry that we would be out of luck since my father had not remained this sober for this long in some time, and despite my threats I was worried that he would bring ruin to all Vibius and I had planned because of his thirst. Finally, it became our turn; Vibius and his father would follow us, and I took my father by the elbow, applying extra pressure just before the impatient guard made a comment, giving him a look that was meant to convey exactly what awaited him if he failed. His fear was palpable, but he nodded his head and we entered the building.
There were a series of tables, where
not one but three conquistores were actually standing, each behind a slave who was working as a scribe, writing down the necessary information dictated to them by the conquistores. The third table to the farthest side of the room was empty, and the conquistore behind it waved to us impatiently.
“You’re here to enlist no doubt,” he said briskly, but I could only nod dumbly. Turning to my father, the official spoke just as briskly, “And you’re here to swear to his citizenship and age, aren’t you?”
For a moment, my father did not speak, and my heart began to hammer even harder. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see his lips working but nothing came out.
Finally, his words came in a hoarse whisper, “Yes your Excellency.”
Obviously unimpressed with my father’s oratory skills, the conquistore, a middle-aged man wearing a toga with the badge of his office worn around his neck, snapped, “Out with it, citizen. Who are you?”
Finally given a question he could answer, my father replied, with just a hint of pride, “I am Lucius Pomponius Pullus, citizen of Rome and a member of the tribe Pupinia, of the gens of the Pomponii.”
Nodding, the conquistore pointed at me, and asked, “This is your son? Is he the one joining the Legion?”
I spoke up with the rehearsed answer that we were told to give by Cyclops when he explained the process to us.
“Yes, I am Titus Pomponius Pullus, also a citizen of Rome by virtue of my father and his father and grandfathers before him. I am also of the gens of the Pomponii, and my mother was a citizen as well, of the tribe Galeria, and of the gens of the Asinia.”
The conquistore indicated to his scribe to write down the appropriate information.
Once completed, the conquistore looked at Lucius and asked, “And his age?”
Here was the moment of truth; we had rehearsed this many times. As you know, gentle reader, the years of the birth of Roman citizens are recorded by the number of years from the founding of Rome and the Consuls for that year. It had been drilled into me that I was born in the year of the Consulship of Publius Servilius Vatia and Appius Claudius Pulcher but now in order to perpetrate this fiction, we were forced to consult the annals to determine the Consuls for the year before. I could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my back as I waited for what seemed to be the week that it took my father to answer.
However, it must not have been long because I detected no change in the expression of the conquistore or the scribe when my father finally said, “My son Titus Pomponius Pullus was born in the year of 430, as reckoned from the founding of Rome, under the Consulship of the dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla and Quintus Caecilia Metellus Pius, may the gods favor both of their memories, on the date of April Twentieth.”
This raised an eyebrow from the conquistore, though not in a suspicious manner.
“Just a few weeks ago, eh boy? Couldn’t wait to join the Legions, could you?”
Finally, an answer that I could give honestly!
“No Your Excellency, I couldn’t. It’s been my dream since I was a boy to serve.”
“Good,” the conquistore replied. “Would that all of your fellow citizens had your patriotism. But it’s auspicious, your birth date, because you’ll be assigned to the 10th Legion, and its symbol has already been established.”
Looking at me, smiling, he added, “It’s the sign of the bull, the symbol under which you were born. It must be that the Fates have brought you here.”
And with that, my father’s part was essentially done. The scribe used his stylus to write down the relevant information on a beeswax tablet then handed it to me, instructing me to go through a door on the left to be examined by a fellow who would determine that I was fit enough to join the Legion. Lucius was told by the scribe to wait, pointing him to the back of the room where other fathers were standing, while I went into the other room for my physical examination. There, another man waited, quickly identified as a doctor and with his own scribe standing next to him, to whom I handed the tablet. I was told to disrobe for the doctor to examine me, if that is what one could call it, asking me a few questions about my overall health, telling the scribe to write that I was physically fit and had no identifying marks. In particular, they apparently were looking for any marks to indicate that I was once a slave. Passing the examination, I was told to dress, then handed the tablet and told to go back into the original room, where Lucius was still waiting. The process took no more than a few moments. My father was presented with a document, written on vellum, containing the information that we gave concerning my birth, with the extra information provided by my physical examination, which he signed, his hand barely shaking at all. It was done. The conquistore told us what would happen next.
“Lucius Pullus, your part is done. Titus Pullus, you’re now a probatio, and as such will take an oath before you’re sent to the camp of the 10th Legion. It’s not the full oath that all Legionaries must take; that will only be administered once you’re considered to be worthy to be a soldier of Rome.”
I bristled a bit at that; if he only knew who he was dealing with! However, he either missed my irritation or ignored it and continued with, “You’re to report at first light at the camp of the 10th Legion. Until then, you may spend your last evening as you wish. The scribe will give you the directions to the camp. It’s just outside of the city walls.”
Whereupon he had me swear an oath to Mars, Jupiter and Roma, then once completed he motioned to the door, indicating that our business was finished. By this time, Vibius and his father had entered and were in the same process I had just endured, and we grinned at each other as I walked out the door.
Phocas was waiting for us; when I told him that our ruse worked, he whooped with joy, ignoring decorum as he hugged me with all his might. While he did so, I was reminded that this was a moment I should be sharing with my father, except he had made a straight line for the wagon and the amphora, ignoring the celebration. For a moment, just one, I experienced a terrible sadness as I watched my father make his supplication to the only god he truly worshiped, or for whom he had any feeling for that matter. Then I shook it off, enjoying the moment Phocas and I were having. Presently, Vibius and his father emerged from the villa, Vibius’ face plastered with what must have been the same grin that was on my face, and we embraced. We had done it! We had joined the Legions together. The thought that this was merely a first step never entered our minds; as far as we were concerned, we were both as good as Legionaries. Fortunately, the gods did not disagree with our assessment.
Spending the night at an inn, it turned out to be the last night either Vibius or I would spend under a roof for some time to come, although we did not yet know it. There was a tavern attached to the inn, and Vibius’ father at least was determined to give us a proper send-off, which my father was only too happy to participate in, since it meant that the wine would be flowing. I was ashamed at Lucius’ obviously naked desire to suck up all the wine that Vibius’ father was willing to pay for, but thankfully Vibius’ father was gracious, despite his modest means. By this point, enough time had passed for me to witness that, despite Vibius’ lowly status in their family, there was real affection between father and son, and I mused about what that must feel like. Despite the convivial atmosphere, I drank just enough wine, watering it at that, to keep from appearing ungracious. I was not much of a drinker of wine in those days, and although I am not much of one now, I certainly have experienced moments of which Bacchus would be proud. The evening progressed, and Vibius, his father and my father got drunker, even as I grew more impatient.
At some point, one of the whores that can always be found in such establishments made their way to our table, and Vibius’ father poked his son in the ribs and winked, “Well son? How about your father giving you a real going-away present, huh?”
Vibius’ face flushed immediately, a combination of embarrassment and anger.
“Father, I’m sworn to Juno, and she’s the only woman I want.”
“J
ust wait, that’ll change,” his father laughed, which Lucius found equally amusing.
“No it won’t,” Vibius snapped, and I could see he was very angry now. So could his father, who made a placating gesture.
“Pax, son. I was only joking. Forgive a father for trying to give his son something to remember,” he said.
Vibius softened immediately. “No, Father. I should be begging your forgiveness. I know you meant well; it’s just that I already miss Juno.”
Vibius’ father put his arm around his son, and nodded. “I understand Vibius. You’re just like me. I’ve been with your mother going on twenty-four years, and she’s still the only woman for me.”
He paused. “Most of the time.”
He said this last with a roar of laughter, and even Vibius could not remain upset.
The evening passed by quickly enough but once it was time to retire I found I could not sleep, being much too excited and for a moment I envied Vibius, who lay across the room, snoring peacefully, making me think that perhaps more wine would not have been a bad idea. Lying on my cloak that I threw over the pallet of straw, I stared at the sky through the small window placed high on the wall, wondering how different my life would be one short day from now. It was with this thought in my head that somehow I finally fell asleep.
Chapter 3: Tirones
Any regret from the night before about not partaking of wine was immediately dismissed when I saw poor Vibius, who looked slightly green, his eyes rimmed red and his breath smelling like my father’s in the morning. We had paid the slave maintaining the watch to wake us two parts of a watch before dawn, despite it being only a short walk to the camp. Neither of us could rouse our respective fathers, which was fine with me, but I felt a pang about not going to the slave quarters to wake Phocas and Gaia. Making our way down to the main room of the inn, we rummaged around until we found a loaf of bread and some oil that was close to turning rancid, and split the loaf, soaking it in the oil. Carrying our portions out the door, we began to make our way in the dark, the few belongings we were bringing with us slung over our shoulders, along with the appropriate token that we were to hand to the soldier at the gate to show that we were now part of the Legion. Walking slowly, neither of us said much. Despite our eagerness, we also knew that we were embarking on something momentous. After all, we were still boys to a large degree, and I would be lying if I said we did not have any fear of what we were headed into.
