by K. M. Ashman
‘I bet you can.’
After a brief silence, Marcus continued.
‘So, who are you joining?’
‘The Ninth,’ said Cassus, taking the offered mug of wine.
‘Recruiting again are they?’ asked Marcus. ‘Good choice and your father’s name might even help you out a bit.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘His name is well known in the Ninth. Even now, twenty years since he left, Centurion Maecilius is a name that is admired throughout the cohorts.’
‘Centurion?’ gasped Cassus. ‘My father was a Centurion?’
‘Not only was he a Centurion,’ he said, ‘but he was Primus Pilus. Didn’t you know?’
‘My father didn’t talk much about his time in the legions,’ said Cassus.
‘No, perhaps he didn’t,’ said Marcus. ‘By the end of our time, I think we were all glad to see the back of it.’
‘What is Primus Pilus?’ asked Prydain from his own cot.
‘Only the most senior Centurion in the legion,’ Cassus sneered. He turned to Marcus, ‘He is a freedman,’ he explained ‘and doesn’t know about such things.’
Marcus turned to Prydain.
‘The Primus Pilus was in charge of the first Century and overall commander of the entire Cohort during any battle,’ he explained. ‘You don’t get that high without being something special. If he had stayed on after his twenty-five years, he would have been given the position of Praefectus Castrorum, camp prefect. Third in command of the entire legion, but like the rest of us, he just wanted to get his pension and go home. Anyway, enough about us oldies, what do you young bloods intend to do while you are in Rome?’
‘We don’t really know,’ said Cassus, ‘but bearing in mind it could be a long time before we have any freedom, we want to make the best of it.’
‘Well, you’ve come to the best place,’ said Marcus. ‘Do you have money?’
‘We do.’
‘Then let me enlighten you.’
For the next hour, Marcus gave the enthralled boys the benefit of his knowledge of the eternal city, where to go and where to avoid.
‘Avoid fish,’ he said on the subject of food. ‘We have emptied the sea of fish for miles around and any available will have travelled days to get to the restaurants. Even those who are lucky enough to buy fresh from the river, keep them for their best clients. No, don’t eat fish unless you want to spend the next two days on the shitter.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ grimaced Cassus, ‘what about the taverns?’
‘I’ll give you the names of the best,’ said Marcus. ‘They are a little more expensive, but they don’t water the wine.’
‘And women?’ asked Cassus.
Marcus laughed.
‘I wondered when you would ask.' It depends what you are after. You are hardly going to meet and get anywhere with nice girls in two nights, so if it is a relationship you want, forget it. If however you just want some fun, then the options are endless.’
‘I hear the best places are the arches beneath the Circus Maximus,’ said Cassus quickly. ‘It is said you can buy any sort of woman you can imagine there.’
Marcus smiled a grim smile.
‘This is true,’ he said, ‘the diversity and skills of some who lurk in its shadows; especially those of eastern descent are beyond imagination.’ He paused, his mind seemingly elsewhere as if recalling a distant pleasant memory. ‘However,’ he said suddenly returning to the present, ‘tread carefully, the streets are dangerous to waifs such as you.’
‘We can look after ourselves,’ said Cassus defensively.
‘No offence, young man,’ said Marcus, ‘but your inexperience in those streets will shine like a lantern to a moth. Not only are you likely to get a dose of the pox and your purses stolen, but you will probably get your heads caved in for good measure. The pimps in particular are especially vicious down there.’
‘I thought the streets of Rome were safe,’ said Cassus.
‘Safe,’ sneered Marcus, ‘why do you think I spent my pension on a tavern outside of the city walls? I can look after myself, but even I, after ten years of soldiering across the known world, would rather go back to the forests of Gaul, than walk the streets of Rome by night.’
‘What about the Vigils, I thought they policed the streets after dark.’
‘It is just as likely to be their clubs that do the crushing as any pimp’s cudgel,’ said Marcus. ‘In fact, most Vigils are in the pocket of the pimps and look the other way for a fee, especially if you are a stranger.’
‘So the city is lawless, then?’
‘No, not lawless. If there is a fight, there are the Urban Cohorts or the Praetorian Guard who deal with any disturbance. It’s just that in the thick of things, one skull looks pretty much like another to those overpaid pompous shits and there is only one winner in those fights. No, the best thing is to avoid them at all costs, and if you can’t and end up in front of a magistrate, you had better hope your father is drowning in Denarii or you could end up mining for salt to flavour the Emperor’s meal.’
‘But we are citizens,’ countered Prydain. ‘Surely we have rights?’
‘Did your fathers teach you nothing?’ sneered Marcus. ‘One word from a magistrate and you could end up as cat food in the arena, citizen or not. Take my word for it, keep your snotty noses clean, pay your dues and have fun, but for your own sakes, stay away from trouble.’
The two boys looked at each other in concern. Marcus laughed out loud.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ he said. ‘All I am saying is to be careful. All taverns have waitresses and most will take great pleasure in relieving you of your Denarii, for an hour or two of their company. Just stay to the ones I recommend and mention my name to the landlord. He will make sure that the ladies in question are clean and reasonably priced.’
‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘about other matters; where is the Ninth garrisoned at the moment?’
‘They have just moved from the Germanic forests to northern Gaul to prepare for the invasion.’
‘How do you intend to get there?’
‘There’s a fleet leaving in a few days taking supplies to General Plautius. We were told we could get on one of the warships.’
‘Up the Atlantic coast on a Trireme?’ laughed Marcus. ‘Interesting choice. Not one I would have made, but you may get there I suppose.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cassus.
‘Think about it, our war ships are designed for the calm waters of the Mare Nostrum, yet even here, many struggle to stay afloat. The Atlantic has seas a hundred fold worse and yet you intend to trust your souls to a floating box, heavy with stores in a rabid sea and at the whim of a probably drunken failed soldier at the helm.’
‘What would you suggest?’ asked Prydain. ‘It’s a long way to walk.’
Marcus thought for a moment.
‘I have an idea,’ he said, ‘I have to check a few things, but if my timing is right, I have a friend who can take you almost all of the way there in a far safer ship. The only thing is you will have to get to a place called Narbonensis across the Mare Nostrum to board her.
‘Why?’ asked Cassus. ‘Does she not sail from Ostia?’
‘Let’s just say the captain is not welcome here at the moment,’ he said standing up. ‘Anyway, I must go, I will have a bowl of hot water sent up so you can wash the road from your faces and then you can join me for a meal before you lay waste to Rome’s wine and women. I will have the details of my contact before you leave in the morning.’
----
An hour later, a quiet knock on the door stirred Cassus from his alcohol induced slumber. The boy who had dealt with the horses stood in the doorway.
‘The master said that the Cena will be served in fifteen minutes.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cassus, and threw a Caligae at the snoring Prydain. ‘Wake up Prydain,’ he said. ‘Come on, food is ready and I’m starving.’
The two boys swilled t
heir faces and wet down their hair before changing their clothes. Cassus donned an expensive blue dyed tunic, while Prydain’s was a clean yet greying garment patched with several repairs. They walked down the stairs and the boy directed them into a side room. At the centre was a large wooden table surrounded by eight chairs. Six were occupied and it was obvious that the company were waiting for the arrival of the two young men.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Marcus, ‘meet my family. This is Maria my wife and her parents from the Bruttium region in the south.’
‘Ave,’ said Cassus, nodding his head to the guests in greeting.
‘Ave.’ they responded.
‘And these are my children, my son, Titus, and daughter, Aula.’
The children were obviously twins, and approximately the same age as the servant boy standing in the doorway.
‘And this one?’ asked Prydain.
‘Oh, we never got around to actually naming him, we call him boy.’
‘I take it he is a slave?’ ventured Prydain.
‘He is,’ confirmed Marcus. ‘Maria found him abandoned as a baby at the side of the road and we took him in. Fret not, Prydain, he is well cared for. Many such as he are abandoned everyday by those who cannot afford another child, or have borne the wrong sex to a demanding father. Most perish or are picked up by pimps. He is one of the lucky ones and earns his keep by serving us around the house. Anyway, please sit and join my family in our evening meal. A banquet it may not be, but you will find it honest and filling.’
‘We’re having meat!’ exclaimed Aula excitedly, earning a gentle smile from Maria.
‘These are hard times,’ interrupted Marcus, repeating what seemed to be his favourite mantra, ‘and meat is reserved for special occasions, but today, we have killed a pig in honour of your visit. Never let it be said that my hospitality was refused to the son of an old friend.’
Marcus glanced at Maria who suppressed a self-satisfied smile. Cassus guessed that she had something to do with the decision to kill the pig and if Marcus had his way, they would be eating fruit and boiled barley.
‘We are honoured,’ said Cassus ‘and my father will hear of it.’
‘You are more than welcome, Cassus,’ said Maria, ‘and you too Prydain. Shall we start?’ She nodded to the boy who disappeared through a side door, returning a few moments later, struggling to carry a double handled amphora, closely followed by two more child servants bearing trays of food. The boy poured everyone a tankard of white wine, including the children. This time, the tankards were of silver, and engraved with a detailed hunting scene.
‘Beautiful,’ said Cassus, examining the craftsmanship.
‘A souvenir from Gaul,’ explained Maria. ‘Marcus bought them when he was in the army. Apparently, they were very expensive.’
‘Indeed, ’said Cassus and glanced over at Marcus whose stare silently warned him not to delve too deep into their history. Cassus was well aware that Roman soldiers were often allowed to supplement their pension; with whatever bounty they could loot after defeating an enemy and wondered what had become of the tankard’s previous owner. Perhaps it was better not to know.
The servants laid a tray of mixed salad in the centre of the table, consisting of crisp lettuce leaves and whole radish, interspersed with green and black olives. The whole thing formed a nest within which, nestled twelve hard-boiled duck eggs. A second tray was added containing two neat rows of Libae, the soft small rolls that were familiar on every table of Rome. A silver bowl completed the meal and Maria triumphantly removed the lid.
‘Garum,’ she said to the obvious approval of all present.
Each person at the table filled their beaten copper plates with a mixture of salad and eggs, before ladling varying amounts of the thick sauce over their meal as a dressing. The Garum, despite being made from heavily salted and fermented fish entrails, was a particular favourite of most Romans, and was served at most meals.
The starters were soon cleared and before the main course was brought in, hand bowls were provided to wash their sticky fingers. Ornate bowls of Artichokes, whole cloves of roasted garlic and diced stewed marrow were spread around the table before a wooden platter, containing thick slabs of roast pork was placed in the centre, the steam rose to the beamed ceiling and causing mouths to water in anticipation.
‘Please everyone, help yourselves,’ said Maria before casting a disapproving glance over at Marcus, whose eyes betrayed the fact that he was calculating how much all this would cost him.
The main course was delicious and the boys ate ravenously, interspersing greasy mouthfuls with complimentary belches, much to the satisfaction of Maria. As the meal progressed, the awkwardness eased and conversation flowed.
‘Boy, bring red wine,’ called Marcus noticing the tankards were empty. He had seemingly accepted the fact that this was going to be an expensive night and had fully embraced the occasion.
‘But I thought you wanted me only use the cheapest,’ said the boy, confused at the contradictory instruction.
‘Cheapest wine? Don’t be absurd,’ countered Marcus. ‘Bring the best red.’
‘But this afternoon you said…’
‘Do as you’re told, boy,’ said Maria gently, cutting off the tirade that was about to follow from Marcus.
‘Won’t you have more garlic, Prydain?’ asked Maria’s mother quickly, hoping to cover up the embarrassment. ‘It will make you brave when you fight the barbarians.’
‘Thank you, I will,’ said Prydain, ‘though I fear any effect will have worn off by the time we meet the enemy.’
‘Oh, why is that?’ she asked politely.
‘After we reach Gaul, our training will last six months and then we have to get to Britannia. I fear the barbarians will be pacified long before we get there.’
‘Don’t count on it, son,’ said Marcus slurring his words and staring into his wine. He had been drinking heavily since before the meal started.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Cassus.
Marcus looked up through drunken eyes.
‘I’ll tell you, shall I?’ he said. ‘I have never been to Britannia; however, I have encountered barbarians, as you call them, on many occasions. Some may live in huts and some may even benefit from Rome’s influence, but others are quite civilized and need no interference from Rome or anybody else come to that. They live in beautiful cities built of stone. They have music, culture, art, all the things we take for granted in Rome.’
‘But surely it is in their interests,’ said Cassus. ‘We are bettering their lives by introducing them to our civilization.’
‘Our civilization,’ sneered Marcus. ‘Some of their cities were old when Rome was still a swamp, yet we march into them and raise them to the ground in the name of civilization. Oh no, it’s not in the name of bettering their lives that we kill their men, rape their women and leave their children to starve. It’s to line the Emperor’s coffers with more gold and silver than even the Gods themselves could use.’
‘Marcus, stop it,’ interrupted Maria, ‘you’re drunk.’
‘Perhaps I am, but I have seen too many friends fall at the hands of so called barbarians, who by the way, are well trained, well-armed and fierce beyond belief. Then I watch as our armies wipe whole civilizations off the face of the earth in retribution, so I feel that, now and again, I am entitled to get drunk.’ As if to emphasise the point, he deliberately drank deep from the tankard.
‘So,’ he continued, ‘fear not that you will miss the fighting, Prydain, for I can tell you there will always be fighting, and when you think you have subdued one tribe, another will rise in their place. When that country is finally conquered, there will always be another. It seems our glorious Emperor’s coffers grow to meet supply.’
‘You speak treason,’ warned Cassus. ‘I would guard your words else you fall foul of the Praetorians.’
‘I speak the truth, boy,’ said Marcus. ‘You seek an exciting life filled with glory and adventure. Perhaps you will fin
d what you seek and I sincerely hope you retire a rich man like your father, but it comes at a price. Yes, there is gold and women, conquests and glory, but there is also fear, pain, blood, and death. I left an arm in the forests of Gaul, and have thanked the Gods every day since that I did, for it got me out of there with my life intact. An arm I can spare, my life is the only one I have. Take it from me, lads, don’t take the oath. Get on your horses right now and turn away from Rome and her false promises. Gallop as hard as you can back to your father’s farm and live your life picking olives and drinking wine. And if it’s money you crave…’ Marcus drained the last of the wine from his tankard, red rivulets trickling down his well-trimmed beard. He let out an enormous belch, his eyes struggling to focus before continuing. ‘If it’s money you want, then abandon your morals, banish your conscience and go into politics. If there is one truth out there that is the same all over the known world, then it is this. There is no such thing as a hungry politician.’ Marcus laid his head on his folded arms and the table fell into an awkward silence. Eventually Cassus wiped his hands on a napkin.
‘Thank you for a wonderful meal, Maria,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, I think we will retire.’
‘There’s no need to leave just yet,’ she said. ‘Take no notice of him, he’s just a drunken old man.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Cassus. ‘We are very tired from the journey and have an early start tomorrow. We only have two days, and would like to see some of Rome before we enlist.’
‘I understand.’
‘Marcus said we can leave the horses here. I will pay for their grain and my father will send someone to collect them within the week.’
‘Of course you can,’ she said. ‘There will be food waiting for you in the morning, ready for your journey.’
‘There is no need…’ started Cassus.
‘It will take you half a day to reach the city on foot,’ she said, ‘and I will not see you travel hungry.’
Cassus smiled.
‘Thank you Maria,’ he said, ‘you are truly a wonderful host.’
Maria looked down at Marcus, his head on his folded arms, fast asleep.
