by R. W. Peake
There were a series of tables, where not one but three conquistores were actually standing, each behind a slave who was working as a scribe, writing down the necessary information dictated to them by the conquistores. The third table to the farthest side of the room was empty, and the conquistore behind it waved to us impatiently.
“You’re here to enlist no doubt,” he said briskly, but I could only nod dumbly. Turning to my father, the official spoke just as briskly, “And you’re here to swear to his citizenship and age, aren’t you?”
For a moment, my father did not speak, and my heart began to hammer even harder. Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I could see his lips working but nothing came out.
Finally, his words came in a hoarse whisper, “Yes your Excellency.”
Obviously unimpressed with my father’s oratory skills, the conquistore, a middle-aged man wearing a toga with the badge of his office worn around his neck, snapped, “Out with it, citizen. Who are you?”
Finally given a question he could answer, my father replied, with just a hint of pride, “I am Lucius Pomponius Pullus, citizen of Rome and a member of the tribe Pupinia, of the gens of the Pomponii.”
Nodding, the conquistore pointed at me, and asked, “This is your son? Is he the one joining the Legion?”
I spoke up with the rehearsed answer that we were told to give by Cyclops when he explained the process to us.
“Yes, I am Titus Pomponius Pullus, also a citizen of Rome by virtue of my father and his father and grandfathers before him. I am also of the gens of the Pomponii, and my mother was a citizen as well, of the tribe Galeria, and of the gens of the Asinia.”
The conquistore indicated to his scribe to write down the appropriate information.
Once completed, the conquistore looked at Lucius and asked, “And his age?”
Here was the moment of truth; we had rehearsed this many times. As you know, gentle reader, the years of the birth of Roman citizens are recorded by the number of years from the founding of Rome and the Consuls for that year. It had been drilled into me that I was born in the year of the Consulship of Publius Servilius Vatia and Appius Claudius Pulcher but now in order to perpetrate this fiction, we were forced to consult the annals to determine the Consuls for the year before. I could feel the sweat beginning to trickle down my back as I waited for what seemed to be the week that it took my father to answer.
However, it must not have been long because I detected no change in the expression of the conquistore or the scribe when my father finally said, “My son Titus Pomponius Pullus was born in the year of 430, as reckoned from the founding of Rome, under the Consulship of the dictator Lucius Cornelius Sulla and Quintus Caecilia Metellus Pius, may the gods favor both of their memories, on the date of April Twentieth.”
This raised an eyebrow from the conquistore, though not in a suspicious manner.
“Just a few weeks ago, eh boy? Couldn’t wait to join the Legions, could you?”
Finally, an answer that I could give honestly!
“No Your Excellency, I couldn’t. It’s been my dream since I was a boy to serve.”
“Good,” the conquistore replied. “Would that all of your fellow citizens had your patriotism. But it’s auspicious, your birth date, because you’ll be assigned to the 10th Legion, and its symbol has already been established.”
Looking at me, smiling, he added, “It’s the sign of the bull, the symbol under which you were born. It must be that the Fates have brought you here.”
And with that, my father’s part was essentially done. The scribe used his stylus to write down the relevant information on a beeswax tablet then handed it to me, instructing me to go through a door on the left to be examined by a fellow who would determine that I was fit enough to join the Legion. Lucius was told by the scribe to wait, pointing him to the back of the room where other fathers were standing, while I went into the other room for my physical examination. There, another man waited, quickly identified as a doctor and with his own scribe standing next to him, to whom I handed the tablet. I was told to disrobe for the doctor to examine me, if that is what one could call it, asking me a few questions about my overall health, telling the scribe to write that I was physically fit and had no identifying marks. In particular, they apparently were looking for any marks to indicate that I was once a slave. Passing the examination, I was told to dress, then handed the tablet and told to go back into the original room, where Lucius was still waiting. The process took no more than a few moments. My father was presented with a document, written on vellum, containing the information that we gave concerning my birth, with the extra information provided by my physical examination, which he signed, his hand barely shaking at all. It was done. The conquistore told us what would happen next.
“Lucius Pullus, your part is done. Titus Pullus, you’re now a probatio, and as such will take an oath before you’re sent to the camp of the 10th Legion. It’s not the full oath that all Legionaries must take; that will only be administered once you’re considered to be worthy to be a soldier of Rome.”
I bristled a bit at that; if he only knew who he was dealing with! However, he either missed my irritation or ignored it and continued with, “You’re to report at first light at the camp of the 10th Legion. Until then, you may spend your last evening as you wish. The scribe will give you the directions to the camp. It’s just outside of the city walls.”
Whereupon he had me swear an oath to Mars, Jupiter and Roma, then once completed he motioned to the door, indicating that our business was finished. By this time, Vibius and his father had entered and were in the same process I had just endured, and we grinned at each other as I walked out the door.
Phocas was waiting for us; when I told him that our ruse worked, he whooped with joy, ignoring decorum as he hugged me with all his might. While he did so, I was reminded that this was a moment I should be sharing with my father, except he had made a straight line for the wagon and the amphora, ignoring the celebration. For a moment, just one, I experienced a terrible sadness as I watched my father make his supplication to the only god he truly worshiped, or for whom he had any feeling for that matter. Then I shook it off, enjoying the moment Phocas and I were having. Presently, Vibius and his father emerged from the villa, Vibius’ face plastered with what must have been the same grin that was on my face, and we embraced. We had done it! We had joined the Legions together. The thought that this was merely a first step never entered our minds; as far as we were concerned, we were both as good as Legionaries. Fortunately, the gods did not disagree with our assessment.
Spending the night at an inn, it turned out to be the last night either Vibius or I would spend under a roof for some time to come, although we did not yet know it. There was a tavern attached to the inn, and Vibius’ father at least was determined to give us a proper send-off, which my father was only too happy to participate in, since it meant that the wine would be flowing. I was ashamed at Lucius’ obviously naked desire to suck up all the wine that Vibius’ father was willing to pay for, but thankfully Vibius’ father was gracious, despite his modest means. By this point, enough time had passed for me to witness that, despite Vibius’ lowly status in their family, there was real affection between father and son, and I mused about what that must feel like. Despite the convivial atmosphere, I drank just enough wine, watering it at that, to keep from appearing ungracious. I was not much of a drinker of wine in those days, and although I am not much of one now, I certainly have experienced moments of which Bacchus would be proud. The evening progressed, and Vibius, his father and my father got drunker, even as I grew more impatient.
At some point, one of the whores that can always be found in such establishments made their way to our table, and Vibius’ father poked his son in the ribs and winked, “Well son? How about your father giving you a real going-away present, huh?”
Vibius’ face flushed immediately, a combination of embarrassment and anger.
“Father, I’m sworn to Juno, and s
he’s the only woman I want.”
“Just wait, that’ll change,” his father laughed, which Lucius found equally amusing.
“No it won’t,” Vibius snapped, and I could see he was very angry now. So could his father, who made a placating gesture.
“Pax, son. I was only joking. Forgive a father for trying to give his son something to remember,” he said.
Vibius softened immediately. “No, Father. I should be begging your forgiveness. I know you meant well; it’s just that I already miss Juno.”
Vibius’ father put his arm around his son, and nodded. “I understand Vibius. You’re just like me. I’ve been with your mother going on twenty-four years, and she’s still the only woman for me.”
He paused. “Most of the time.”
He said this last with a roar of laughter, and even Vibius could not remain upset.
The evening passed by quickly enough but once it was time to retire I found I could not sleep, being much too excited and for a moment I envied Vibius, who lay across the room, snoring peacefully, making me think that perhaps more wine would not have been a bad idea. Lying on my cloak that I threw over the pallet of straw, I stared at the sky through the small window placed high on the wall, wondering how different my life would be one short day from now. It was with this thought in my head that somehow I finally fell asleep.
Chapter 3: Tirones
Any regret from the night before about not partaking of wine was immediately dismissed when I saw poor Vibius, who looked slightly green, his eyes rimmed red and his breath smelling like my father’s in the morning. We had paid the slave maintaining the watch to wake us two parts of a watch before dawn, despite it being only a short walk to the camp. Neither of us could rouse our respective fathers, which was fine with me, but I felt a pang about not going to the slave quarters to wake Phocas and Gaia. Making our way down to the main room of the inn, we rummaged around until we found a loaf of bread and some oil that was close to turning rancid, and split the loaf, soaking it in the oil. Carrying our portions out the door, we began to make our way in the dark, the few belongings we were bringing with us slung over our shoulders, along with the appropriate token that we were to hand to the soldier at the gate to show that we were now part of the Legion. Walking slowly, neither of us said much. Despite our eagerness, we also knew that we were embarking on something momentous. After all, we were still boys to a large degree, and I would be lying if I said we did not have any fear of what we were headed into.
Arriving at the gate, we stopped a short distance away, not wanting to just walk up on some guard who might be half-asleep and would kill us before our career even started, so we sat on the ground, waiting for the light to become strong enough so that we could approach without fear. While sitting there, we made out other shapes of men approaching, then heard them talking quietly, as the others who enlisted the day before began to show up. Vibius and I smugly but quietly congratulated ourselves for being the first to arrive, making no sound to alert the others to our presence, though I do not know why. Instead, we sat listening, learning about our fellow tiros as they talked among themselves.
“So what do you think it'll be like?”
This from a high-pitched, nervous sounding voice.
“It’ll be the hardest thing we’ve ever done,” came the response from a grim-sounding deeper voice.
“By the gods,” came another, “I can’t wait to kill some barbarian scum! I bet I have the most kills of anyone in this Legion!”
Both Vibius and I glanced at each other, and despite barely seeing the other in the gloom, I could tell we were both making a mental note of that voice. We wanted to see this mighty warrior for ourselves as soon as it was light.
“Gerrae! That’s awfully big talk,” replied the grim-sounding voice, which I could just begin to make out as a shape against the slowly lightening sky.
It was hard to tell from my vantage point sitting on the ground, but he seemed to be nearly as tall as I was.
“You’ll probably be the first one to piss yourself the instant one of those barbarians looks at you cross-eyed.”
“Watch your tone, you! I’ve beaten better than you, I swear by Hercules I have!”
This from the great warrior, although I sensed a note of uncertainty, despite the brave words.
“That’s easy to say,” said the other coolly.
“Easy boys,” this came from a previously unheard voice. “There'll be plenty of time enough for everyone to get as much fighting in as any man could want.”
This voice sounded older, more confident. The others seemed to sense it as well, and consequently there was no more bickering. Besides, the light was growing, so that what were indistinct shapes before took on more definite form, and the areas of the camp that were not illuminated by torchlight earlier could now be made out. At that, Vibius and I stood from where we were sitting completely silent, causing our new companions to yelp in alarm and jump away. I could not help noticing that the one who yelped the loudest was also the one bragging, but I held my peace. No need to make enemies so early, I thought. One day I might be fighting beside that man. Stepping forward, I called to the other men; I could now see that there were a total of six other men standing there.
“Salve, citizens,” I called with what I hoped was a tone of friendliness.
They returned the greeting in a ragged chorus.
As I got closer, one of the other men exclaimed, “Gods, you ARE a big one, aren’t you? Remind me to stand next to you Ajax.”
This brought laughter from the others, and I joined in since I had been teased about my size my whole life. The man I thought might be my height was tall, though nowhere near as tall as I was; I had a good two to three inches on him. Standing for a moment, we surveyed each other now that the light was strong enough, but before we could speak, we heard the sound of a call inside the camp, then the gates opened, each half pushed open by a man dressed in armor and full kit.
“Well,” I said, “I guess that means they’re ready to receive us.”
And without waiting, I began walking towards the gate, where a third man appeared, standing in the middle of the gateway, hands on his hips. As we drew closer, I could see that while he was in basically the same uniform as the other two, his helmet was different. He wore a crest of horsehair, transverse across the helmet, going from ear to ear. His face looked like wrinkled leather, the kind one sees after wearing a set of shoes for a long time in all types of weather. In one hand was clutched a stick of some sort, which he was slowly twitching against his leg as he watched us approach. He was short, but very stocky, and once I got close enough I could see that on one arm a livid scar ran from his elbow all the way down his forearm, slowly twisting until it stopped just above his wrist. I had trouble taking my eyes off of it, but when I did and looked the man in the eye, I saw no welcome in his expression. In fact, if I were to characterize the look on his face, the best I can conjure is to ask you to imagine that a numen or other invisible shade is hovering just in front of him, holding a huge, steaming pile of cac under his nose, cac that only he can smell. That was how he looked at us, and I was soon to find out that my description was not far off from the truth, except that the pile of cac was actually us.
“All of you fall in, in a single line starting right here, with the tallest first to my left,” he pointed to a spot with his stick, and I headed that way, knowing already that this would be my spot.
His voice sounded like he had eaten gravel for breakfast, with his tone matching the look on his face, and he obviously was not pleased with what he saw. We struggled to get into the proper order; my part was easy but the others had to gauge each other to determine exactly where they were supposed to be. After a couple of moments, we were more or less settled into a line, and I looked over to my left to see where Vibius ended up. Suddenly, I was slammed in the stomach by something that felt very much like a dagger, except it was blunt and the wind rushed out of my lungs as I dropped immediately to my knees,
gasping for breath and clutching my stomach expecting to feel blood, so sure I was that I had been stabbed. Seeing a pair of boots in front of me, much like the pair that Cyclops wore, I looked up to see the Legionary with the stick in one hand, tapping the other end of it into the palm of his other hand as he looked down at me with a sneer on his face.
“Nobody told you to look around, did they you cunnus?” he snarled, his voice even more gravelly than before because he pitched it loudly enough for all to hear.
Not sure what to say, I shook my head. Instantly, the stick lashed out, catching me just above my ear, causing stars to explode in my head.
“I asked you a question, boy,” he roared, and now more afraid than any time I could remember in my life, I answered quickly, “No, sir…..I mean, Your Excellency.”
