Marching With Caesar-Birth of the 10th Legion

by R. W. Peake

  “Titus, there are no words to thank you for what you're trying to do, but your father will never agree to this.”

  “Why?” I asked indignantly. “I'll give him more than enough money to buy two slaves to replace each of you.” When you are young, the world is so simple and problems so easy to solve. Still, Phocas shook his head sadly. “You could give him money to buy ten slaves for each of us, Titus, and it wouldn't matter.”

  Looking to Gaia for support in arguing with Phocas, I saw in her eyes the same sad emptiness. “He’s right, my darling boy. It has nothing to do with the money.”

  “What does it have to do with then?” I demanded, although a voice inside me told me that I already knew the answer.

  “It has to do with the idea that it’s something that you desperately want. You know your father has no love for you, Titus. What you don’t know is that his hatred has grown in leaps and bounds since you left. There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't curse your name.”

  I was stunned, although I do not know why, unless it was because I still entertained some childish fantasy of winning my father’s affections by great deeds. The knowledge that his hate for me had only grown in my absence smothered the last spark of hope I nurtured that somehow things could be made right between us, and I felt the coldness return to my heart, seeing in the reflection of Phocas’ and Gaia’s gaze that it was clear to see in my expression.

  “Then,” I spoke slowly and deliberately, “I'll give you your freedom another way.”

  At first they did not understand, then a look of horror and…something else flashed across Phocas’ face. “Don't speak of such things, Titus.”

  He said this with an urgency that surprised me. I knew that they would not jump at the idea, at least at first, so I decided to drop it, sure that they would warm to it in time. The fact that I could very coldly contemplate the murder of my own father was not lost on me, but I shrugged it off, thinking that what I was just told severed the last thread of obligation I held towards him. If he hated me so, I would return the favor, and I was a much more deadly enemy to have than vice versa, so I dropped the subject for the time being and moved to safer topics.

  Lucius finally came staggering out into the main room, his eyes in their usual bloodshot state; as his bleary vision focused on me, he gave a grunt of surprise, and I was gratified to see a look of some fear on his face. Sitting there, I looked at him steadily and when he did not speak, I forced myself to adopt a tone that I hoped sounded pleasant.

  “Salve, Father. It's good to see you so…well.”

  Continuing to stare at me, he said nothing for what seemed like half a watch, before blurting out, “What by Dis are you doing here? I thought we’d seen the last of you.” Before I could respond, his face screwed up in suspicion and he continued, “You didn’t get thrown out of the Legion, did you? Well, if you did, it wouldn’t surprise me, but you can’t come back here.”

  Before I could stop myself, I leapt up and stepped toward him, my hand going to my gladius. The movement was not lost on him and he gave a yelp of terror as he stumbled back, then immediately lost his balance, crashing into a heap on the floor. He stared up at me, the fear and hatred clear as he made no attempt to disguise his true feelings, and I know that my face reflected the same thing.

  “No, old man. See these?” I tapped the phalarae. “I won these. You know how I won these?”

  Leaning down, I made sure that our eyes were level before I spoke, more softly this time, my tone only serving to increase the menace. “I won them by killing a lot of men, Father. I've shed the blood of more than a dozen men, all of them better than you. You'd do well to remember that.”

  “You impudent whelp.” His lips curled back and I could see that his teeth were rotting out of his mouth, accounting for the stench that emanated from them. “I am the pater…”

  Before he could finish and before I had any conscious thought, the gladius was in my hand, the sight of it causing him to become a cringing dog in the instant it took me to draw it.

  “You're a drunken, mean, little man,” I cut him off. “And you'd do well to remember that. I'm the head of this family now, by the right given to me by this,” I brandished the gladius, relishing the abject terror that it evoked, “and I'll take that right if you say one…more…word.”

  I gestured with the gladius back to his room. “Well, I think we’ve caught up. You can go back to your room now.”

  Staggering to his feet, he looked like he was thinking of arguing, a thought that evaporated from his head in the time it took me to point back to him with my blade. He made to leave, but as he stumbled away, I called to him. Turning to look at me, I smiled sweetly at him and finished, “And if you even think for one moment to take your anger out on them,” I jerked my head in the direction of Phocas and Gaia, who were standing as still as statues, “I'll find out from my sisters, and I'll come back and show you one of the tricks I learned about how to flay a man alive. Then I'll tan your hide to use as a cloak and your shriveled ball sac will be my coin purse. Do we understand each other?”

  As I said this, I realized with equal parts satisfaction and unease that I meant every word I said. From the expression on Lucius’ face, he knew it too. Gulping, he nodded, then exited the room.

  The confrontation with my father had ruined the mood of homecoming, so I declined the chance to stay the night. Although I was fairly sure that my father would not have the courage to try anything while I slept, I did not feel like sleeping with one eye open. Hugging the both of them and promising that I would write this time, since I had not done so while on campaign, I left them standing at the edge of our property, tears streaming down their faces. After waving to them once, I refused to look back, not wanting to risk becoming a blubbering fool in front of them. Deciding then to head for Livia and Cyclop’s farm, despite it meaning that Vibius would not come with me, I calculated I would get there after dark, not that I was worried about being alone at night. In fact, I somewhat looked forward to the thought of some bandit or bandits being unlucky or stupid enough to pick me for easy prey in the night. After all, I told myself, it had been more than a month since I last saw any real action, my confrontation with Aulus hardly qualifying in my mind, and I did not want my skills to get rusty. Even as I thought that, though, I knew that I was lying to myself. It had nothing to do with my skills; the feelings one gets during battle can be as crippling a habit as the hold wine had over my father, and like one in the grip of Bacchus, where the lack of the grape causes a violent reaction of the body, so too does the lack of action to a warrior. Such is the feeling one gets when there has been no violent action that your whole being craves that kind of stimulation, like you are starving of some nutrient. I was now infected with the disease, and it would haunt me for the rest of my life. Yet I was only dimly aware of the deeper meaning of all this as I walked down the road, whistling one of our marching tunes. Passing around Astigi, I did so after deciding to give it something of a wide berth because of what had happened earlier. As far as I knew, we had escaped any kind of trouble, but I held no desire to find out differently by stumbling into the arms of the city guard. Walking along, I contemplated what I would do if indeed there were some problem with what I did that day, and decided that I would have to take whatever action necessary to ensure that Vibius and I could escape back to camp, then put my faith in the army protecting its own. There had already been several incidents where Legionaries had either severely beaten or killed civilians and to my knowledge, none of them received any punishment. The army’s view is that if a civilian is stupid enough to tangle with a Legionary, perhaps they are not meant for this world to begin with, and looking at it rationally, from Rome’s point of view, there is more value in a Legionary than there is in the ordinary citizen. As long as one did not go about killing patricians or equestrians, a soldier could be fairly confident that they would be able to avoid the normal consequences associated with murdering someone.

  Making it to Cyc
lops’ farm about a third of a watch after dark, I stopped some distance away from the house and hailed it, because in those days, walking up in the dark was a risky proposition, particularly with a man like Cyclops. I was pleased to see a light emanating from the window, telling me that they had not yet retired, and after a moment, I saw the familiar face of my brother-in-law peer out from the doorway.

  “Salve, brother,” I called, and for the second time that day I could see someone’s face wrinkle up as they tried to determine who was calling them. Fortunately, it did not take him long, his face creasing in a smile when he recognized me. To get Cyclops to smile was enough of an accomplishment in itself, and it was just another pleasant moment of my return home.

  One more time I found myself fussed over, although it was almost completely done by Livia, Cyclops content with a firm handshake and slap on the back. And once again, I sat at their table while Livia rushed about making something to eat, ignoring my protests that I had eaten not long before, as I recounted my tales to Cyclops. While still sanitizing my recounting, I was less circumspect with Cyclops than with Phocas and Gaia, until Livia let out a gasp at one of my anecdotes, whereupon I reined in my tongue once more. Cyclops and I exchanged a look as he rolled his good eye, shaking his head at the squeamishness of women. It is truly a mystery to me how women can go through the toil and bloody business of childbirth, yet the talk of lopping off some barbarian’s head gets them all aflutter. I suspect it is one of those things I shall have to ask the ferryman, or some of the wise men with whom I will be spending eternity. When Livia asked me if I had been home yet, I responded as briefly as I thought I could get away with, concentrating on my time with Phocas and Gaia, and only mentioning that I had seen Lucius. I was thankful when she did not press, but I could see by her face that I had not fooled her. Livia went to bed, but Cyclops and I stayed up through the night, and despite being happy to see my sister, I was also thankful for the opportunity to talk more freely about all the things I had seen and done, because I had questions that I felt only Cyclops could answer. I related to him how Gaius Crastinus spoke highly of him, and his face flushed with pleasure.

  “Crastinus is a good man,” he said as he stared thoughtfully into his cup of wine. “You can learn a lot from him.”

  “I already have,” I replied, “but I sometimes have trouble deciding whether I hate him or love him.”

  Cyclops smiled. “That means he’s a great leader, because you respect him out of equal parts love and fear. And in a place like the army, you have to have both.”

  I could see the sense in this, and I said so. We spent the rest of the night drinking and trying to keep our voices down as we talked, with less and less success, until Livia threatened us with imminent bodily harm if we did not go to sleep.

  Waking the next morning with a pounding head, despite the pain, I had to smile. It was good to spend time with Cyclops, this time as a man who finally understood all the things that he had been telling us. I have come to the conclusion that trying to describe battle to someone is much like trying to describe the act of sexual congress; no matter how imaginative one might be, the description pales in comparison to the actual event.

  As I bade them farewell, now headed to see Valeria and her husband Porcinus, I thanked Cyclops for all that he had shown me. “It’s because of you that not only have I survived, but I’ve done well,” I spoke honestly. I could tell this pleased him, and he surprised me with a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “I'm proud of you, Titus. I think you have a great destiny in the Legions.”

  To say I was pleased would be an understatement. Kissing Livia, I waved goodbye as I started down the road, wondering if I could make it to Valeria’s farm before dark. It had taken more than a day to escort her to Porcinus’ farm on the day I delivered her to her new married life; this time, I wasn’t in a wagon with my sister, so I was confident I could make it, and I did, actually arriving well before sundown. For the third time, I went through the ritual of hugs, kisses, and concern over my scar, yet I must say that this time was the most enjoyable. Valeria looked radiant, which I heard is how pregnant women were supposed to look, but I was scared to hug her for fear of hurting the baby.

  “Titus, you’re not going to break me.” She laughed, although I was still not convinced.

  And for the third time, I was stuffed with food; I ate more in the last two days than I had the previous week, but it was still good to have so much food before me. Porcinus never served in the army, and although I liked him well enough, there was not a lot to talk about with him since I held no interest in farming, but it was the thing in which he was most involved, so not much was said between us after the initial pleasantries. Besides, I was more concerned with talking to Valeria, yet I found for some reason that my reluctance to share details with the other people in my life about all that I had seen fell away with Valeria. I had always been completely honest with her about everything, and this time was no exception. To her everlasting credit, she did not flinch when I told her the things I had done, things like with the woman at the first town we assaulted; she just listened. Once I was done, it was well into the night, and when I bedded down in the main room, she came to kiss me on the forehead, just as she did when I was a boy. I remembered how the last year or two, I had done whatever I could to avoid it. This time I did not mind so much.

  The day before we were to return to camp, I went back to Astigi to spend time with Vibius and Juno. It was clear that their feelings for each other were not changed, and in fact, had grown stronger. It was painful for me to watch, but it was also nice to see how happy Vibius and Juno were with each other. Watching them part was more upsetting than I imagined it would be, partly because I wished it were me that Juno was so distraught to see go, but also because I could only hope that one day someone would feel the same way about me. It also made me even more conscious of my obligation to Vibius to keep him alive so that he could return to his true love. I was envious of the obvious pride that Vibius’ father had in his exploits, boasting to his friends about his son the Legionary and his great bravery, yet in this I was happier for Vibius than I was sorry for myself. Saying farewell, we made promises to write that we knew we probably would not keep, although I will say that Vibius certainly made a better attempt than I did. In those days, I had little interest in writing, or reading, for that matter, although that would change, partly because once I rose through the ranks, it would be required of me. However, another reason for my increased interest, especially in reading, had to do with what we were about to face now that the campaign was over, an enemy that would prove to be one of the most formidable that any soldier faces, no matter how many battles and campaign seasons they face.

  When we made it back to camp, we found that the orders to break it down and begin the march to the northeast to our new home had been issued, so there was a swarm of activity. Vibius and I had agreed to say nothing of the trouble we had experienced in Astigi, trusting in the Fates that word would not reach the ears of the Pilus Prior or any other officer, and it never did. The chatter of the men catching up on their various adventures during their respective leaves helped make the tasks of breaking the camp down less onerous and, within two days, we were ready to march, the only difference being that instead of burning down the camp like we normally did when we marched, this camp was left intact, manned by a small guard left behind, along with a portion of the medici who tended to the sick and the men whose wounds were not yet healed to the point where they could travel. To my mind, and to those of my comrades, the fate of these poor souls was worse than death itself, for they existed between the two worlds. They had survived the initial threat of death, but were now lingering on, not getting better or worse as the days crept by. Some of them finally showed up at Narbo, but even fully recovered, they were never the same, and I think the idea of suffering this kind of fate scared me more than actually dying did. The march itself took three weeks, with the weather becoming bitter as we moved north
along the coast, rapidly growing colder than anything most of us had experienced. This was far different in climate than the Hispania of our birth, despite the fact that we were still in the province, for the most part. Neither Vibius nor I had ever been this far north, so we spent every night wrapped in our cloaks and wearing our extra tunics, but still our teeth chattered most of the night. Being close to the coast as we marched did not make it any warmer because an icy wind blew off the water to further our misery.

  We arrived in Narbo at the beginning of Januarius; it was very late under normal conditions, but there were no plans for us in the immediate future, which of course we had no way of knowing. The beginnings of what would start out as a camp had been begun by the advance party and, over the next weeks, it was transformed into a small city, our tents replaced by wooden huts, still organized around our tent sections, except with wooden floors and a solid roof. The walls were made of planks that we whitewashed, then filled in the cracks, making solid little structures that helped keep out the cold. The outer walls of the camp were initially also made of wood, but gradually, they were replaced by walls of stone, although that was yet to come. Once the camp was finished and deemed to be suitable to be a permanent base, the lustration ceremonies were held, along with the renewal of our oath of loyalty to Rome. We were led to the camp by one of the Tribunes who would serve with us for this year as the senior Tribune, while a new batch of more boy wonders arrived from Rome. Thankfully, the senior Tribune was not Doughboy, who had returned back to Rome to follow the cursus honorum; he must have stumbled along the way because we never heard of him again. The Tribune that remained behind to serve as the Senior Tribune was the one that I took notice of earlier who had seemed to have his wits about him, and in the intervening time, I learned his name, Gaius Trebonius. Now, it is a name I curse and hope that Cerberus is cracking his bones as he shrieks in agony and torment, because he was one of the slayers of the great man. However, I was happily ignorant then and was content enough to have one of the boy wonders who seemed to know what he was doing lead us, or more importantly accepted what he did not know and allowed the men who did to do what was necessary.