Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul mwc-1

by R. W. Peake

  “That’s a lie! I said no such things. This one,” he gestured at Vibius, “just went crazy all of a sudden, right in the middle of a nice conversation. We were catching up on old times, and I was congratulating both of them on the job they did to those rebels up north, when out of nowhere he tried to stab me!”

  Seeing Vibius’ jaw tighten, I threw up a hasty prayer that he would not lose his temper. Despite his obvious anger, his voice was calm as he retorted, “If I had wanted to stab you citizen, you'd be dead.”

  Cornuficius nodded. “That’s true enough Galba.” It was not until that moment that I realized that I had known this boy Marcus, for I could have never have thought of him as a man, for something like seven years yet never knew his last name. “If Domitius wished it, you'd be as dead as your friend there.”

  Ultimately, Marcus and Aulus’ reputation for trouble was the clinching argument that this was not the cold-blooded murder that Marcus claimed it to be. Compounding his problem was the reluctance of his followers to voice support for his side of the story. I have no doubt that there was a part of each of them secretly glad to see them both get their comeuppance in some way; bullies like that do not lead through personal inspiration, they rule through fear, so I was sure that each of the minions had run afoul of either or both of them at some point. For his part, Marcus disappeared a couple of days later, never to be seen again. And for our part, let us just say that although the townsfolk were friendly enough, they gave us a wide berth.

  Leaving Vibius behind in town, I left with a promise that we would get back together in a couple of days when we were going to go see Cyclops and my sister. For perhaps the thousandth time in my life, I found myself plodding down the road towards my farm, yet despite the fact that I was now a man wearing the uniform of one of Rome’s Legions, I found my heart was still in my throat. In many ways it was still like being a ten year old boy who lost the bag of nails he had been sent to fetch having to go home to face the consequences. Angrily, I shook my head, chastising myself for such silly feelings. I was now over six feet tall, and had added more than ten pounds of muscle just in the few months I was away. The sun had turned my skin even darker brown than it was the day I left, while my hands and feet were encased in calluses so thick they were almost like iron plate. My chest glittered with decorations I had earned and in the purse from my belt dangled more gold in coin and jewelry than I had ever seen in my life. The sword on my hip had seen the death of many men, not to mention women and children, a fact that I preferred not to think of then or to this day. My helmet was polished to a high sheen, as was my armor, oiled and gleaming in perfect repair, with all the damaged or lost links replaced. The horsehair plume was freshly cleaned and re-dyed a perfect shade of black and I was wearing my best tunic. And yet, for all that, I was still a young boy with a knot in my stomach going home to an uncertain fate.

  Seeing Phocas before he saw me, I realized with a start that he was old. The moment the thought crossed my mind, I chided myself. I had only been gone for a few months; there was no way that he had aged that much in such a short time. Of course, that meant that he was old when I left, except that I had not seen it until this moment. When I say he was old, he was all of 45 or 46, but when you are a teenager that is truly ancient, and I have no doubt that my perception was also due to the fact that I had been surrounded by mostly young men for the last months; even the Pilus Prior, who I was sure was of a similar age to Phocas, was only 28 years old. Nevertheless, I stopped for a moment to watch him, feeling a tightness in my chest as the unbidden thought came that, slave or not, I wished with all my heart that Phocas were my father, that desire quickly followed by the prickling of tears welling in my eyes. Horrified, I blinked them back, telling myself savagely that I would not shame myself like this. As I regained my composure, Phocas apparently sensed that someone was watching, straightening up and turning to peer at me. He frowned when he saw the Legionary standing in the road, and I could clearly see a look of worry flit across his face, no doubt wondering what troubles could have brought such a man to this farm. This brought a smile to my face, relishing the idea that I had changed so much that I was not recognized. Finally, the frown slipped from his face as recognition of who stood before him dawned, yet even then, he seemed unwilling to trust his eyes.

  Taking a step forward, he asked tentatively, “Titus?”

  “Who else would be coming to see you, you silly man?”

  With that, he ran across the yard to greet me with a proper hug before turning to call to Gaia. She was working in the kitchen as usual, her hands red and raw from her work, and like I had with Phocas, I caught myself worrying at how tired and careworn she looked. Still, she was instantly alongside Phocas, pulling my head down to smother me with kisses, which I made a great show of protesting but secretly loved.

  It was hard for her to find a spot on my cheek because of my helmet and finally she said crossly, “Take that thing off Titus so I can give you a proper kiss.”

  My smile grew broader as I pulled it off, automatically placing it under my left arm as I was trained, while the two of them continued to fuss over me.

  “By the gods boy, you look like Mars himself.” Phocas grasped me by the arm, looking me up and down with such pride that once again I felt the threat of burning tears.

  Instead I forced a laugh as I shot back, “I’m better looking than Mars.”

  His eyes turned to my phalarae and despite having no real experience of such things, he knew instantly they meant something special. Indicating them, he looked at me with a questioning gaze, and I nodded proudly. “I won those for bravery, during an engagement up north.”

  If I was expecting a reaction, it certainly was not the one that I got from Gaia, whose smile immediately disappeared at my words. “Bravery? Bravery? What kind of men’s nonsense is that? You mean you did something foolish, didn’t you?”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but Phocas shook his head with a wry smile. “Don’t try to argue Titus. That's one battle you won't win.”

  Almost as quickly, her irritation vanished as her examination of me moved her eyes to the scar down my arm, which was still pink and angry. She let out a cry as she grabbed it, running her hands along the length of the cut. “Titus! What have they done to you? How did this happen?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and now I could not help myself as my vision clouded. I was home with people who loved and cared for me, and there are few finer feelings in the world.

  I postponed meeting Lucius for as long as I could, letting him sleep his afternoon drunk off while Phocas, Gaia and I caught up. From the two of them I learned that Valeria was expecting a child and experienced a strange thrill at the idea that I would be an uncle, something which, to that point at least, had never once crossed my mind. Livia had not become pregnant yet, but was by their account ecstatically happy with her husband. Lost on none of us was that both of my sisters’ sense of joy was in no small measure due to their being away from this place but we did not speak of that. Instead, I told them of the adventures I had been having, sanitizing it for both of them, deciding that telling them everything would only make them worry even more. As I talked, I ate some of Gaia’s porridge and the memories of happy times came wafting up to me with the scent of her cooking. I gave them the gifts I had chosen for them, along with a fairly large sum of money, telling them quietly to put that someplace where Lucius would never find it. And it was then that I told them my plans concerning them.

  “I think that, in a couple more years, I'll have saved enough to buy you your freedom from Lucius.” Their look of stunned surprise and happiness made me feel ten feet tall, yet almost immediately it was replaced by one of such extreme sadness on the face of Phocas that I wondered if I had made a serious blunder.

  “Titus, there are no words to thank you for what you're trying to do, but your father will never agree to this.”

  “Why?” I asked indignantly, “I'll give him more than enough money to buy two slaves to re
place each of you.” When you are young, the world is so simple and problems so easy to solve. Still, Phocas shook his head sadly. “You could give him money to buy ten slaves for each of us Titus, and it wouldn't matter.”

  Looking to Gaia for support in arguing with Phocas, I saw in her eyes the same sad emptiness. “He’s right, my darling boy. It has nothing to do with the money.”

  “Then what does it have to do with then?” I demanded, although a voice inside me told me that I already knew the answer.

  “It has to do with the idea that it’s something that you desperately want. You know your father has no love for you, Titus. What you don’t know is that his hatred has grown in leaps and bounds since you left. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't curse your name.”

  I was stunned, although I do not know why, unless it was because I still entertained some childish fantasy of winning my father’s affections by great deeds. The knowledge that his hate for me had only grown in my absence smothered the last spark of hope I nurtured that somehow things could be made right between us, and I felt the coldness return to my heart, seeing in the reflection of Phocas and Gaia’s gaze that it was clear to see in my expression.

  “Then,” I spoke slowly and deliberately, “I'll give you your freedom another way.”

  At first they did not understand, then a look of horror and………..something else flashed across Phocas’ face. “Don't speak of such things Titus.”

  He said this with an urgency that surprised me. I knew that they would not jump at the idea, at least at first, so I decided to drop it, sure that they would warm to it in time. The fact that I could very coldly contemplate the murder of my own father was not lost on me but I shrugged it off, thinking that what I was just told severed the last thread of obligation I held towards him. If he hated me so, I would return the favor, and I was a much more deadly enemy to have than vice versa, so I dropped the subject for the time being and moved to safer topics.

  Lucius finally came staggering out into the main room, his eyes in their usual bloodshot state; as his bleary vision focused on me, he gave a grunt of surprise, and I was gratified to see a look of some fear on his face. Sitting there, I looked at him steadily and when he did not speak, I forced myself to adopt a tone that I hoped sounded pleasant.

  “Salve father. It's good to see you so……..well.”

  Continuing to stare at me, he said nothing for what seemed like half a watch, before blurting out, “What by Dis are you doing here? I thought we’d seen the last of you.” Before I could respond, his face screwed up in suspicion and he continued, “You didn’t get thrown out of the Legion, did you? Well, if you did it wouldn’t surprise me, but you can’t come back here.”

  Before I could stop myself, I leapt up and stepped toward him, my hand going to my sword. The movement was not lost on him and he gave a yelp of terror as he stumbled back, then immediately lost his balance, crashing into a heap on the floor. He stared up at me, the fear and hatred clear as he made no attempt to disguise his true feelings, and I know that my face reflected the same thing.

  “No, old man. See these?” I tapped the phalarae, “I won these. You know how I won these?”

  Leaning down, I made sure that our eyes were level before I spoke, more softly this time, my tone only serving to increase the menace, “I won them by killing a lot of men, father. I've shed the blood of more than a dozen men, all of them better than you. You'd do well to remember that.”

  “You impudent whelp,” his lips curled back and I could see that his teeth were rotting out of his mouth, accounting for the stench that emanated from them, “I am the pater…….”

  Before he could finish and before I had any conscious thought, the sword was in my hand, the sight of it causing him to become a cringing dog in the instant it took me to draw it.

  “You're a drunken, mean little man,” I cut him off, “and you'd do well to remember that. I'm the head of this family now, by the right given to me by this,” I brandished the sword, relishing the abject terror that it evoked, “and I'll take that right if you say one……..more……..word.”

  I gestured with the sword back to his room. “Well, I think we’ve caught up. You can go back to your room now.”

  Staggering to his feet, he looked like he was thinking of arguing, a thought that evaporated from his head in the time it took me to point back to him with my blade. He made to leave, but as he stumbled away, I called to him. Turning to look at me, I smiled sweetly at him and finished, “And if you even think for one moment to take your anger out on them,” I jerked my head in the direction of Phocas and Gaia, standing as still as statues, “I'll find out from my sisters, and I'll come back and show you one of the tricks I learned about how to flay a man alive. Then I'll tan your hide to use as a cloak and your shriveled ball sac will be my coin purse. Do we understand each other?”

  As I said this, I realized with equal parts satisfaction and unease that I meant every word I said. From the expression on Lucius’ face, he knew it too. Gulping, he nodded then exited the room.

  The confrontation with my father had ruined the mood of homecoming, so I declined the chance to stay the night. Although I was fairly sure that my father would not have the courage to try anything while I slept, I did not feel like sleeping with one eye open. Hugging the both of them and promising that I would write this time, since I had not done so while on campaign, I left them standing at the edge of our property, tears streaming down their face. After waving to them once, I refused to look back, not wanting to risk becoming a blubbering fool in front of them. Deciding then to head for Livia and Cyclop’s farm, despite it meaning that Vibius would not come with me, I calculated I would get there after dark, not that I was worried about being alone at night. In fact, I somewhat looked forward to the thought of some bandit or bandits being unlucky or stupid enough to pick me for easy prey in the night. After all, I told myself, it had been more than a month since I last saw any real action, my confrontation with Aulus hardly qualifying in my mind, and I did not want my skills to get rusty. Even as I thought that, though, I knew that I was lying to myself. It had nothing to do with my skills; the feelings one gets during battle can be as crippling a habit as the hold wine had over my father, and like one in the grip of Bacchus, where the lack of the grape causes a violent reaction of the body, so too does the lack of action to a warrior. Such is the feeling one gets when there has been no violent action that your whole being craves that kind of stimulation, like you are starving of some nutrient. I was now infected with the disease, and it would haunt me for the rest of my life. Yet I was only dimly aware of the deeper meaning of all this as I walked down the road, whistling one of our marching tunes. Passing around Astigi, I did so after deciding to give it something of a wide berth because of what had happened earlier. As far as I knew we had escaped any kind of trouble, but I held no desire to find out differently by stumbling into the arms of the city guard. Walking along, I contemplated what I would do if indeed there were some problem with what I did that day, and decided that I would have to take whatever action necessary to ensure that Vibius and I could escape back to camp, then put my faith in the army protecting its own. There had already been several incidents where Legionaries had either severely beaten or killed civilians and to my knowledge, none of them received any punishment. The army’s view is that if a civilian is stupid enough to tangle with a Legionary, perhaps they are not meant for this world to begin with, and looking at it rationally, from Rome’s point of view, there is more value in a Legionary than there is in the ordinary citizen. As long as one did not go about killing patricians or equestrians, a soldier could be fairly confident that they would be able to avoid the normal consequences associated with murdering someone.

  Making it to Cyclops’ farm about a third of a watch after dark, I stopped some distance away from the house and hailed it, because in those days walking up in the dark was a risky proposition, particularly with a man like Cyclops. I was pleased to see a light em
anating from the window, telling me that they had not yet retired, and after a moment I saw the familiar face of my brother-in-law peer out from the doorway.

  “Salve brother,” I called, and for the second time that day I could see someone’s face wrinkle up as they tried to determine who was calling them. Fortunately, it did not take him long, his face creasing in a smile when he recognized me. To get Cyclops to smile was enough of an accomplishment in itself, and it was just another pleasant moment of my return home.

  One more time I found myself fussed over, although it was almost completely done by Livia, Cyclops content with a firm handshake and slap on the back. And once again, I sat at their table while Livia rushed about making something to eat, ignoring my protests that I had eaten not long before, as I recounted my tales to Cyclops. While still sanitizing my recounting, I was less circumspect with Cyclops than with Phocas and Gaia, until Livia let out a gasp at one of my anecdotes, whereupon I reined in my tongue once more. Cyclops and I exchanged a look as he rolled his good eye, shaking his head at the squeamishness of women. It is truly a mystery to me how women can go through the toil and bloody business of childbirth, yet the talk of lopping off some barbarian’s head gets them all aflutter. I suspect it is one of those things I shall have to ask the ferryman, or some of the wise men with whom I will be spending eternity. When Livia asked me if I had been home yet, I responded as briefly as I thought I could get away with, concentrating on my time with Phocas and Gaia, and only mentioning that I had seen Lucius. I was thankful when she did not press, but I could see by her face that I had not fooled her. Livia went to bed, but Cyclops and I stayed up through the night, and despite being happy to see my sister, I was also thankful for the opportunity to talk more freely about all the things I had seen and done, because I had questions that I felt only Cyclops could answer. I related to him how Gaius Crastinus spoke highly of him, and his face flushed with pleasure.