Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion

by R. W. Peake

  Without any preamble, Vibius said excitedly, “There are recruiting parties in the area. Legions are being raised for the new Praetor, and they’re looking for men to join!”

  This was news, indeed! For a moment, my heart quickened in excitement, but just as suddenly, I was brought low. I had just turned sixteen; that was a year too young for the Legions. And what was worse, Vibius was already seventeen, and of the age for acceptance. He had grown enough to make the height qualifications, if only just, and I knew his father would not disapprove since it solved the problem of one less mouth to feed, not to mention that Vibius’ father already had more than enough heirs to take over his tanning business, which Vibius had never shown the slightest interest in pursuing. Vibius saw the look on my face, and his own became troubled.

  “Gods, I forgot. You're still but sixteen. I always forget because you’re so big and strong.” Biting his lip, he pondered, and it was with genuine sadness that he said, “But, Titus, you know that there's no telling when they'll be raising a Legion in this area. If I don’t join now…”

  He did not have to finish; if he did not join now, there was no telling when he would be able to. Back in those days, all the Legionaries in a Legion came from the same area, and replacements were never provided as the years passed. If a young man missed his chance, his only hope was to either wait for another call for raising a Legion in his area, or move to a place that was raising Legions, once he heard of it. The problem with the latter was that if he was not quick, he might arrive after the complement for the Legion had already been filled. Neither of these problems meant that a man could not join the army; if the Legions were full, there was always a place in the auxiliary, but that was beneath any true Roman citizen, as both of us were. Besides, we had set our hearts on the Legions and nothing else, so I could not with any good conscience hold it against Vibius, but I was still sorely disappointed. However, I gritted my teeth and tried to put a good face on it.

  “Eh, I guess the gods didn't want me to overshadow you, Vibius. I understand that you have to go immediately and enlist, but I won't lie. I'll miss you, and I curse the Fates for making me too young to go with you. But,” I forced a smile, “perhaps there’ll be another call soon. I've heard that this new Praetor has some ambitions to be more than that. The only way for that to happen is for him to fight a war and, with a war, he'll need an army and, with an army, he'll need Legions.”

  Vibius nodded, but I could see that he was genuinely as hurt as I was, and my affection for him threatened to unman me in front of him and Juno, so touched was I at the sight. Juno had been silent this whole time, and when I looked over at her, I was shocked to see tears. While I knew that she would miss Vibius, she had to know that this meant that their marriage would happen sooner, now that an opportunity to join had arisen. But that was not what was making her sad.

  “It breaks my heart to see that you two, who are closer than Vibius is to any of his brothers, separated in this way. There has to be something…”

  I shook my head, as I had been thinking along those lines.

  “I'm simply not old enough, Juno,” I replied.

  “Says who?” This came from Vibius, and I looked at him in surprise to see the beginning of a smile on his face.

  “What do you mean, Vibius? Says the fact of my birth being sixteen years ago today, that's who.”

  “Really?” he responded immediately. “Who would dispute you if you claimed to be seventeen instead of your actual age? Look at you,” he said excitedly. “Who would ever know that you're not seventeen, or even twenty, for that matter?”

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter how old I look. I have to be able to prove my age, and the only way to do that is…”

  “For your father to swear to it,” Vibius interrupted. Grabbing my arm, he said, “Think about it, Titus. Your father has never wanted you around. Why would he object to you being out of the house earlier?”

  “Because then there's one less to do the work on the farm while he drinks all day,” I retorted bitterly.

  And it was true; Lucius had long since stopped lifting a finger to help Phocas and Gaia. The only thing that kept the farm together was the commitment of Phocas and Gaia, which, while I did not understand it, I was thankful for, because if I was being honest, my contribution in terms of labor was not that much. My major work came when it was time to plow the field, which I did but twice a year, and while it was hard work, I did not find it altogether unpleasant. That thought stuck in my mind, as I began to see just the faintest glimmer of hope.

  Voicing what I was thinking, I said, “Truth be known, the only real work I do is the plowing, and that only happens twice a year. Perhaps,” I said slowly, “I should talk with Phocas, at least, and get his opinion of what I should do.”

  Vibius clapped me on the shoulder. “Absolutely! Talk to him; I think you might be surprised that this isn't impossible after all.”

  For the remainder of the time I was in town, I stood and let others admire me, knowing that my size and frame kept the toga from looking like a flapping bunch of fabric thrown onto a chair. I had filled out every month that Vibius and I trained with Cyclops, so that I looked much older than my actual age when seen from a distance. However, up close, I was still waiting for my full beard to grow in, but while my hair is brown and wavy, the fuzz on my cheeks was still so light yellow that it was visible only if I squinted in the right light when I looked in the brass mirror. Even so, I was not blind to the admiring glances from some of the young ladies who frequented the forum, but even as they batted their eyes at me, I was looking sidelong to see if Juno was noticing that I had other admirers. If she was, her face did not betray it in any way, but I thought I saw a flicker of what I knew was her look when she was irritated when one of the young ladies called my name in greeting.

  After my stroll around the town, I walked back to the farm, careful not to let the folds of my toga drag on the ground and get dirty. A spotless white toga is a very hard thing to keep in the same condition, and I did not look forward to the kind of comments Lucius would make if I did not return with it in the same condition as I had left. My head was full of conflicting thoughts, and not a little fear at the idea of what I was going to attempt. But as I walked, my resolve grew, and so did my anger. I began to think of all the slights, the injustices, and the hurts inflicted on me by the man who was supposed to love me, his only son, above all others. With each furlong, I became angrier and more resolved that I would make my father give me what I was convinced was the least he owed me, freedom from his rule. He had never wanted me, he made that plain on every occasion he could think of, so why should he not give me what we both wanted? By the time I reached the farm, I was filled with a terrible resolve that one way or another, my father and I would have a reckoning of accounts. What better day than the one in which I became a man? I thought.

  Despite my resolution, I still wanted to talk to Phocas first, although now it was more to solicit ideas about the best way to gain what I wanted from Lucius. However, there was also some guilt there at the thought of leaving Phocas and Gaia behind to face not only my father, but the extra work that my absence would create. I found him at the barn, mending a harness that we used to hitch the mule to the plow. I stood and just looked at him for a moment, realizing with some surprise that somewhere along the way, he had aged. He was no longer as arrow-straight in his posture as he had been in my childhood; there was a slight stoop that I suspected was from all the amount of time he spent bending over and tending to the crops. His hair, which had been as black as a raven’s wing, was now liberally sprinkled with strands of silver that gave his appearance something of an aura as the light reflected from it. His hands were careworn, becoming what can only be called gnarled, but they were still strong hands, and I was struck by the sudden thought that, slave or no, I would have been much happier if he had been my father instead of Lucius. And now, as I look back, I realize that he indeed was my father, in all the ways that mattered. I l
earned more from a slave on how to be a man than I did from that bitter, pathetic hulk of flesh that was my father.

  Phocas sensed my presence and looked up, smiling when he saw me standing there in my toga virilis, which I had not even taken the time to change from before seeking him out. I struck a pose as if I were one of the statues of the great men that one saw in the larger cities like Corduba, and he burst out laughing at the sight. It warmed my heart to make him laugh, and I had always tried to do as much my whole life, with silly jokes and comical stunts that I would perform for his and Gaia’s amusement. Whether or not they were truly funny, they both laughed at whatever I said or did. Again, I was struck by the thought that this was the sort of thing a son did for his parents, not slaves. Pushing the thought away, I immediately became serious. Looking about first, I made sure that Lucius was not in earshot, which would have been unlikely. Usually, by this time of day, he had drunk himself into a stupor that he would only rouse from to eat the evening meal, then he would go back to worship Bacchus. Still, given what I wanted to talk to Phocas about, it was better to be safe. Seeing how serious I had become, Phocas put the tack down and walked to me, a concerned look on his face.

  “What is it, Titus? What troubles you? Did something happen in town?”

  Choosing my words carefully, I replied, “Yes and no, Phocas. There's a matter of utmost seriousness I wish to speak to you about.”

  Putting his hand on my shoulder, he answered, “Of course, young Master. What can I help you with?”

  “You know I hate being called that, so for one, please don’t refer to me in that manner, especially today,” I snapped, which I was instantly sorry for.

  Phocas looked wounded, but answered calmly, “Of course, Titus. My apologies.”

  I shook my head. “No, I should be the one apologizing, Phocas. It’s just that I learned something today, and now I face a decision.”

  I went on to explain what I had learned, watching his face as I went on to tell him what I was thinking of doing. When I was finished, he was silent for a long time, but despite the impatience of youth, I knew better than to try to force him to speak before he was ready.

  Finally, he said gravely, “What you seek to do is a very large thing, Titus. Are you sure this is what you want?”

  I nodded. “Yes, I'm sure. I can't think of any other course at this point, and I think that this is the best thing. The one thing I'm worried about,” I added, “is that I'll be leaving you and Gaia behind. It’s not just the added work, it’s…” I paused as I searched for words, but I was stopped by Phocas’ hand, laid gently on my arm.

  “Don't worry about us, Titus. We may look old and worn out, but Gaia and I are more than capable of handling the extra burden. As for the other thing you worry about, don't. I've learned how to handle Lucius. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I think you overestimate how much work you actually perform around here.”

  Despite the seriousness, I could not help laughing at that, for it was true. If, gentle reader, you are surprised by such a bold statement by a slave, I would bid you to think again. In fact, I say that if you were willing to look at your own situation honestly, you would have to agree that it is indeed the slaves who control the masters, such has our dependence on them become. I know that in my own case, I defer to Diocles in almost every matter pertaining to my affairs, as he knows the minutiae of them much better than I do. (Diocles’ note: My master does not speak the entire truth. While it is true that he does rely on me to inform him of conditions with his estate, he is always the one making the decisions. There has never been any question, at least in my mind, who is the slave and who is the master. Such is the condition of a slave; no matter how exalted one’s position may be, the fact that one is a slave is never far from mind.)

  I looked at Phocas fondly, unable to speak because I was not sure what I should say.

  Phocas continued, “And it does my heart good to know that you, the last of Lucius’ children, may be free of his poisonous influence. Master of me he may be, but just because I'm a slave doesn't mean that I can't see what's right and what's wrong. And you’ve suffered grievously at the hands of your father because of something that you had no control over. Gaia and I have prayed many times for your deliverance, and this step you take means that our prayers weren't in vain. Just tell me what you need me to do, Titus, and I'll do it. Even if it means my life.”

  Now I could not hold the tears back, and they came bursting out of me like a dam. Here in one conversation, this gentle man, this slave had shown me more love than my own father had in the previous sixteen years. When I broke down, he took a step towards me and I grabbed for him, put my head on his shoulder, and cried as I had not cried in many, many years. All of the pain and sorrow that I felt spilled out, as he just stood, holding my shoulders as I let it all out.

  After I had regained my composure, Phocas took me to Gaia and, talking quietly, in order not to disturb my father’s inebriated slumber, told her of my decision. She began to cry, which set me off again, and for a short time, we huddled together, all of us weeping. This, I thought, is what it means to be loved, to be part of a family. I swore then to all the gods that I would somehow repay these two kinds souls. Alas, by the time I was in such a position that I could, it was too late for Gaia. But that night, Gaia was very much alive and warm, patting me on the back as she tried to ease my own grief while she suffered her own.

  Finally, I pulled myself away and, with an effort, I said, “Enough of this crying. I need to make ready to talk to Lucius. I expect I'll remain clothed as I am, but I do need to pack some things. I won't stay here for more than this night.”

  Gaia shooed me away, saying that she would pack my things; I needed at that time to eat something to regain the strength I would need for what was to come. So Phocas and I sat and talked quietly as I ate some cold meat and bread, and waited for my father to arise.

  I do not know how long had passed, no more than a third of a watch, but the sun was just touching the top of the hills to the west of our farm, signaling that dark would be arriving in about the same amount of time when Lucius came staggering from his private room. Even several feet away, I could smell the sour stench of wine, not just wine spilled on clothes or coming from one’s breath, but from the pores of the man himself, so saturated was he with the grape. He squinted as he struggled to focus on the sight of his son and slave, sitting at the table, and groaned as his accustomed headache made itself known.

  “What are you doing still dressed in that getup?” he muttered as he staggered past us and headed for the amphora that held his wine.

  I looked at Phocas and nodded my head, the prearranged signal for him to leave, so that he rose as he said casually, “Master, I must go finish mending the harness.”

  “Why haven’t you finished already, you lazy cunnus?” my father snarled, and I felt my fist clench reflexively.

  But Phocas was accustomed to Lucius, and said placidly, “Many apologies, Master. I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'll try to do a better job.”

  “Make sure that you do, or by the gods, I'll whip you.”

  That raised an eyebrow, not just from me, but from Phocas as well. As unpleasant as my father was, he did not usually speak of matters such as whipping. It made me wonder what the cause was for his change of behavior; perhaps his hangover was particularly bad, or perhaps he sensed that something was afoot. Phocas left the house, but he was going nowhere far. We had arranged that he would step outside but stay in earshot, in order to be able to intervene should things turn uglier than we anticipated, before he was supposed to enter as we had planned.

  I sat, trying to remain as calm as I could, but my heart was threatening to beat out of its spot under my ribs. Even now, I cannot recall ever being more nervous than I was that day, even with all the battles and skirmishes of which I have been a part. But the first time one acts as a man is always the most momentous and the hardest.

  Lucius, seeing that I was still sitting there and had n
ot moved, snapped, “I told you to go change, damn you.”

  “Before I do, there's something I need to speak with you about.” I was surprised how calm I sounded.

  As I looked down, I saw that despite my anxiety and the rapidity of my heartbeat, my hands were steady, which encouraged me.

  Stopping short, unaccustomed as he was to a son who did not immediately obey, he repeated dumbly, “You have something you want to talk to me about? What could that possibly be, boy?”

  “First, that I'm no longer a boy. As of today, I'm a man.”

  This elicited a hoot of laughter, a harsh, rasping sound that was as grating to me as anything I had ever heard.

  “Is that so, boy,” he mocked. “So it’s a man now, is it? Well, well.” Making a mocking bow in my direction, which caused him to stumble forward a step, which he caught just in time before pitching forward, he said, “Then out with it. What's this matter that you need to speak to me about?”

  Calmly, I said, “There's a dilectus in the area, looking for men for the Legions that the new Praetor is raising. Vibius is joining, and I am too.”

  It took a moment for this to register, his wine-addled brain struggling to put this idea in some coherent form.

  Finally, he asked with true puzzlement, “What has this got to do with me? You’re but sixteen and you can’t enlist for another year.”

  “Exactly,” I replied calmly, “but I wish to enlist now. And in order to enlist, I'll need you to go with me to swear that I'm seventeen, not sixteen.”