by R. W. Peake
Now, as I look back on my life, I know that I am nearer to the end than to the beginning, and despite being in good health, only the gods know how much longer I will live. Therefore, I have decided to start this last mission of mine, and will devote almost all of my time to it. In truth, I have nothing much else to do; I am a wealthy man, and while I hold office here in Arelate it is mainly a ceremonial post, leaving me free to come and go as I please, just as long as I am present to march at the head of the procession on festival days. Truth be told, I am bored. I know that I no longer have the strength of body to continue in the Legions, but my spirit is still as if I were a 16 year old lad, on the lookout for adventure and a way to improve my station in life. Such is the cruel humor of the gods; ability may wane, but desire never does.
And I am lonely; I miss my comrades, I miss the Legions and the life of the Legions. I will find myself staring at my armor, my helmet, shield and sword, and thinking, if only I could stop time. But I can’t, so there is no use in dwelling on it. Perhaps that is why those few comrades of mine who managed to survive as long as I have drink as much as they do. In particular, I miss my friends Vibius and Scribonius, but Vibius is dead more than ten years now, and while Scribonius is alive, he is far, far away and with his nose buried in a book, I am sure. Thinking of Vibius in particular only makes me more melancholy, both for his death and for all that transpired between us. When all is said and done, I am a warrior without a war to march to, and I fear that this fact alone, not any sickness of the body or just plain old age will finally send me to the afterlife.
Before I go, however, I have one last job to do, not dissimilar to some of the jobs I had to do in the Legions. It will take patience and endurance, but most importantly it will require me to relive certain memories that I have not thought of in many, many years. Nevertheless, now I must turn my mind’s eye to the past, moving back over the years, and the miles, and the battles, to find the young man that I was, the young man who was looking for adventure and a way out of his life, along with his best friend.
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 provincial capital of Scallabis where the new Legion was gathering. I came to the capital accompanied by my best friend Vibius Domitius and his father, along with my own father and our slaves Phocas and Gaia. Growing up on a small farm outside the town of Astigi, a two day’s journey south of Corduba, it was a farm in name only. My father was completely indifferent towards making the farm anything more than a source of subsistence, and a poor one at that, preferring instead to lavish his love and time on endless amphorae of wine. In short, he was a drunkard, and he hated me with a passion, claiming that I was the source of all of his sorrows, insisting that I had killed my mother. I was, and am very large in both height and breadth, and I was such a large baby that the strain of delivering me into the world was too much for her. The result was that she died shortly after I was born, and it was for this reason my father bore me such hatred that rarely a day went by that he did not remind me of the circumstances of my birth. The one fortunate outcome his feelings for me had, however, was that he was persuaded to swear that I was of a legal age to join the Legions in this dilectus when in fact I was still only sixteen, a year short of the minimum age at that time, albeit with a little prodding on my part. I took this risk because it was the only way that Vibius and I could join together, since he was a year older than I was, and we had been friends for ten years. We met by virtue of my rescuing him from having his head being dumped into a bucket of cac by some older boys one day when I went to town to buy some nails. Vibius was small, both as a boy and now as a man, but he was exceptionally strong, was quick as lightning, and possessed that ferocity that comes from being small one’s whole life and having to fight for everything. We made an odd pair to look at, yet from the day we met we were inseparable, and both of us shared the dream of joining the Legions since either one could remember, making it unthinkable for one of us to join the army without the other, even if it meant that I had to lie to get in. Both of us were so fixated on being the best Legionaries possible that we badgered one of Pompey’s veterans who lived nearby, a man who lost an eye fighting Sertorius and who we called Cyclops, into training us in the exact manner of the Legions. He had been drilling us for two years, several times a week, making us confident that we would acquit ourselves well when we began our real training. In fact, on the day when we bade Cyclops farewell, he took me aside to tell me that he thought I had the makings of a superb Legionary, the highest praise I had ever been given, by anyone.
I was leaving behind my two sisters, Livia and Valeria, and despite the fact I loved both my sisters, it was Valeria I was closest to, because she had essentially been my mother in everything but name. Now they were both married and I was left alone to fend for myself with our father. Our slave Phocas, and his woman Gaia, the names given to them by my father, did their best to protect me from Lucius, but they were slaves and there is only so much a slave can do to a master. Fortunately, my father’s beatings were long since ceased, once I became much larger and stronger than he was, yet that did not stop him from constantly reminding me how worthless I was, and how I would never amount to anything. Deep down I knew that if I did not leave the farm soon, there would come a point where I would strike my father down. When I was young, I possessed a fearsome temper, and had not developed the sufficient amount of self-control to that point to be sure that I would be able to stop myself if my father went too far one day, and no matter what the provocation, any son who kills the paterfamilias faces the harshest punishment under Roman law. Therefore, it was better for everyone that I took this step in joining the Legions, and to that end I made a deal with my father that if he would swear that I was the legal age to join, he would never have to gaze on my face again, a pact that was mutually satisfactory. Of course, nothing is ever that simple; in order to finally persuade him it was in both of our best interests, I swore that if he did not enter into this agreement that he would never be able to sleep soundly again, for I would find a way to kill him.
For Vibius it was more straightforward. He was the youngest of several sons, with no hope of inheriting his father’s business, so his options were limited. He could have been apprenticed to another craftsman, but the dream of joining the Legions burned so brightly in both of us that in truth there was little question which path he would take. Dreams of glory and the riches that waited were too strong a lure to keep Vibius in Astigi, despite his feelings for Juno, a friend from our childhood and to whom he had pledged his eternal love, a promise that she returned. The fact that I was in love with Juno as well was something that I kept hidden for the whole length of our friendship.
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 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 dagger, 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 been drinking all night. Without a word, he clim
bed 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 Corduba. 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 I the opportunity to drop back a way, 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.
Arriving in Scallabis after almost two weeks 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 loved him well, took he 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.
Vibius and his father looked equally embarrassed at this display, and finally I dropped back to the wagon to hiss, “By the Furies, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill you on the spot!”
He opened his mouth to say something back to me, but evidently the look on my face stopped him, because he snapped his mouth shut and remained quiet, sullenly sucking on his wine skin.
Making our way to the Praetor’s residence, this was the site of the dilectus, the dilectus being the official recruiting effort for the Legion. Because it was just after mid-day, there was a line of young men, accompanied by the men who would vouch for them, waiting for their turn in front of the conquistores, the group of officials charged with finding qualified enlistees to enroll in the name of the Praetor. It was in this line that I first heard the name of the Praetor, a name that every citizen of Rome and probably every human being in the known world has heard of by now. It was by way of overhearing a couple of the older men, obviously the fathers of other boys.
“So do you know anything of the new Praetor, since you’re recently arrived from Campania?” asked one of the men, some sort of artisan by the look of him. The man he was asking was dressed as a member of the equestrian class, although it was clear that his toga had seen better days.
The equestrian nodded, and
said, “I know of him. Gaius Julius Caesar is his name, of the Julii.”
The artisan shrugged, responding, “Never heard of him. What do you know?”
The equestrian gave a snort of derision. “He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. He’s so ambitious,” he said with a sly grin, “that he supposedly became Nicomede’s ‘woman’ when he was serving under Marcus Thermus in Bithynia.”
This caused the other man to hoot with laughter; it has always been the case that the lower classes love any hint of scandal attached to their social betters.
The equestrian became serious, “Whether or not that’s true, that’s what’s said. But what I do know is that Caesar is well-loved by the people of your class.”
He did not say this as a compliment, yet if the other man took offense, he gave no sign,
“Well,” the artisan grunted, “what I care about most is whether or not he can properly lead a Legion. The gods know in my day it was hit or miss.”
The equestrian looked at the other man in some surprise, “You were in the Legions, citizen?”
“One of Marius’ mules,” the other replied with quiet pride, as well he should have.
The men of Marius’ head count Legions were the first of their kind, and showed their supposed betters that they could fight just as well as anyone in the higher classes, better perhaps. In fact, it was the reforms of Marius that opened the door for those of my class to enter the Legions and perhaps advance their own fortunes. For the rest of the time we stood in line, the equestrian was completely respectful of the artisan, and indeed began plying him with questions about Gaius Marius.
