CHAPTER EIGHT
The smell of fresh wheat that was a few days from being harvested filled Gaius’ nose. He loved that smell, the scent of life and hard work. It reminded him of home and the life he left behind, now seven days ago.
He and Valerius were now on the southern tip of Italy, heading toward the Sixth Legion’s barracks, which the old veteran commanded. It had been two days and nights since they had talked by the camp fire, sharing the stories of Valerius' past, which included tales of Gaius’ mother and father.
He had been afraid of the older man when he first saw him, but now neither one of them was uncomfortable with each other’s presence. They had become fast friends as they shared a common interest and love for Gaius’ family.
Valerius told more stories about his and Julius’ exploits in their youth, and Gaius listened to each one with keen interest. He figured, given time he would have his own story to tell, one that would equal his father’s. Even so, at the same time, the tales of his father’s deeds made him lonely. He had never felt altogether comfortable around his father — he had been closer to his mother, but since her passing the small house had been empty and cold, even though the two men shared it together. The only release Gaius had was when he was with Antony and Julia. At least with them, he could be a child, living life as he should, not troubled by the worries of men.
He missed his friends greatly. He wondered what they might be doing now, without him. So too his mind thought terrible things; he nearly convinced himself that they would forget about him in time, maybe even within a few months. It saddened him greatly, but no matter what his mind told him, his heart reassured him that he was doing this to fulfill his promise to Julia. He would grow strong, confident and skilled in new trades that he could protect her and keep her safe. From what, it did not matter, and for now, those thoughts kept him moving forward.
The field came into view as Gaius and Valerius rode over a hill, the sounds of their horses’ hooves clopping in a soothing pattern mixed with the joyful sounds, the singing birds and casual conversations of the workers in the fields as they readied the harvest. The sun was high and pleasantly warm. Gaius’ eyes widened as saw children running to and afro, playing in and around the fields, their mothers warning them every few minutes to stay where they could be seen. Hundreds of men and women walked casually down the narrow paved road with bushels of already gathered wheat on their backs, or carried in horse-drawn carts.
In the distance, he could make out the outline of the legion barracks, which was surrounded by a high wooden wall. Further still were hints of a small town.
A number of workers acknowledged Valerius, calling out greetings as the two rode slowly passed them. Gaius could see on the old veteran’s face that he enjoyed the small pleasantries as he sparked short conversations with a number of the men, asking about their families, knowing many of them by their names.
“Are these people your slaves?” Gaius’ head was on a swivel as he took in every detail, sight and sounds, feeling that he was on a grand adventure.
Valerius chuckled as he glanced back with a thin smile.
“No, these men and women are all freeborn. I pay them to work the field. We share in the bounty; my men are fed and clothed while the workers sell the goods in the town or export elsewhere. It is a simple arrangement that works for both parties. It is about balance, Gaius.”
“Balance?” Gaius asked confused. It seemed to be a lot of work to him for so little reward.
“Yes. Look at them. Look at each of their faces. Are those the faces of slaves?”
“But Rome has many slaves.”
“Indeed, it was built on the backs of slaves. Countless generations of people, both from our own piece of the world and from lands not seen by my eyes have lived under the crack of a whip. Even today, without them the whole system would cease to exist, and the Republic would crumble.”
“Then why don’t you own them. It would be cheaper, and your bounty larger?”
“True, I suppose. However, easier isn’t always cheaper, no less is it honorable; men who work honestly, knowing that their labor is its own reward, will work that much better. A slave has no choice; work or suffer the consequences. Besides, less than a century ago these people were all Greek, enemies of Rome. If I were to treat them as such, our legion would not be enough to hold back their wraith. To treat them as equals, while not citizens of the state, we keep the peace while still maintaining Rome’s presences.”
“I don’t really understand,” Gaius admitted. He saw slavery his entire life. Once, in a fit of anger about having to do his chores, when all he wanted to do was go outside and play, he suggested to his father that they could get a slave or two. At the time, he was sure they could afford it. Antony and Julia had many slaves, all of whom rushed to please their master and their friend. He didn’t see anything wrong with it: if Rome’s foundation was based on it, what could be erroneous?
Valerius glanced back and looked at Gaius, seemingly amused by his confused expression as he tried to wrap his head around Valerius’ reasoning.
“You may not understand yet, Gaius, but I’ve seen much of the world. There are too much suffering and pain, much of it caused by Rome. I swore a long time ago that I would not add to it if it could be avoided. I would rather starve and have my men go without food than force another to tend to our needs.”
“Then Rome is wrong for its practices?” Gaius asked.
“I don’t know, Gaius. I’m but a simple soldier. It is not for us to question centuries of tradition, but that doesn’t mean we have to follow everyone either. You’ll have to make your own mind up one day. I love our Republic. I love what it stands for, what it could someday become, but it is far from perfect.”
Valerius stopped his horse and turned back, facing Gaius, who also came to a stop. The legion barracks were in full view now; its gates wide open, the sentries on post as dozens of people came and went through the entrance. The whole placed seemed daunting, impossibly huge to Gaius’ young eyes. Thousands of men, most much older, stronger and more skilled than he lived there, it was literally a whole new world, which he knew nothing about that he was frightened to move another step forward and cross the threshold.
“Gaius,” Valerius begun, his voice firm, his eyes fixed. “What favor I may have shown you over the past few days has to end right here. I loved your father, and I promised him that I would take care of you, but you have to understand that once we go through those gates, I am your legate and your teacher, and nothing more. I will treat you no different than I would any of my other men, regardless of whose blood flows through your veins. Do you understand, Gaius?”
He didn’t answer right away as he took one long look around, absorbing his surroundings, watching the people, listening to the wind, and thinking back to everything he left behind. Honestly, he did not know if he was ready for this.
But then the faces of Antony and Julia flashed across his mind. He remembered the promise that he made to her, and the brotherhood that he and Antony had formed. He recalled his father’s words to him before they left the house, retelling in his mind the importance of the armor plate that was strapped to Gaius’ horse, and the legacy that it carried. He knew his childhood was over. He understood that much was going to be asked of him. He too knew it was his choice to ride through those gates.
With a heavy sigh, Gaius answered. “Yes. I am ready.”
Valerius nodded as he turned his horse back and continued towards the barracks of the Sixth Legion.
Gaius glanced over his shoulder, staring for a long while to the north. A part of him was saying his good-byes to where he came from. He wondered at this moment when he might return, if he ever would.
When the time was right, Gaius whispered, “goodbye" to his old life and kicked his horse, urging it forward to his new home.
CHAPTER NINE
“Ten years, brother, ten long years and there it is,” Mago said to his brother Hannibal as they stood shoulder-to-sh
oulder on horseback.
It was cold, more so than Hannibal had thought possible. Before him stood the peak of the Alps, which loomed like a monolithic wall that blocked him from his destiny. On the other side lied his bitter enemy, who for ten years since his sacking of Saguntum has stood beyond his reach, beckoning him with their arrogance and contempt for the rest of the world, to be vanquished. However, his Senate at home had nearly hampered Hannibal’s plans to carry out his father’s dream of seeing Rome kneeling before Carthage. They, when Rome had sent its emissaries to Carthage, a decade ago, broke under their threats. Since then, at a constant state of war with Rome, they had not turned Hannibal over to the Republic as demanded, but neither did the home-country support his efforts to start a war with Rome. As such, Hannibal had to build on his individual successes — form alliances on his own from captured or mined gold from Spain, and forge new friendships through victory over the Gallic barbarians that stood in his way. Now, all that stood before him was the mountains — a natural barrier that had kept the Italian peninsula protected for generations from invading armies by land.
Further in the rear both Hannibal and Mago’s attention was diverted by the noise from his war-elephants, which, despite their fearsome sizes and bravery were not adept for the cold climate of Europe. The creatures seemed to be in constant agony, four having already died as the army climbed higher — and yet, they hadn’t even begun the march into the actual Alps as of yet.
“How many do you think will make it?” Mago asked.
“Not enough,” Hannibal answered.
“I was referring to the men, not the beasts.”
Hannibal starred at his brother for a long moment before he answered. Already, he had begun this journey from Spain in the spring with fifty-five thousand men, and due to barbarian attacks and disease, he had lost eight thousand. Even so, he knew there would be many more to come. The bitter, relentless cold, the brutal environment, and those Gallic tribes that call the Alps their home would make sure that tens of thousands of Hannibal’s men would not live through the crossing.
“It does not matter, brother. Those that die are weak. I want only the strongest men for this campaign,” Hannibal answered sharply.
“And if I am among the dead, brother?” Mago asked seriously.
Hannibal leered at Mago for a moment. He knew that Mago knew best not to try to draw sympathy from Hannibal. He loved his brother as much as he should, but he loved his dream of a conquered Rome with more passion than any thousand siblings.
“Do not test me, brother. We will need the strongest to challenge Rome’s legions — not weak men who can’t survive cold. That pertains to my family as well, Mago. Now, signal for the march to begin. I will wait no longer — rain or snow,” Hannibal remarked as he kicked his horse, which galloped down the long formation of Carthaginian allied soldiers who had joined Hannibal’s endeavor.
“As you command, brother.”
* * *
Muscle and flesh collided with a loud thump as dust and sand was kicked up, mixing with the sweat that poured off of the two men who battled one another in a grueling match for dominance. Grunting, they fought for the best position to gain the advantage over the other. These two had fought like mountain goats as their sizeable arms and equally great bodies locked tightly before each man broke, staring intensely at each other as they breathed heavily. And then with a powerful yell, the two collided once again with so much force that it that they found it difficult to maintain their footing in the white sand.
Neither man showed the slightest hint of weakness. Back and forth, they fought — breaking and colliding and countering the other’s moves and locks, until finally, one gave in to the other’s overwhelming strength.
One competitor was a giant of a man. He had short black hair that was cut close to his skull. His muscles, nearly as large as melons, were covered in sweat, which rolled in between the rippling folds of his arms, back and shoulders. His legs seemed as if they had been forged in fire, crafted from the finest iron, impossible to break.
The second man was shorter by a good eight inches. With short close-cropped blonde hair, this man’s body was no less defined then the larger of the two. The height, however, was something the shorter man was having difficulties overcoming. He continually struggled to position his body in the stance that would allow him to overpower the larger man.
His youthful face was covered in sweat and showed the agony he was in as he began to lose any advantage he might have had when the two first locked together.
With an angry grunt of frustration, his grip slipped, just slightly. That, unfortunately, was all the large man needed as he grabbed hold of his opponent’s wrist; twisting it until he broke the smaller man’s hold entirely.
In one painful pull, the taller man lifted his opponent up and over his head before slamming him squarely onto his back.
Sand kicked up into the musty air as the defeated man lay still on his back, eyes closed his entire body racked with pain. This had been the fourth time this afternoon he was put down so hard.
Opening his eyes, the sun glaring down, the defeated man lifted himself back to his feet as the victorious opponent laughed at his sorry and tired state. He wasn’t alone as half a dozen men too joined the jubilation.
“Gods be damned!" Yelled the defeated man as he wiped sand off of his bare-chested body.
“You don’t give yourself enough time to find the right moment to strike. You act too fast, Maurus,” Gaius stated with a grin as he tried not to join his comrades in their amusement of his friend’s continuous defeat.
“It isn’t fair; Agrippa is the size of a horse,” Maurus complained, which was nearly true.
“Since when does size matter?” Gaius replied.
“Oh, this coming from someone who is six-foot two. I, on the other hand, am only good for chasing rats under the kitchen table,” Maurus joked at his own expense as he again took to the center of the sand-cover arena, squaring off against Agrippa once more.
“You are pretty good at chasing rats, Maurus,” Agrippa said with a humorous grin.
Once again, the two young soldiers faced one another.
Gaius stood off to the side — his arms crossed as he watched the two with careful eyes.
This day, like most, Gaius was overseeing the practice of his century. Two dozen other legionnaires, most of whom the same age as he, pitted against one another as they wrestled inside the large rectangular pit.
Each man fought in the nude, as they trained for three hours without rest. Already, as the day was just beginning, they still had another hour to go before they moved to another exercise.
Gaius did not join them this day as, he, a senior officer and already most skilled among the group, watched and passed along his advice in order to help improve the soldiers' skills, many of them new, having joined the Sixth Legion less than a year ago.
Most of his attention was, however, kept on Maurus and Agrippa.
Gaius raised his fist into the air and held it there for a few moments, before he quickly dropped it towards the mat.
Once he had given the indication for Maurus and Agrippa to begin, he stood back and careful studied Maurus, who rushed in and tried to overpower the larger man.
With a thunderous clap of naked flesh, the two Romans collided. Each man’s hand and arms violently fought as they reached for the best position to gain the early advantage. The sweat coming off their skin made their grip that much more difficult.
Maurus was considerable faster, and a damn good fighter. He normally took the first step in the battle, outpacing the slower and more cumbersome Agrippa. The problem was Maurus tried too hard. Instead of using his strengths and natural gifts to bring the larger man down, he fought tooth and nail to muscle Agrippa onto his back.
While Maurus could defeat most men easily, he could not understand the concept of fighting a larger opponent. In his mind, he had already lost before the bout had begun.
For over three minutes, th
e two fought. As before, Maurus would make the wrong move as he continued to attempt to overpower Agrippa.
Taking advantage of his size and strength, Agrippa allowed Maurus to make a fatal mistake, and then counter the error, always resulting in him flipping the young Roman onto his back, ending the bout.
With another loud thump, Maurus was thrown down, losing yet again where he was breathing heavily and refusing to get up.
“Are you dead?” Gaius asked as he stood over his downed friend.
“Yes, now leave me be and let the vultures have my flesh and bones,” Maurus replied as he stared up at the slow-moving clouds.
“Good. Now get up and start again.” Gaius grabbed Maurus’ wrist, lifting him back to his feet.
“I hate this sport. I do not wish to do it any longer. I am paid to carry a sword and shield, not fight bare ass in the sand,” Maurus complained.
“You will be thankful you know how to fight when you’ve lost your sword, and fighting a Greek hoplite in battle, hand-to-hand,” Gaius commented with a smile.
Maurus grinned as he wiped away a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Like a boy-loving Greek could ever disarm me.”
“You might be surprised; the Greeks did invent this sport, and were once masters of the world.”
“They don’t have much to show for it now, do they?” Maurus slowly stepped back into the pit and lowering himself down into a three-quarter stance.
“I am Greek decent,” Agrippa commented.
“I thought you from this neck of the woods, old boy?” Maurus mused.
Gaius smiled.
“Nearly everyone in the south of Italy is Greek descent. If only you showed as much care to history as you do your body hair, you may be a bloody legate by now. Now, let’s try to show some improvement before dinner, shall we?” Gaius joked as he dropped his fist for the two to begin.
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