by R. W. Peake
Again, it took a moment to register, but when it did, he began whooping with laughter, a harsh, mocking laughter that lacerated me to the quick.
“And why on Pluto’s thorny cock would I want to do that?” He asked this with a malicious grin, as if he could not wait to have something else to laugh at.
But when I responded, the smile stopped, as did the laughter.
“Because if you don't, you'll never be able to sleep soundly again, because I swear on Jupiter’s Stone that I'll kill you.”
I could not believe that I had said it so easily, but I realized as I said it that I was serious. I would kill this man if I needed to.
He staggered back a pace, his eyes wide with shock, then attempted to recover, drawing himself to his full, pathetic height, his scrawny chest puffed out as he declared with all the bravado that the wine could give him, “You'll do no such thing, boy. I am the paterfamilias in this house, not you. And as long as I am such, you will obey me!”
He tried to thunder this last bit, but it came out as a squawk.
I stood up, and stepped towards him, knowing that I did not have to posture in order to tower over him.
Still, I did flex my muscles a bit as I replied pleasantly, “You’re only paterfamilias while you're alive. Once you’re dead, I become the head of the family. Look around.” I motioned with my head. “What do you see? Where are the nearest neighbors? Who would hear you scream as I killed you? Where would you run?”
I kept approaching him as I talked and, suddenly terrified, he stepped backwards, tripping over his own feet to fall heavily to the floor on his backside, where he stared up at me in abject fear. I never felt so powerful and ashamed at the same time; not shame because it was my father, but shame at him, that he was so pathetic and weak. I was being a bully, nothing more.
“You wouldn’t dare,” he squeaked, his voice gone high with fear. I could tell that at least all inebriation had been banished, as if it was never there. “Phocas and Gaia wouldn't allow it! They would report you. You may have no love for me,” he at least had the rights of it there, “but you care for them. You know what happens to slaves when their master is dead under suspicious circumstances, don’t you? They’re tortured in order to gain a truthful account.”
As you know, what he said is true; in the event of any suspicion of foul play, the slaves of the victim are put under torture as a matter of course, in order that they give a truthful account. While I understand the reasoning, I have often wondered how effective it is. This was what had troubled me when I first thought of approaching Lucius with this ultimatum, but after talking it over with Phocas and Gaia, I was no longer worried. It was at this moment that Phocas stepped back in the door, as we had planned.
Sensing him come in, I said, “But that's only the case if there's foul play suspected. And as I'm your only son, and the only one of your children left alive who lives here, who's going to doubt me when I say that you died in some sort of accident? Or even in your sleep?”
Lucius immediately looked over my shoulder at Phocas, who then spoke the piece that we had agreed on.
“No, Master. I wouldn't betray Titus. I'll corroborate his story, as will Gaia.”
He walked up to Lucius, who was still huddled on the floor, and squatted down opposite him so that he could look Lucius in the eye, something that a slave was expressly forbidden to do, although it was rarely enforced, except at my house.
“And if I have to endure torture, I'll do so gladly, knowing that Titus is at last free from you. And you will still be dead.”
I was both sickened and fascinated at what happened next. Simultaneously, Lucius’ eyes filled with tears, and he lost control of his bladder, a dark stain growing on the floor. I smelled it before I saw it, and I made no attempt to hide my revulsion.
“Look at you,” I snarled. “You who dare to call ME ‘boy’? You are pathetic, and you are weak. I curse the Fates that made me your son.” Now that I had started, I was unable to stop. Stepping closer, I continued, pouring at all the hate and scorn I had built up. “Do you want to know one of the reasons I'm joining the Legion, Father? So that I can restore some honor to our family name, honor that you've pissed away, honor that you never had! YOU,” I roared, “are the reason my mother died, not me. Gods only know what she saw in you, but I firmly believe that the reason she died was because she had come to learn what kind of man you really are, and she couldn't live with the shame of it.”
As I had hoped, these words had a visible impact, and for the first and only time, my father tried to act like a man.
“Liar!” He screeched this at me, making the sign of the evil eye. Despite myself, I took a step back. “YOU, Titus Pullus, are the one who killed your mother. I loved her! I loved her more than any man alive has loved a woman! And you,” he pulled himself to his knees, the puddle underneath him ignored, “you took her from me! So that’s right! I hate you! I have always hated you, and I will always hate you!”
For the first time in our lives, my father and I had been completely honest with each other.
* * * *
His show of bravado over, Lucius quickly collapsed on himself, spent and drained of what little courage he had possessed. However, I had gained what I had come for; Lucius agreed that he would accompany me to wherever the recruiting party was, take the appropriate vows as to my citizenship and age, and hopefully, neither of us would see the other ever again. Although he had agreed, I felt compelled to add one more term to it.
“If you harm a hair on either Phocas’ or Gaia’s head, I will come back and I'll teach you all that I've learned in the Legions. I swear to you that your death won't be quick, but it will be exceptionally painful. Do you understand?”
Sullenly, he nodded, but said nothing. Gods know that I have no reason to say anything good about my father, but I will say that he lived up to his word. I had no doubt that it was the fear of me who prevented it. Once this was settled, it suddenly seemed a little silly that I would leave the farm, so I made the decision to stay there instead of leaving. But I will say that my remaining nights were spent sleeping very lightly. I did not need to worry; if anything, Lucius seemed determined to drink himself into an even deeper stupor, earlier in the day. This fact kept me from fulfilling my promise to end his days, and then come up with a new plan for joining the Legions.
Lucius agreed to take me to Corduba, along with Vibius and his father two days after our “agreement,” and we would be accompanied by Phocas and Gaia, as any trip to the capital was an occasion. Not mentioned but obvious to everyone involved was the other reason for both of our slaves’ company was so that nothing untoward happened to either Phocas or me. While I was unafraid of Lucius, Phocas was more circumspect; his main fear was that Lucius would pay some thugs to exact revenge along the way, as we had to stay at inns during the three-day journey. I was appreciative of Phocas’ caution, but I was sure that Lucius was too much of a coward to try anything. Since we had some time, Vibius and I went to tell Cyclops the news, and to bid farewell to Livia. I was somewhat upset that I would not have time to go visit Valeria and Porcinus, but I was going to leave a letter to be delivered to my sister. I paid a sesterce out of the hoard of coins that I had managed to save to a scribe in town who did such things, since while I knew my letters and could write my name, at that time that was about the extent of my literacy. I knew she would understand my haste.
Vibius and I arrived at Cyclops’ farm and ended up in a mock wrestling match, rolling in the dirt as each of us competed to be the first to tell Cyclops the news. Naturally, I won, and as I sat panting, straddling Vibius’ chest to keep him pinned to the ground, I told Cyclops and Livia, who had been attracted by all the commotion and was standing next to her husband, the news that we were off to join the Legion.
“But you’re too young,” Livia protested, and I acknowledged that was true, then told her all that had transpired.
After I finished, by which time I had gotten back to my feet and hauled up V
ibius, who was busy dusting himself off, I could tell Livia was torn between happiness for me, made even sweeter by the humiliation of my father, the hatred of whom made the Pullus children even closer than most siblings, and her natural apprehension at seeing her brother march off to the army. But I was sixteen and immortal, as all young men are at that age, and I laughed at her fears.
“You’re not being very complimentary to your husband,” I teased. “After all, he did teach us everything we need to know.”
“Not everything,” Cyclops interrupted, these being the first words he had spoken since we gave them the news. Turning on his heel, he walked into the house, leaving Vibius, Livia, and me looking mystified. He certainly did not seem happy about this.
We followed him into the house, finding him sitting at the table, pouring a cup of wine, then offering the amphora to us.
We both sat with him, while Livia returned to her chores and, without preamble, Cyclops told us, “I have shown you everything I can about the individual skills you'll need to be a Legionary. Everything else will only come when you're actually in the Legion.”
“What sort of things?” I asked.
“Unit formations, for your Century, your Maniple, your Cohort, and for the whole Legion, for one. You'll have to learn to march in column and in square, and that’s just one thing.”
I had an idea of what column meant, but I was puzzled about the other term.
“What do you mean by ‘marching in square’?”
“You'll march in square when you're in enemy territory, and it’s a possibility that you'll be attacked. It’s basically marching in a battle formation, with three Cohorts marching in the front, two Cohorts on each side, and three Cohorts in the rear, all marching as if you were formed for battle.”
I nodded as if I understood, but I really did not. I thought to myself that I would just have to wait until it happened and then I would understand. Then Vibius asked a question that, as hard as it is to believe, we had never asked before, at least I do not remember doing so. It might have been that we had asked, but Cyclops chose not to answer until this day, now that we had made the decision to join the Legions.
For a moment, it was quiet as Cyclops sat there, looking into his cup with his good eye, and I thought that he had either not heard, or was choosing not to answer. He looked up at us, and there was a look in his eye that I had never seen before, a look of almost unfathomable sadness and…something else. I know now that he had the look of a man who has killed in battle, something that changes a man forever, no matter what they might say otherwise. No matter how much you may hate your enemy, when you look across your scutum and look into his eyes, it is impossible not to recognize that he is a man, a man just like yourself, and no matter how hard you try, thoughts enter your mind that you do not want there. Does he have a woman? Does he have children? What is he like? It is impossible not to think those thoughts; the best one can do is put them away in the moment, and only think about them after the battle is done and you survive. You look at that man as the blade of your gladius sinks into his gut or chest, and you can hear the breath escape from him as you watch the life drain out of his eyes, right in front of you. Almost without exception, the men I have killed all had a shocked look on their face, as if they were surprised that this was their fate, despite the fact that they must have known it was possible as they lined up across a field from us to do battle. I have come to believe that this is the essence of being a human being; no matter what the circumstances, there is always this thought in the back of one’s mind that you will be the one that cheats the gods and achieve immortality, that you of all the people who have come and gone are the one destined not to experience death. And then it happens, and you are surprised. But I knew none of this then; I was just impatient for Cyclops to talk to us.
Before he began speaking to us, he turned to Livia and asked her softly, “Meum mel, would you go outside to milk the goats? I don't think that you should hear what I'm about to speak of.”
Even as he said it, I tried to contain a smile; they still were newlyweds and did not know each other that well. Livia was not the type to meekly obey any man, at least I had never seen it, so I could not hide my shock when she simply nodded her head, gave him a fond smile, and left the house.
I looked at him and blurted, “How in the name of Dis did you do that?”
He looked at me blandly and asked, “Do what?”
I motioned in the direction of her retreating back. “Get her just to do what you say without fighting about it? Luc….my father could never get her to do anything by telling her one time.”
“That’s because I didn’t tell her; I asked her to do that,” he responded.
I was mystified; who had ever heard of such a thing, actually asking your wife, or any woman, for that matter, to do something? As much as I despised Lucius, I had obviously been conditioned by him in these matters, and I sat there with my mouth agape as Cyclops ignored me, and answered Vibius’ question.
“So you want to know what going into battle is like? You want to know what it is to kill a man?”
Put as starkly as that, it made the both of us gulp a bit, but we both nodded.
“Very well,” he said, swirling the contents of his cup around as he stared into it. “The first thing that you notice when you prepare for battle is the smell, at least that was how it was for me. Men who are afraid have a different smell about them.”
He was cut off by Vibius, who laughed in disbelief. “Scared? Since when are Legionaries in the Roman army scared?”
The look he gave Cyclops was one of pure scorn, and I had just enough time to choke back the very same laugh, as I was just as disbelieving as Vibius was.
“Any man who tells you that he's not scared before going into battle is either a fool or a liar, and in either case, you want nothing to do with him,” he said quietly, but with a vehemence that gave us no doubt that he was serious. “All men feel fear; it’s what one does with it, how one controls it that makes the difference between acquitting yourself honorably, or bringing unending shame on you and your entire line.” We said nothing to this, so he continued, “As I was saying, the thing you notice on the day of battle is the smell. Men’s sweat smells different, their cac smells different; it’s a smell that from that moment on, you will always associate with the fear that you felt when you first went into battle.” He sipped at his wine before continuing; he had our undivided attention now, and he knew it. “The other thing you remember is the sounds. By the gods, it’s a terrible racket, two armies about to clash. At least, when you’re facing barbarians; they get ready for battle by whipping themselves into a frenzy, screaming all sorts of insults in their ridiculous language. We would always laugh because it was not like we could understand what they were saying, and our laughter would just whip them into a further frenzy. Then, they start beating their weapons against their scuta and it gets even louder.” Cyclops seemed to be warming to his subject as he began to lean forward, patting the table with one hand in a rhythmic manner; I guessed he was trying to simulate the sound of the barbarian hordes.
“Now, we’re quiet, at least compared to them. We whisper to each other, but the Centurions and Optios will smash us with their vitus if they catch us, so mostly it’s just the sound of them yelling to close the ranks, keep alignment, that sort of thing. Then, the order is given to advance, and we start out, slowly so that we can keep alignment. Sometimes, depending how far away we are, the barbarians will start running at us right then, but usually, they wait so they won’t have to run as far and be winded when they reach our lines.”
We were both listening intently now as I tried to imagine what the sight must look like of the Legions, perfectly aligned and marching in unison towards the enemy.
“At some point, the cornu sounds and we go to quick time, picking up the pace a bit. Now you can hear the boys around you, muttering the Legionary’s prayer, ‘Jupiter Best and Greatest, protect this Legion, soldiers all.’ You find your
lips moving as you say the prayer yourself, and your gut is twisted into a knot as you look ahead. If you were like me, in the fourth row of the Second Century of the Fourth Cohort, what you saw were the backs of your fellow Legionaries, and maybe a glimpse in between the spaces of the mass of men facing you.” He took another swallow of wine, his voice grown hoarse, as this was the most he had said at one time since we had met him. “Then the order comes to prepare to loose, and you grab one of your pila that you’ve been carrying pinned to your scutum, and you notice your hand is all sweaty as you grab hold of it, and tell yourself that you’ve done this hundreds of times in practice. But this time is different, and you know it. Since I was in the Fourth Cohort, that meant we were in the first line of the acies triplex, and the way it works is that, once the command to loose is sounded, the lads in the first rank throw their pilum, and hunch just a bit, as the second rank launches, which then does the same as the first, until all the ranks in each Century, which are side by side, loose their first volley. As soon as we loose our first set, the command is given for double time, and we pick up the pace as we are closing with the barbarians, who have usually started their run by this time. Just a moment after we begin our double time, the second command to loose comes, which we do on the run this time. Then, as soon as we’ve loosed all of our pila, we're given the order to charge. It’s only then do we make any noise, but what a noise!”
I sat spellbound, completely captivated by his description, feeling as if it were me running across that field. I could even feel a trickle of sweat run cold down my back, and I suppressed a shudder.
“We let loose with a cry from the bowels of Hades, and run headlong into the enemy, but we don’t do it all haphazard, though. We try to maintain alignment as much as we can, so that the impact happens along the whole front line at the same time. Even so, it’s devilishly hard to do, what with the terrain and the different strides that the men have when running.”
