by R. W. Peake
Once we drew closer, one of the other Optios muttered, “I hate this cac. And I’ve got three women to tell tonight.”
We gave him a look of sympathy; that was an unusually high number. Without any order being given, the whole group stopped, still several paces away from the women, and for a moment both sides stood there, staring at each other, neither side wanting to do what had to be done.
“Let’s get this over with.”
It was the same Optio who had spoken first, just before he broke from the group, calling out a woman’s name, followed by the name of the man with whom she was associated. This triggered the rest of us and we waded into the group, as I used my height to see if I could see the red head of hair that belonged to Gisela. It was not long before there was a shriek of unspeakable grief, followed by sobbing, and that was just the beginning. By the time I searched through the crowd of women to see that she was not there, I was surrounded by women wracked with grief, some falling to their knees, some offering support to others, all of them crying.
Grimly making my way through the group, I tried to get my bearings and remember what part of the encampment the wine shop usually occupied. While most of the other merchants, once they had established a clientele, more or less picked the same spot so that their customers could find them easily, the same was not true for wine shops. Experience taught them that off-duty men are not particularly loyal to one shop or another, preferring to just drop into the first one that is suitable for their tastes and budget. That meant that there was always a scramble among the wine shop merchants for the most lucrative locations, so I was not particularly optimistic that Gisela would be in the last place I saw her in the last camp spot I visited. Nevertheless, I had to start somewhere, so I headed in that general direction. Behind me, the wailing and mourning was picking up in intensity, as more women were informed of the fate of their men. Not all the women were there; like me, I spied a few other men prowling the streets, calling out a woman’s name. Deciding that I would only start yelling Gisela’s name if I did not have initial luck in finding her, I continued walking, arriving at where I thought she might be. Coming to a stop, I heaved a sigh of relief; hanging above one tent was the sign for the wine shop. Apparently they weren’t worried about their location, I thought, walking towards what served as the front door of the shop. Before I got there, however, a figure stepped out and while I recognized that it was a woman, it took me a moment before it registered that it was Gisela. Once I recognized her, I stopped abruptly, my call to her dying in my throat before it left my mouth. What was I going to say? It did not matter; coming out for a breath of fresh air, as she was giving a casual glance up the street before she walked back in she turned and saw me. Holding the flap back, she was illuminated by the lamps within, so I saw her standing there staring at me, and I watched the progression of emotion play across her face. Looking puzzled for a brief instant, she started to smile when she recognized me, then just as quickly, the smile vanished as she realized why I was there. I had yet to say a word but she already knew, her hand dropping the flap as she took a staggering step backward before some inner voice got her back in hand. Stopping where I was, I watched even as she received and understood my message before I began walking towards her. Despite my resolve, I heard my voice shake, as I began what I had prepared in my mind to say.
“Gisela, I've come to tell you……..”
I got no further, because I could not keep my composure, once again feeling hot tears running down my face. The shame of crying in front of a woman washed over me, only making things worse and I lost sight of her as my tears blinded me, so I jumped a bit when I felt her hand on my arm, touching the bandages lightly as she stepped closer towards me.
“He’s gone, Gisela,” I blurted out, shaking my head in sadness, my vision clearing a bit so I saw that while her eyes were liquid and shiny, the tears had not started running yet, and she had not yet said a word.
Finally, she spoke and her voice, while composed, betrayed the effort she was making to keep it so. “Thank you Titus Pullus, for coming here to tell me this news. I…..”
She got no further, the dam suddenly bursting and she began sobbing, collapsing into my arms. By reflex, I put my arms around her, savagely trying to repress the thought that this was the most natural thing in the world, that it was as if she were made to fit in my arms. Self-loathing filled my soul, yet it only made me cry more, and there we stood, for how long I know not, emptying our grief into each other.
After we regained possession of ourselves, we entered the wine shop and I found myself repeating the news to the owner, who burst into tears himself. Calienus was well loved, his death a cause of grief to many people. I sat at a table, with Gisela automatically bringing wine and two cups. Then to my surprise, she sat down with me, pouring herself a cupful.
Once our cups were full, we paused for a moment, and then I said quietly, “To Calienus. One of the best friends I ever had.”
Even as we clinked our cups together in salute, I felt the tears coming again, but I just managed to blink them back. It was bad enough that I unmanned myself in front of Gisela, I was not about to do it in front of anyone else. Instead, I cleared my throat and continued, perhaps a bit too gruffly, “Well, I suppose you’ll be going back to your people then.”
She did not say anything for a moment, just regarding me quietly before shaking her head. I could not help noticing a teardrop falling to land perfectly in the middle of her wine cup. Appropriate, I thought. Waiting for another moment, I then opened my mouth to speak but she broke the silence first.
“I cannot go back to my people, Pullus. They will not have me.”
I was surprised at this, but pleasantly so, I am ashamed to say. I made no attempt to hide it, either, at least the surprised part. “Really?” I asked. “Why’s that? You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I gave myself to my people’s enemy, Titus,” she replied softly, with more than a tinge of bitterness.
“Surely they’ve accepted Rome by now, haven’t they?” I know now how naïve a question it was.
What could be described as scorn flitted across her face, but since she could tell I meant no harm, her expression softened. “No Titus, they have not accepted it. Nor, I fear, will they ever accept it.”
“Then, why did you join up with us? Why do you follow us?”
She shrugged, still staring at the table. Finally, she answered simply, “I fell in love.” I was confused, and seeing it, she continued. “I came to see the Romans for myself because I had heard so much about them. At first, I thought you were puny little men,” she laughed, “not you of course Titus. But you are almost a giant among your people. So I will admit that at first I was not impressed. Then, my cousin opened this shop, and I decided to spend some time working here so that I could understand Romans better.”
This was nothing short of astonishing to me, and I could not resist blurting out, “But how did you get to do this? Surely your father didn’t approve.”
She laughed again, and I felt better that I was at least making her laugh at this time.
“Titus, Gallic women are much different from Roman women. We can choose who we marry, for example.”
While I had heard this, I never credited it as true, yet here was a Gallic woman telling me so!
“And I was always my father’s favorite. Besides, I told him that I was only working here to learn the habits of our enemy, and that one day that information would be put to good use. Then,” the laughter in her ceased, sadness descending once more, “this man named Calienus came into the shop. And he talked to me like no other man had ever talked to me.”
Despite myself, I leaned forward in order to glean any information that might help me win her heart. It is hard to describe the conflicting emotions that were running through me. Calienus’ ashes were barely cool, yet here I was, trying to find a way to win her for myself. Immediately another part of my mind answered, why not? Why not you, because you know that there will be
men sniffing around her first thing tomorrow. You at least know her and treasure her for who she is, and not just because of how she looks. Or so I told myself anyway. Completely oblivious to my inner turmoil, she continued.
“He did not talk to me the way a man talks to a woman he wants to sleep with.”
To my horror, I could feel a flush creeping up my face at these words. She either ignored or did not see it.
“No, he talked to me as if I were an equal, a person whose opinion he valued, not just as some trophy that he could brag to his friends about.”
As she said this, I realized it was true. In fact, it was how we learned that Calienus had a woman, not because of what he said, but what he refused to talk about. And when someone, even in jest, spoke too lewdly about her Calienus would be all over them in an instant. This is good to remember, I thought to myself as I listened, although it puzzled me. There is nothing a man likes more than for his woman to brag about him to other women, yet apparently this is not so with women.
“So, he would come in, and we would just talk.”
“Talk about what?” I was intensely curious about this.
“Anything. Everything. The campaign,” I felt my eyebrows raise in surprise at this, “the political situation, poetry, music. Farming, even. Everything.”
She finished with a shrug, suddenly picking her cup up to drink deeply from it, leaving me to watch her throat moving up and down as she swallowed. I had never seen anything so lovely in my life, I was sure. Setting the cup down she caught me staring, and smiled self-consciously as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. It was the type of thing men do, yet it was both mannish and more feminine than anything I had ever seen before, and in that moment I saw past her beauty, realizing why Calienus loved her so much.
“He was a very lucky man,” I said quietly.
Now it was her turn to be surprised, at first, then her eyes started to fill again.
“You know Titus, he thought very highly of you,” she responded. “He told me once that you had the potential to be the finest Legionary in the army.”
I felt my chest swell with pride, and I could not help smiling.
“He also said that you had a huge ego, and if anything destroyed your chances, it would be that.”
Like a bucket of cold water thrown in the face of a drunk, her words dashed against me, whatever pride I felt instantly evaporating. I think it hurt more because I knew she was right; I was reaching a point in my life where I was able to look at myself as if through another’s eyes, and I could see that my vanity was perhaps my greatest flaw. Every soldier needs pride, along with the conviction that they are good at what they do, but there is a point at which there is too much of that quality and I was having trouble recognizing that point. I must have let it show that she wounded me, because she leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on my arm.
“Do not be hurt Titus. He wanted to see you succeed, and that was his one worry.”
I sat looking at her hand, how white and small it was, draped on my sun-dark, scarred forearm.
I sighed, and nodded. “I know. He was right. Sometimes I know that I go too far with my boasting, but I want to be the best Legionary that’s ever lived. It’s all I think about, day and night.”
While this was not exactly true, it was near enough, and I was surprised at myself that I was willing to utter something that I had told no one before, not even Vibius, at least since we joined the army. I looked down at the table, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“I know,” I whispered, “it’s stupid. It’s just the bragging of a boy.”
“Titus, there are a lot of things I think of when I think of you, but boy has never been one of them.”
Her words hit me like I had been struck by lightning. Did this mean that she viewed me as…….something else? I looked up to see her looking me square in the eye, and she gave my forearm a squeeze.
“There is nothing wrong with ambition, Titus. And it’s one of the things that makes you so……attractive.”
I gulped, hard. Her eyes never left mine, and I could feel the heat that started in my face sweep through my body. I felt myself leaning forward, just as a voice in my head shouted STOP!
Jerking my arm out from under her hand and standing quickly, I stammered, “Well, it was nice talking to you, Gisela.” Then a feeling of horror flashed through me and I tried to correct myself. “I mean…..it was nice, but under the circumstances, I mean, it was not nice. I……..” Being completely flummoxed, I finally burst out with, “I’m sorry for your loss, Gisela.”
She sat, just looking at me, and I could not tell whether she wanted to laugh, or cry. I got up, stumbling out into the night, heading back to the camp with my mind whirling.
The next morning, a formation was ordered for the entire army and we assembled in the forum to await Caesar. After settling down and being brought to intente, Caesar appeared from the command tent, mounting the rostra made of shields. He was dressed in his full armor, and his face was grim as he stood surveying us for several moments before he began speaking.
“Comrades,” he began, and we could tell by the sound of his voice that this was not going to be one of his talks that left us feeling like we could conquer the world, “I must tell you how disappointed I am in your conduct yesterday.”
His words struck the army like a massive fist, hitting us all in the gut. There was a stir in our ranks, with a low buzz of disbelief that he was including us in what happened; it was our actions that saved the rest of the army from destruction! I do not know if he was already planning what he said next, or he saw our reaction and moved quickly to disarm us. Regardless, he did so, turning towards us to hold out a placating hand.
“In my censure, I naturally do not include you men of the 10th,” then he turned in the direction of the 13th, “or you Cohorts of the 13th who were under the command of Sextius.”
The relief was palpable; you could see it in the posture of the men as they slumped in relief, at least as much as one can slump when standing at intente.
“Your conduct and your actions were exemplary, and your comrades in the other Legions owe you a debt of gratitude for protecting them when they turned their backs to the enemy.”
His last words were like the lash of a whip, whatever smug triumph we felt immediately smothered by the stricken looks on the faces of our comrades in the other Legions. There is no greater shame to a Roman Legionary than the idea of turning ones’ back to the enemy to flee, yet that is exactly what happened, and the shame was clearly written in the faces of the accused Legions.