Dawn of The Eagle

by Francis Mulhern

  Epilogue

  March 17th – The Liberalia

  The procession to the forum had started on time. All the house slaves, freedmen and clients of the Furii family had been drawn into attendance to ensure that the parade was as magnificent as the Furii could hope for. With the old soldiers and new friends Marcus had made on the campaign the crowd swelled to over a hundred as they marched through the forum, with cheers from many of the crowd as he passed by. The more people who attended a naming ceremony the better as far as the Romans were concerned, and this was a good showing. With so many senatorial families and their consorts the crowd looked to see who this boy was who was coming of age on this day. Marcus felt somewhat self conscious as the crowds jostled to see who it was, many shouting ‘Camillus’ as he passed by, some wanting to touch his garments as a sign of luck.

  After adding his name to the list of citizens, to a great cheer from the assembled throng, and returning his Bulla, the golden locket which showed he was a child, to his father, the entourage had walked back across the forum and turned towards the river before turning again to the temple of Libera where an offering had been conducted to the god. The fact that the Pontifex Maximus himself had conducted the ceremony, with all his attendants and a few vestal virgins, made for a great show as the imposing crowd followed him chanting his name as they walked. The ceremony had gone better than planned, with an eagle and three bees (the messengers of the gods) seen during the augury, to which the crowd had cheered again. As they walked home, his father had become concerned that the crowd were getting too rowdy, but Lucius assured him that they were fine and would soon disperse as they made their way back to the family house for the evening dinner party. The day was cool and despite the time of year it was mild. A slight frost the night before had left small puddles in the cobblestones, but apart from this the way was easy and people didn’t need to over-dress, which could often happen at the Liberalia.

  Lucius had sent a team of workers out, disgusted at the price they charged him, to clean to streets they were to use of the remnants of the previous night, such as drunkards, broken beakers and slops thrown from windows. The men had done a good job, he thought, as they rounded another corner to a clean smell and freshly scrubbed cobbles.

  Finally, as they approached the family home the party came to a halt. Standing on either side of the road before his house were some twenty or thirty men, women and children dressed mostly in white woollen tunics, belted at the middle and wearing heavy brown cloaks over the top of their tunics, some of them the marching cloaks of legionaries. Stood in the middle of the road was a muscular man, his hood over his head hiding his features. As the procession came to a halt the man removed his hood, his stubbly chin and gaunt face instantly recognisable to Marcus. He grimaced as he recognised the man as the Centurion from the fort. The man had said he ‘didn’t like his type’ he thought as he bit his lip and considered if the number of nobles in his party could fight its way through this gathering of so many ruffian plebeians.

  “Marcus Furius Camillus” called the Centurion, looking over the head of Lucius as Marcus froze, his heart suddenly beating faster in his chest.

  “Remember me, sir?” he said, a half smile on his face. “We fought together at the cross-roads of the three hills” he turned and smiled to the group behind him.

  “Sir” he called again as Lucius stood to bar his way. The man looked at Lucius with menace in his eyes and whispered “I don’t want trouble Patres” as he waved a hand to call forward a small child, no more than four or five years old who was carrying a small statue of a deity. The statue was covered in garlands and flowers and the little girl walked nervously in case she dropped the precious object. Marcus moved forwards as the men on either side of the road clapped, slowly at first and then more loudly as the girl approached Marcus. Lucius and Marcus’s father stepped closer and Uncle Quintus stepped to the side to see the statue and observe what was happening, his soft face and dark eyes smiling at the throng of people.

  “My apologies to you Lucius Furius Medullinus” he said as he bowed to Marcus’s father and then again to Lucius, as both men carried the same name.

  “I said to you Marcus Furius Camillus that I wanted to see my family again, and that you must help me to return to Rome” he said as he placed a hand on the shoulder of the small girl. As he did so the crowd behind him walked forwards and spread out across the road to be closer to the small child and the deity she carried. Decimus, his soldiers instincts aroused at the movement put a hand in his tunic to grip the dagger he hid there.

  “This campaign was my last” he smiled as a heavily pregnant woman came to stand next to him, her deep brown eyes and thin face showing the hardship she must have endured whilst he husband was away on the campaign. “For twenty-five years I have given my summers to the service of Rome” he looked at the crowds of nobles around them “and two of my sons now do the same” he added, waving to two men, one of whom Marcus noted was Publius Narcius, who stepped forwards with heads bowed. Marcus nodded back, happy to see Narcius wearing a thick cord with a carved wooden eagle, crude but recognisable, around his neck. Narcius smiled and then stepped back along with his somewhat larger brother, as befitted a Roman in public, deferring to his father.

  “But now I have reached the age” he smiled, a reference to the age of forty five at which he was no longer required to offer his services to Rome “and today I have come to offer my, and my family’s” he waved to the people behind him “congratulations to the men who saved us at the cross-roads” he finished, waving the small girl forwards.

  The gathering had grown silent as the man had spoken, his voice deep and mellow, its qualities honed over twenty-five years of cajoling legionaries through rigorous training and hard battles. Marcus noticed a few thin scars on the man’s face and lower arms, the rest of his body covered by his tunic probably held more visible evidence of the service he had given.

  “But I ask one more thing to you, Marcus Furius Camillus of the Eagles of Rome” he continued as he stepped forwards to clasp his forearm to that of Marcus, and to turn to Marcus’s father as he spoke. “I ask for your blessing for my house, as yours is surely blessed” he said, his hand open and bidding his daughter to bring the statue to Marcus. “In return I offer you this” he added as Narcius stepped forwards with an identical carving of the Eagle, held within a leather strap. “The Eagle will join my family deity and my children will follow the Eagle” he smiled “if you wish it so?”

  As he handed the Eagle necklace to Marcus, who placed it around his neck, he stepped back and his daughter was nudged gently forwards with the statue of Mater Matuta. Marcus glanced at his Uncle, who nodded. How strange, thought Marcus, that the deity from the prophecy should turn up here at his door, and he looked in awe at the small statue as it seemed to say ‘remember the poor soldier’. He looked to the small girl, who avoided his eyes as resolutely as she could, a tight smile hidden behind her thin lips as she concentrated on her role. Marcus almost laughed, but held himself in check as he touched the girls head and then the statue. He said a small prayer to Mater Matuta and Juno before smiling back at the crowd and thanking them all for coming to his house. Marcus’s father requested the Narcius family come to the house and have some food and wine, though not within the house with the Patrician guests, to which the Centurion happily agreed and cheered even louder as the procession carried on up the hill.

  As he stepped back the Centurion bowed his head and picked up his daughter, moving to the side of the road. The Centurion had winked at Marcus as he passed and many of the plebeian crowd patted his shoulder and those of the others in the procession as they filed past, Marcus happily clasping forearms with Narcius, who beamed as his father placed an arm around his shoulder.

  “What was that all about?” whispered Decimus who had rushed to catch up with Marcus. Marcus shrugged and looked over his shoulder to see the crowd following behind them. As he watched them Marcus thought that it seemed wrong that Narcius
, a Centurion of Rome who had served the cause of the Republic for longer than Marcus was alive had come back to poverty, his family clearly struggling whilst he was away with his two eldest sons.

  ---

  The dinner party had been noisy, with many of the old soldiers getting raucously drunk and recounting their bravery in the battles of the last summer. Marcus had sneaked out to the Narcius family, eating from two wooden tables in the alleyway behind his father’s house, as soon as he could and offered them a bag of coins and two good breastplates for the older boys (worth a years salary to many plebeians), who accepted them with good grace and manners. Having returned to the feast he had grown quickly bored at the older men’s tales and had made an excuse and slipped to his private room for a moment’s peace.

  As he stepped into the cool room, illuminated by three thick tallow candles which gave off a strange, almost wooden, smell he took a second to adjust to the low light. On the table at the side of his bed was a wooden box. He walked over to it wondering what it was and picked up the small scroll tied to the handle. As he unrolled the scroll he leant it to one side so that the light caught the words written on the thick parchment;

  Marcus

  As one old soldier to one new soldier I hope these will help in your quests as I know you enjoyed using them

  Your friend

  Gaius

  Marcus looked at the words again. Gaius? Senator Javenoli? He looked at the box, his mind whirling at what it was that was within it. He pulled at the sliding lid, noticing that it was engraved with his initials M.F.C and a picture of an Eagle. He smiled at what he saw and reached into the box to fetch out a block of cavalry, exquisitely carved, the horses snorting as they danced mid-gallop. The Phalanx was the same, with thick spears and strong soldiers. But best of all were three blocks of men stood in a line with shields and short swords, each man had an eagle carved onto the shield he bore and behind them stood a figure holding an Eagle standard.

  Without thinking Marcus rushed to the door, he had to say thank-you to Javenoli, who hadn’t spoken to Marcus much today, but he would certainly be speaking to him now. As he pushed the door open and stepped into the xystus, the lower garden used for large gatherings and feasts, his father’s voice boomed out across the heads of all the people milling around.

  “Ah, here he is. Here is the new man” he said to loud applause and some clinking of glasses to his right. “Marcus Furius Camillus. New citizen of Rome” he said, exaggerating the name Marcus had taken at his ceremony “I have an announcement to make” and he turned to his right.

  As Marcus turned, expecting to see some fancy cake or maybe a new sword (he had discussed just that the night before with his father) his thought processes were stopped before they even started. Standing in the doorway was a young lady, roughly a hand shorter than Marcus, tall for a woman. Her light blue tunic fell to the floor, its folds hiding the delicate frame underneath. Over the tunic she wore a light brown woven Palla, a long cloak, which she had draped around one shoulder, holding the fold over her forearm. Her rich, dark hair was braided and circled her forehead in the traditional style, the shape framing her high forehead and deep brown eyes. As she looked up at Marcus and the girls cheeks flushed, his father announced;

  “I present Livia Gegania Macerina to the family. Today I agreed with her father, Titus Geganius Macerinus, that Marcus Furius Camillus will marry her in 30 days. May their marriage be fruitful” he called as he held up his silver goblet and the whole house cheered and repeated his words.

  The end

  Historical notes

  First it is important to say that I am not a historian and as such I have completed much research on the Roman Republic and the various military and public roles within it to base the story of facts wherever possible. Where I have struggled to find accurate data I have attempted to make the history as close to what I think makes the story work for the reader, and where necessary I have changed a few words or terms to make the book easier to understand. As an example a skirmisher, as I would understand it, was called a Leves in the early Republic. As the term isn’t widely known I have chosen to use either skirmisher of Velite as a term for this type of soldier. However, I am aware that the Velite wasn’t a term used at the period in which this book is written. I apologise to any reader who likes their facts to be absolutely correct. To me it was simpler to use a term that most readers would be familiar with to reduce the, often, clunky explanations of terms within the text.

  Marcus Furius was a real person. He was Dictator of Rome four times and Military Tribune with Consular powers five times. His story is remarkable as it is intertwined with the changes in the political and military systems happening through the early Republican time-period and his rise and fall, and subsequent rise again are a testimony to the political changes in Rome of the period. His history is chequered with accusations of corruption from fellow Patricians, which will certainly be a thread in books 2 and 3 of the series, and his undoubted legacy is his military capability.

  As a character, I was fascinated as to why anybody would add the name “Camillus” to their family name. It struck me, when researching for a character in the early Roman Republic, that for someone to choose the name for a religious acolyte, a servant who probably helped with sacrifices, he must have done something special for people to recognise him amongst hundreds, possibly thousands, of others completing the same role in Rome at the time. The idea of the Ancilia shield came to me after I had originally linked Marcus to his Uncle, who as Pontifex Maximus could have helped develop his nephews standing in Rome, but the story wasn’t strong enough. I deal with the actual activity which created the name “Camillus” for Marcus in a prequel “The Ancilia Shield” which is also available on Kindle. Needless to say, the saving of the shield was sufficient to propel him into the public limelight and start the development of his character. The religious link and superstitious nature of the Roman population were also another way in which the character could be developed to embody, and benefit from, the myriad beliefs of the period.

  The life of the man himself is unknown from his birth until he was made a Censor in approximately 403 BC, at the age of 43. History says he had already made his name as a military leader by this time, but there are no details of any of this early life or battles. As his brother, Lucius, was a military tribune at the time Marcus was a boy it was easy to send him on campaign to support his older sibling and start to learn his trade as a soldier. By looking at the detail of the roles he held and activity he undertook later in life, I was also able to develop a prophecy which panders to the superstitions and customs of the time and bring to life a whole series of minor deities whom the people of Rome would have been familiar with. Many of the characters are based on either real people or simply characters I have created using prominent family names of the period. Postumius, for example, is a real person, and his story continues in book 2. Again, I have slightly changed the time-lines to make it fit to the story, but the essence of the plot is based in fact. The Patrician - plebeian issues of the period will come out in more detail in books 2 and 3 as the political developments in Rome cloud some of Marcus’s achievements. It strikes me that he was a supporter of the common man (as described in the prophecy), but it also seems that he could be cold and aloof as well. His character flaws have started to be seen in book 1 and, to achieve the outcomes of his life as written in history books, will be developed in the next 2 books.

  The local tribes of Aequians, Volsci and Samnites were constantly at war with Rome and the period was rife with skirmishes and battles which will lead to the fall of Rome to Brennus and his Gaulish invaders. As Marcus marches towards this conclusion he must change the men of Rome into a more efficient fighting force to be able to defeat these invaders. That will be the subject of books 2 and 3 in the series Camillus - Dictator of Rome. Many of the developments to come will see the creation of the Roman army as we understand it before the reforms of Marius in c.107BC, over two hundred years after the d
eath of Marcus Furius.

  So, Marcus has started his journey and become Camillus. His future will be hard and he will have to learn how to deal with his fellow Patricians, who will try and trip him at every step of his career.

  Read the first two chapters of Book 2 below.

  Please also leave me some feedback by rating the book via Amazon’s star system. The ratings are important for self-publishers as they are a way to learn and develop as a writer.

  Camillus – Dictator of Rome, Book 2: The Fall of Veii

  Chapter 1

  “Bolae has fallen” cried the herald.

  Heads turned from the jostling crowd in the forum, their faces cracking into smiles as they instantly shuffled across to be closer to the man standing on the steps of the shops running along the eastern edge of the central forum. A sudden surge of people rushing across to him caused a minor scuffle as one lady was knocked roughly to the floor by the passing crowd and her husband lashed out at the nearest bystanders. As blood spilt onto the heavily cobbled floor the herald continued to shout out the news.

  “Publius Postumius, Tribune of Rome” he called. His employer would be happy with him today and he knew there would be many spies in the crowd so he had to put on a good show. He knew how to milk a crowd and today he would not only deliver his message, but he would create enough mystery to get himself a belly full of lunch and wine in the local alehouse from this crowd, he thought, as he perused the urgent faces staring at him waiting on his every word. He waved his hands theatrically and continued.

  “Has defeated the Aequian dogs” he hung on the word as he stared into the crowd around him. As expected they brayed their displeasure at the word and angry shouts soon turned to cheers as he added “at the City of Bolae, taking the town and sacking its contents for the glory of Jupiter, Mars and the people of Rome.” As he finished he stared high into the air, his arms aloft, he knew the crowd would like this supplication to their gods and he held the pose for a full thirty seconds until the crowd had begun to quieten and wait for him to continue.