by R. W. Peake
He stopped again to take a sip, and both Vibius and I were almost beside ourselves with anticipation. This was the best part! Cyclops sensed our state and deliberately took another, slow sip of wine.
Finally, Vibius burst out, “Well? What happens?”
Looking mildly surprised, Cyclops asked innocently, “What do you mean? What happens when?”
“Don't mock us, Cyclops.” I tried to sound firm, but I am sure it came out as a petulant whine.
Laughing, he said, “Oh! You want to know what happens once two opposing armies have started the charge at each other? Well, when they collide, all the sounds you've been hearing to that point are but a whisper compared to the sound of more than a thousand men wearing armor and carrying scuta colliding. It’s a combination of metal on wood, metal on metal, flesh on flesh, and worst of all, flesh on metal as somebody makes a killing blow in their first strike. At the same time, there’s a fearsome grunting and gasping, immediately followed by the screams of those who weren't fortunate enough or good enough to survive that first rush.” I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the scene, as Cyclops continued. “From then on, it’s the sound of metal on metal, men cursing and fighting, which you can’t see because you’re in the line, holding onto the back of the man in front of you as they wait their turn to move up. You can’t see anything until you’re just one or two men back, and then all you see is the flashing of blades as the barbarians try to split us in half with their great huge gladii because they’re no good for stabbing.”
“Then why do they continue to use them?” Vibius asked.
Cyclops shrugged. “Who knows? I'm just thankful that they do, as you should be, now that you're going to be more than likely facing them.”
He filled his cup again; Vibius and I exchanged a glance as neither of us had seen him drink this much. Neither had he talked this much, but we were still hanging on his every word. For a moment, we sat there in silence as he was lost somewhere, before Vibius gently urged him to continue. Starting at the sound of Vibius’ voice, it was obvious he had been far, far away. Shaking his head as if to rid himself of a bad dream, he heaved a great sigh, looking at us sadly.
“You two are in such a hurry to experience something that, once you've lived through it, will make you wonder why you ever wanted it in the first place. But,” he gave a short, harsh laugh, “I was just like you. I guess every young man is as you two are today. At least every free man. So,” returning to his subject, “you’re standing in the line, holding onto the baldric of the man in front of you, and you can feel him shaking in anticipation and fear with every blast of the Centurion’s whistle, the signal for the man in the front of the line to use his scutum to bash or push whoever he's battling at the moment back a step, while at the same time, he takes a quick step to the left, and the man behind him steps forward to take his place. Then the man who's been relieved moves to the back of the file to rest and everyone moves up a place. That means that you're one step closer to the fighting. When it gets really difficult is when you're second in line; you can see everything that's going on, but you're supposed to be concentrating on providing the man in front of you with support at the same time. You want to be there to brace him if he's pushed back, but you have to give him room to work and can’t crowd him. Unlike all the other positions, where you're holding onto the back of the man in front of you, you can’t do that here because it will restrict him too much.” He sipped again to lubricate his throat and continued. “The other tricky part of being number two man is that you have to watch what's going on to either side of you as well. If a man in the front rank goes down, and the man behind him isn’t quick to fill the gap, you may find yourself in a fight before you're ready when some smelly barbarian steps into the gap. It can be especially bad if it’s the man to your right that goes down, because that's the unprotected side. That's why the greatest honor is to be in the Legion on the right flank, and the man farthest to the right of the first Cohort is considered to be one of the best fighters in the Legion, next to the Primus Pilus, who's the only other Roman to his right.”
On hearing that, Vibius and I looked at each other and, seeing the same expression, burst out laughing, as we both knew exactly what the other was thinking.
Cyclops looked puzzled for a moment, then chuckled. “Ah, and now both of you plan on being that man, don’t you?” We both nodded, still laughing, and his only reply to that was, “Be careful what you wish for, boys.” Turning serious again, he said, “So you’re waiting for your turn and watching around you, and by this time your body is shaking as if you were suffering the quartan ague, so keyed up are you. Then the whistle blows, and the man in front of you does what he's supposed to and you leap to the front, hoping that he did a good job of pushing the enemy back because there's nothing quite so difficult as beginning combat when you can smell the barbarian’s stinking breath in your face. It doesn’t give you any room to work and you can’t use your scutum effectively, which means you go straight to the gladius. But usually, you have the space that you need to get your scutum up and then it’s just a matter of letting the barbarian bash away at you and wait for an opening. And when it happens, you must strike quickly and, more importantly, recover quickly and get the scutum back up and wait for the man you just dispatched to be replaced by another who wants to kill you. All the while, they're screaming at you in that hideous language, and they try to spit on you every chance they get too. Animals,” he spat himself with vehemence, I suppose to emphasize his point, before he took another sip. “If the battle goes well, you only go through one or maybe two rotations, but I’ve been in battles that have lasted all day, and have gone through the rotation no less than twelve times. That was a day, I'll tell you! By the end, I knew that if we had to go one more round, we'd lose because none of us could even raise our scutum off the ground. But the gods favored us yet again, and we prevailed. A lot of good men fell that day,” he finished quietly.
By the time he had finished, it was almost dark, and we ate with him and Livia before making our farewells. Livia clung to me tightly, embarrassing me by the fuss she was making over me, and pleasing me at the same time.
She gave me what was to be my birthday gift, which was now my farewell gift, a small oil lamp that bore the image of Hercules Invictus slaying the Cretan bull, saying, “So you can have light to write your sisters a letter to let them know you're still alive and well.”
She said it with a smile, as if it was a joke, but the shining of her eyes told me she was serious. I still have that lamp to this day.
Cyclops, looking embarrassed, had something wrapped in cloth that he handed to me, while he said apologetically to Vibius, “If I had known that we'd be saying goodbye, I would have something for you, Vibius.”
Vibius waved at Cyclops, signifying that no offense had been taken. “What you've given me already, Cyclops, is a gift I'll never be able to repay. I only hope that I've learned your lessons well enough to bring you the honor that you deserve.”
Cyclops’ weathered features turned even darker as he flushed with pleasure.
As we embraced, he handed me the object, saying quietly, “Open it after you've left.”
Nodding assent, I hugged my sister one more time, the last time as it would turn out, and then Vibius and I turned to go. Just before we left, Cyclops grabbed me, tugging at my elbow to pull me a few paces away from Livia and Vibius, clearly wanting to share a private word. The two of them continued chatting quietly while I stood, waiting for Cyclops to speak, sensing that he had something important to say.
"Titus, I just wanted to let you know that I think Vibius has the makings of a good Legionary," he began, which confused me somewhat. I was not sure why he felt the need to pull me aside to talk about Vibius, but as usual, my youthful impatience and self-absorption was total. However, with his next words, I understood why he had pulled me aside, as he finished, "But I think you have what it takes to be a great Legionary, Titus. One of the best, if not the best that's ever
marched for Rome."
There was nothing that I could say to this, although I believe I sputtered some sort of thanks, which he waved away impatiently. "I'm not telling you this to swell your head. I suspect," he added with a grin, "that you won't need any help with that." As cutting as his words might have been, even then I had recognized a boastfulness in myself, so my answer was to grin back. "No, I'm telling you because that means you have a huge burden. Men will look to you to set the example."
That was when I cut him off, suddenly disappointed.
"Because of my size," I said with more than a touch of bitterness, although I know not why since I had always been proud of my size and strength. I suppose it was just the idea that he only thought it was my size that marked me for greatness in his eyes, but he gave an impatient shake of his head.
"That's only part of it," he replied. I looked at him suspiciously, but there was nothing in his returning one-eyed gaze that indicated he was being anything but completely honest, which would have been completely out of character anyway. Not deigning to comment on my suspicious gaze, he continued, "But there's more to it than that. You don't see it yet. You're too young probably, but I think you've been touched by the gods, and that you were born to lead men in battle. If, " as always, he had to finish with a half-joking, half-mocking conclusion, "you don't let your head swell so much that it bursts."
I stood for a moment, not knowing what to say, before I finally mumbled something to the effect that I would try very hard not to let him down.
"See that you don't," he finished, suddenly thrusting his hand out, which I took.
Understanding that he had spoken his piece, I went to rejoin Vibius, who was waiting for me next to Livia. I gave my sister one final hug, then we turned to leave.
As we were walking away, Vibius turned back and suddenly asked Cyclops, “You never told us how you lost your eye, Cyclops.”
“I got promoted,” Cyclops responded with grim humor.
“To what?” I asked, but I had a suspicion I already knew the answer.
Cyclops answered, “To the First Cohort, first of the line on the right.”
Vibius and I exchanged a glance, and as if reading our minds, Cyclops called out, “I told you boys to be careful what you wish for.”
Chapter 2: Joining the Legion
I joined the Legions as part of the dilectus authorized by the Senate in the year of the Consulships of Marcus Piso Frugi and Marcus Mesalla Niger, journeying to the newly designated provincial capital of Scallabis, where the new Legion was gathering. I came to the capital accompanied by Vibius and his father, along with my own father and Phocas and Gaia. Our farm outside Astigi was a three days’ journey southwest of Corduba, putting it about a week’s journey to Scallabis.
Two days after I first donned the toga virilis on my sixteenth birthday in April, about a third of a watch before first light, Phocas and I hitched the mule to the wagon, with Gaia packing the food we would eat on the way, along with various other essentials. All my belongings, or at least those that I planned on taking with me, were in a bundle as part of the load, along with obligatory amphorae of wine to keep my father Lucius properly lubricated along the way. He was much more pliable and cooperative with a skin full of wine at hand, and both Phocas and I were nervous that somehow things would fall apart and my father would try to sabotage the deal we had made. He had been more sullen than usual since our agreement, yet to that point did or said nothing to indicate he was having a change of heart. To remind him of the threat I made, I had taken to wearing a pugio, given to me as a gift by our tutor Cyclops. The point, so to speak, was not lost on Lucius, as I saw him eying it continuously, no doubt imagining the feeling of it plunging into him should he try to betray me. Once the wagon was loaded, Phocas went to inform my father Lucius that all was ready. He walked out, wrapped in his cloak, already staggering a bit, since he had not slept but had been drinking all night. Without a word, he climbed into the back of the wagon, onto the makeshift pallet that Gaia had prepared and, within moments, was snoring loudly. Phocas and I exchanged a glance, then he mounted the wagon and, with Gaia beside him and with me walking beside the wagon, we left the only home I had ever known. I wondered as I stopped for a moment to gaze back at the modest farm, its main house not much better than some of the hovels I would come across in Gaul, if I would ever see it again and, if I did, under what circumstances. Then I turned and trotted to catch up with the wagon.
Just after dawn, we met with Vibius and his father, both of them astride mules. Vibius’ father stank of lime and rawhide, marks of his trade as a tanner, but he was pleasant enough. His good spirits, I suspected, came from the relief he felt at having solved a dilemma without lifting a finger, increasing his family fortunes by subtraction since Vibius was one less mouth to feed. I also believe our choice absolved his conscience of having to make a decision about Vibius’ future, since he was not going to inherit the business. Despite that, I could also sense some genuine affection on the part of Vibius’ father towards his youngest son, a feeling only strengthened by what I witnessed on our journey to Scallabis. At least I could see a resemblance between the two; Vibius was the image of his father, the same short but powerful frame and bandy legs, as if they had been born astride a mule, with pigeon chests and muscular forearms. And they had more similarities than physical, as I was to learn on the journey. Juno was standing there, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, signs that she had spent the last night with Vibius in a state other than connubial bliss. Despite the fact that they were as yet unmarried, their love for each other, and the ardor that young men and women all suffer from combined to make any idea of Juno’s maidenhead remaining intact, as by rights it should have, an impossible burden for the both of them to bear. Normally, this might have caused Juno’s father to exercise his rights as paterfamilias and kill Juno while demanding some sort of punishment from Vibius and his family, except their love for each other and the affection that Juno’s father had, not just for his daughter, but for Vibius as well, all worked to cause him to turn a blind eye to their passion. I knew that Vibius and Juno were having sexual relations, but Vibius was kind enough and cared enough about Juno to avoid the normal boasting a man does to his best friend about his conquests. Although we never spoke of it, I believe that Vibius knew I loved Juno as he did, and it was a mark of his friendship that he did whatever he could to avoid rubbing what was in effect a failure in my face. Regardless, it hurt; nevertheless, I smiled as I went to Juno to give her a farewell hug. Putting my arms around her, I could feel my heart racing, the unbidden and unwelcome thought coming of what it would be like if there were no clothes between us, if we were alone and…I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts that were bound to make my feelings known if I allowed them to continue.
Juno, for her part, seemed oblivious to my struggle, stood on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Titus, please take care of Vibius. Make sure he comes home to me.”
“I will,” I promised, and I meant it sincerely.
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 me the opportunity to drop back a ways, 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.
We arrived in Scallabis after almost a week 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 had loved him well, took him 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.
