Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion

by R. W. Peake

  I realize that I am being harsh regarding my father, but if you had lived as I did, being raised by him, I daresay that you would feel the same way. To me, that fence was a symbol of Lucius’ foolish and stubborn pride, and I hated it with a passion, one that has only recently diminished as I have grown older. In fact, when my father died, I prevailed upon my sister Valeria, to whom he had left the land, to tear down that fence, stone by stone. It took almost two weeks for a group of my slaves to finish. At that time, Phocas was still alive, and I had bought his freedom, but he was much too frail to help. My father had never been able to afford more slaves after Phocas and Gaia, as by that time, he had drunk every sesterce that came his way. If he had been able to get his hands on the money I sent to Valeria, he would have drunk that as well. The stones that were left from the fence I used to have a true villa built, in the style that I had seen in the countryside outside Rome, albeit on a more modest scale. But it was a huge improvement over the hovel that I had grown up in, and I was proud and happy that my sister and her husband had one of the nicest homes in the area.

  One of the puzzles of my life is how, from such modest stock as my father and mother, I grew to be the size and strength that I am. The strength I earned myself, but I had a frame to pack on muscle in a manner that few others I have met, before or since, have been able to match. As I said, Lucius was a scrawny little thing, although he was wiry strong. It has been such a matter of curiosity for me that whenever I have met another man of almost equal size and strength, if appropriate I have questioned him closely, in order to try to understand if there are some commonalities between us. Of course, the only place where I have regularly met men of my size was on the battlefield, particularly when fighting the Germans, who as a race seem to be almost completely composed of men whose average size is comparable to mine. They usually were not of a mind to speak of it, given that they were most often dead by the time it came to discuss such matters. However, what I have been able to gather from the information I have received over the years seems to point back to a peculiar aspect of my childhood. You see, when I enlisted in the Legions, I was subjected to a diet, that up to that point, I had no experience with whatsoever. As I mentioned, we barely scratched a living out of the soil and had to supplement what grains we did manage to grow with other fare, and that other fare usually meant meat, a lot of meat. Chickens mostly, but there was a fair amount of game. Phocas was a skilled hunter, learning from his father, who Phocas claimed was a great warrior and hunter in his tribe. I had no reason to doubt him at the time, but in the intervening years, it has been my experience that, when asked, most slaves either claim to have been one themselves, or to be descended from great warriors and the like. It makes me wonder who was around to do the drudgery work in those tribes, since I seem to have met nothing but chiefs and sons and daughters of chiefs.

  The truth is that we were ashamed to be eating as much meat as we were because it meant that we could not afford to buy any surplus grain to make bread – something that the other children from the surrounding farms were always quick to point out to us; mocking and ridiculing the children of Lucius Pullus as little better than slaves themselves. And it was true, but it did not mean it hurt any less. Now, however, I have come to the conclusion that it is that very diet we were so ashamed of as children that gave me the size and strength to improve not just my own lot in life, but that of my sister and, most importantly, her son – my nephew and now my adopted son. My strong right arm has also helped shake Rome to its very foundations, and ushered in an age of change that not only rivals, but surpasses any of the great civilizations of the past. But that story is for later.

  * * * *

  The way I met Vibius Domitius is something that, all these years later, still brings a smile to my face. I was about ten or so, and I had been sent by Phocas to town to fetch a sack of nails to be used to repair one of the sheds on the farm. I suspect that it was just as much to get me out of my father’s way as anything else, since by this time, he had taken to starting his drinking before midday and was usually roaring drunk by dinner. When he was in that state, he was even more liable to lash out at me and because I was still recovering from a particularly severe beating from him, administered just a couple of days before, I think Phocas decided that the best thing for me was to get out of the way. He handed me a coin that he had gotten from Lucius’ pitifully small hoard, smiled at me, and winked.

  “Titus, you need to run to town to get some nails and, if I were you, I wouldn’t run there and back.”

  At this age, I was still deathly afraid of Lucius, and I gulped hard.

  “But what if he asks where I am?”

  Phocas looked over his shoulder at my father, who was stumbling around. Phocas looked as if he were the master and Lucius the slave as he tried to contain his disdain.

  “Don’t worry about him; when he gets like this, he has no sense of time. When you come back, I'll insist that you've only been gone for a short time.”

  Patting me on the back to reassure me, he sent me on my way. The road to town ran directly in front of our property, and if it were not for a series of low hills between our farm and there, it would have been in eyesight. It was a little more than a mile, and as I grew older and Lucius grew drunker, I would find my feet carrying me down that road more and more. This day, the weather was its usually sunny self; a warm breeze helped ease the temperature somewhat, but I was born in this climate and I knew nothing else. Therefore, I loved it. Many years later, as I would stand shivering in some remote place in Gaul, I would think back to the weather with great fondness. As I walked, I imagined what those faraway lands would be like, wondering if I would ever be able to see them or if I was doomed to spend my days on that accursed farm. While I had not started thinking of soldiering at that point, I was already dreaming of ways to get away from Lucius, and I would pass the time on the walk, picking up small rocks and throwing them at an image of my father as I went.

  Despite Phocas’ instructions, I went immediately to get the nails, instead of passing time in the town. While Astigi would grow a great deal and become better known as Colonia Firma Astigi, at this point, it was still a dusty little settlers’ town. There was a small forum with market stalls surrounding it, which is where I would spend most of my time, looking at the goods and wares for sale, but mostly just listening to the adults talk. When you are a child, it is amazing the places you can go and things you can hear because you are more or less invisible to adults, as long as you do not do anything to draw attention to yourself. Although I was only ten, I was still almost as tall as a lot of the adults, but my youth was obvious and only the merchants watched me with a wary eye to make sure I did not steal anything. For some odd reason, despite my poverty, it never really occurred to me to do so. I wandered around aimlessly, holding the bag of nails, taking in the sights and sounds of a small but bustling town. I wandered a bit away from the forum, moving into the area of town where the townspeople lived, marveling as I did every visit at the size and splendor of the buildings that people called their homes. Of course, they were nothing of the sort, but compared to what I lived in, they were definitely very fine homes.

  I was drawn to a sound that attracts all children; I heard other children laughing. Excited, because I rarely had contact with children of my own age, I hurried around a corner to see what fun thing was happening, stopping short at what I saw. There were children all right; about a half-dozen or so, mostly boys, but also a couple of girls, but that was not what stopped me. What caught my eye and immediately got my heart pounding was the sight of two of the boys, each one of them holding the leg of another, smaller boy who was dangling upside down, suspended only by the two boys holding his legs. But it was where the poor boy’s head was that was responsible for the reaction that I had; it was fully lowered into a chamber pot, one that was obviously full from the stench that reached me where I was standing several feet away. I could hear the poor boy choking on the contents, and it was at that moment
that something happened to me that had never happened before. Even with all my father’s abuse, I had never once lost my temper, but for some reason, seeing that poor boy, thrashing about as he was being drowned in cac, made me very, very angry. So angry that I completely forgot that there were more of them than there were of me; although they were all older than I was, I was still larger than they were, which I am sure had something to do with my bravery.

  “Stop that!” I yelled at the top of my voice, with all the power my ten-year-old lungs could muster.

  For a matter of perhaps a couple of heartbeats, it appeared as if it worked; both boys holding the other looked up at me in astonishment and, in doing so, brought the boy’s head out of the bucket. I could not see anything but the whites of his eyes; his face was covered in excrement and he had tightly pursed his lips to avoid getting it in his mouth. But it did only work for a moment; the two boys glanced at each other, then at their friends, then back at me. Only this time, they were smiling, an evil smile that only youngsters can give each other.

  “What?” called one of them. “Did you want to join this little mentula?”

  They evidently thought the use of profanity was a great joke, because they all guffawed, even one of the girls, although the second remained silent. Suddenly, I felt my knees shaking, but whatever fear I felt was still overruled by my anger.

  “Put him down,” I said slowly, drawing out the words as if that would have more of an impact.

  It did not, at least not in the way that I had hoped. Because they did indeed put him down; by silent consent, they took a step back, pulling the poor boy’s head out of the pot, then unceremoniously dumped him on the ground, where he lay gagging and frantically wiping his face.

  Menacingly, the boys started to approach me and, for a moment, I was unsure what to do. The thought of running occurred to me, but I immediately dismissed it. They would catch me most likely, I reasoned. I was sure they knew the town better than I did. And even if they did not catch me then, I would have to watch my back every time I came to town. No, I would stand and fight, so I dropped the sack of nails. Up to that time, my only experience with violence had been at the hands of Lucius, but I had made my decision, come what may. The two boys who were holding the other boy’s legs were obviously the leaders, and they slowly advanced towards me, one on either side.

  Without taking their eyes off of me, one said to the other, “What do you say, Aulus? Do you want to beat this cunnus, or shall I?”

  The boy who spoke was the taller of the two, with gapped teeth and wearing a filthy tunic, dirty even by my standards.

  The other boy laughed and shook his head. “No, Marcus. Why would I want to deprive you of all the fun?”

  Marcus laughed at this as well, and suddenly lunged at me, catching me completely by surprise. He lowered his head and tackled me around the midsection, no doubt with the intent of driving me to the ground, but he seriously underestimated my weight and strength. It was now that I saw the benefit of carrying all those rocks, as I barely budged when he crashed into me. Without thinking, I reached down with my left arm, encircled his neck, then proceeded to hit him across his exposed back with my other fist. He let out a yelp of pain, prompting Aulus to growl at me and charge as well, except instead of using the same tactic as Marcus had, he stopped short and swung his fist. It connected squarely on my cheek. As lights burst inside my skull, I staggered a step back, shaking my head to clear it. Aulus clearly expected me to fall, but although it did send me back a step, I maintained my balance. I stopped hitting Marcus and, still with my arm around his neck, I flung him directly into Aulus, sending them both tumbling to the ground.

  It was then the other two boys who had been watching decided to pitch in and take me to the ground, because they both came running at me. Instead of trying to meet them head on, I dropped to one knee just as they launched themselves at me, and they both went flying over my head, landing on top of each other.

  One of them let out a yelp of pain, followed by a string of oaths.

  “My arm! You broke my arm, you cocksucker!”

  “I didn’t do it,” the other exclaimed indignantly. “That cunnus did it, not me.”

  Aulus and Marcus had regained their feet and I waited for them, a mistake, I know, but it was my first battle! I would not make the same mistake again. Warily this time, they approached me, looking for an opening. Realizing that I was surrounded, I retreated a few steps and put my back to the wall. I looked over the two boys’ shoulders to see the boy I had rescued, his face somewhat cleaner, standing unsteadily and gazing around him as if looking for something. I hoped he had not been knocked silly before they dunked him, I thought. Suddenly, the three remaining boys rushed me at the same time, this time with fists flailing, and I lashed out in the same manner. I was hit a number of times, but I had been toughened by the beatings that Lucius had inflicted on me; having children hitting me was almost a relief. Almost. I connected squarely with the third boy’s nose, squashing it flat and forcing blood to squirt out from under my fist, as if I had hit a ripe tomato. It startled me for a moment, it being the first time I had ever drawn blood, although it would be far, far from the last. Even so, my second’s hesitation cost me dearly, as one of the other boys drove his fist into my stomach, almost knocking the wind out of me. My knees buckled and I felt myself starting to lose my balance, so I lashed out and grabbed Marcus by the throat, determined to pull him down with me if I fell.

  It was at that precise moment I heard what I can only describe as the kind of screeching a numen must make when you violate its sanctity, and I felt more than saw Marcus suddenly knocked to the ground, his throat jerking out of my hand. A second later, Aulus suffered the same fate, and I realized what the boy had been looking for, as he stood over them with a stave from a barrel of some sort.

  Shaking with rage, he began to strike the two boys on the ground, over and over, all the while screaming out, “Who’s the cunnus now, huh, Marcus? Who’s the mentula now, Aulus?”

  Both boys were now crying like babies, blubbering for the other boy to stop beating them, but he did not look like he was in any hurry to stop.

  Careful not to be hit by him myself, I stepped towards him and said as nicely as I could, “I think they’ve learned their lesson, don’t you?”

  He stopped with the stave above his head, still ready to strike down, and looked at me, then down at the boys. The third boy had crawled off with his friend with the broken arm, skulking off to lick their wounds, leaving Marcus and Aulus to their fates. The stave hovered in midair as the boy tried to decide whether to continue or not.

  Then he asked them, in a much calmer voice than before, “What say you? Have you two learned your lesson?”

  Both boys immediately began groveling, insisting that they had absolutely learned their lesson, and would be model citizens from this point forward.

  Shaking his head gravely, clearly beginning to enjoy himself, he said dubiously, “I don’t know. I think that you might be lying to me, that you’re going to run off and plot some sort of revenge.”

  “No, no, Vibius,” they said, and I learned the boy’s name for the first time. “We'll swear on anything. We've learned our lesson and will never bother you again.”

  “Swear on Jupiter’s Stone,” Vibius answered instantly, and I am sure you know, gentle reader, that this is the most sacred oath a Roman can swear by.

  Both boys immediately began babbling, but Vibius stopped them, insisting that they get on their knees before him as he held the stave, ready to strike.

  “Say it like you mean it,” Vibius said, and both boys solemnly swore by Jupiter’s Stone that Vibius would never be troubled by Marcus and Aulus for as long as they all lived.

  They were lying, of course, and both Vibius and I knew it; anyone who would stick another’s head into cac is not to be trusted in the slightest. But the battle was won for the day.

  Once they had sworn, Vibius said, “Now get out of here,” and they jumped to
their feet and started to slink past me.

  I do not know what possessed me, but I called out to them, “If you lie, I swear by Jupiter’s Stone that I'll beat you both worse than you’ve ever been beaten.”

  They glared at me with undisguised hatred, but said nothing and just kept walking. As it turned out, one of us was telling the truth that day, but that is for later.