We went back to camp and lit a fire. We still had raw meat left over from the previous evening and soon it was sizzling over the coals. Each of us told stories of the deeds of Bellus to ensure his arrival in Elysium.
Hostilius joined us during the evening. He carried an amphora of wine rather than his vine cane. That night he was one of us and he joined in to celebrate the memories of a fallen comrade.
In the absence of Felix, I read Bellus’s will.
His coin and his sword would go to his family who lived on a farm in the Province. Hostilius would arrange it.
His helmet, as his most prized possession, inscribed with his name, would go to Silentus. Although they did not speak much due to Silentus’s issues, we learned that they were friends during their youth and joined the legions on the same day.
There were not enough coins in the funeral club to have a proper stone carved in his memory. Hostilius and I both contributed to arrange for a stonemason to do a simple stone.
“Bellus served the Legio IV Italica for twelve years
He was born on a Monday, joined the army on a Tuesday, and died on a Wednesday
His first scar was also his last
His comrades vow to preserve his memory”
The stone is still there, all these years later. I visit it often.
Chapter 12 – Centurion (Sept 236 AD)
Having achieved victory, we were granted a day of rest.
There was nowhere to go and we ended up spending the day next to the fire. We repaired our damaged gear, cleaned our armour and whetted our swords.
During the middle of the afternoon I received a message to report to Hostilius. It was unexpected and I had no idea what it was about. I opened the door and his secretary waved me through to his quarters without saying a word.
Head Tribune Cornelius Carbo was sitting with the centurion, sharing an amphora of wine. I immediately came to attention and saluted.
Hostilius gestured to the remaining chair and said: “Remember it is your day off, legionary, come share some wine with us.”
He drank deeply from his cup, looked at Carbo and continued: “I submitted my report to the tribune this morning. The emperor was curious why it is that so many Goths met their demise at the hands of the first century of the third cohort. We killed more of the bastards than the rest of the legion put together.”
“The emperor is no patrician. He rewards service rather than birth”, Hostilius continued.
“Congratulations Domitius, you have been promoted to centurion by direct order of the emperor.”
I was stunned and did not know what to say. Hostilius smiled a rare smile, rose from his chair and clasped my forearm in the way of the soldier. “And don’t expect me to thank you every time you save my arse. This time I will and by the way, both Carbo and I seconded your appointment.”
Carbo added: “It is unheard of that a recruit is promoted to centurion so soon. The problem is that the veterans do not accept his authority.”
I nodded, understanding the dilemma.
Hostilius continued: “After your performance yesterday, every decanus of the contubernia in my century came to me to request that you be rewarded with a promotion. They would follow you anywhere after saving their lives yesterday, Centurion.”
“I am honoured”, I replied and inclined my head to Carbo and Hostilius in turn.
Carbo said: “You will be centurion of the fifth century of the first cohort.”
He had me confused and I said: “Please explain, Tribune.”
Allow me to digress. The first cohort is the senior cohort of a legion. Normally, only the veteran centurions would command the double strength centuries in the first cohort.
Carbo replied: “You are not the only one who had been promoted, Domitius.”
“Centurion Hostilius Proculus is now the head centurion of the first century of the first cohort. His predecessor was killed by a Gothic spear during the attack.”
Hostilius continued: “I insisted that you oversee the weapons training of the first cohort.”
Carbo saw the corpses of the Goths surrounding our century and he was initially reluctant to believe that one man could have killed so many. He grinned at Carbo and said: “When he saw the truth of it, he was more than insistent than I was that you join the first.”
Carbo said: “Now that we have defeated the barbarians, we will be heading back to Sirmium for the rest of the winter to bring the legion back to full strength. We need to re-organize the legion as a whole to ensure that it remains an effective fighting force.”
Hostilius said: “As a token for saving our lives, I will transfer your contubernium to the fifth of the first.”
Carbo nodded in agreement: “Hostilius is now the lead centurion of the legion. It is his decision to make.”
I swallowed the last of my wine and Hostilius said: “Domitius, you are dismissed. I will make your appointment official when we have returned to our winter camp in Sirmium. Go tell your contubernium and celebrate.”
I saluted them both and left. The feeling was indescribable. I had thought that I would spend years as a legionary. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that I would be promoted to centurion within a year.
Hostilius had told my contubernium of my promotion in advance. When I arrived back, they all jumped up, came to attention and saluted.
I grinned, shook my head and laughed: “You people are insufferable. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Ursa had already poured a cup from the large amphora of wine. I identified it as originating from Hostilius’s store, knowing he had a hand in it.
Pumilio slapped my back and said: “You deserve this, little brother. If it weren’t for you we would all be sitting in Charon’s boat, taking a ride across the river Styx.”
Silentus nodded in agreement and one by one they clasped my forearm.
They had spent some of the coin they had looted from the multitude of dead Goths to purchase a sheep. We feasted late into the night on spitted mutton and red wine.
In some respect I was also sad, deep inside, knowing that I was now moving on. I would never again be able to feast with them as comrades, equals. I was to be their centurion and I would be responsible for their lives.
We arrived back at Sirmium three weeks later. The temporary camp was intact as we had left it.
Felix had recovered enough during the journey to be released from the care of the medici.
He was walking with the aid of a crutch and I had my doubts whether he would heal well enough to continue serving.
A couple of days later Hostilius summoned me to his quarters. I had been given prior warning to appear in my full military garb.
Hostilius was waiting for me and as I arrived he said: “Walk with me.”
We walked in the direction of the Praetorium. Head Tribune Carbo had called a meeting of the officers of the legion.
When all were present he said: “At ease”.
Carbo was a hard man, but he was fair and had earned the respect of his men. There was no need to ask for silence. His face said: “Shut up.”
As silence descended, he said: “You are here to be told who I have decided to promote. The die is cast. Should you be discontent, you better keep it to yourself.”
He announced the appointment of Hostilius and as the first spear walked forward the officers cheered loudly. Hostilius Proculus was well respected.
Hostilius announced the rest of the reshuffling of officers and new appointments, which was generally well received. The announcement of my appointment was met with a few murmurs, which ended abruptly when Hostilius mentioned that it was requested by the emperor due to bravery.
It is one thing to complain about the actions of a tribune, however, criticising the emperor is treason, carrying with it a reward of immediate execution.
With the announcements finalised, we were dismissed. I turned around to go back to my unit when I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Hostilius.
“The job of e
very centurion is to communicate the changes to his century. Once this is done, the changes takes place. I will give the order first thing tomorrow morning.”
He paused for a moment and said: “Centurion Domitius, there is however one responsibility that I want you to take care of. Felix is no longer fit for duty. He had served for nearly thirty years and is eligible for an honorary discharge. He will receive the full pension that he is due. Go talk to him and tell him that his time in the legions has come to an end.”
I would have preferred that he asked me to bring him the scalps of ten Goths before morning. Felix’s whole life was the legion. He had nowhere to go and no family to go to.
Some say that the gods are cruel. I have never experienced life in this way. I believe that he gods work with us like a master iron smith works with a sword. He starts with an iron ingot. He does not stroke and caress it into the shape of a sword. He heats and pounds the iron over and over until all the impurities have gone. The process is violent and dirty, but the sword that eventually emerges is a masterpiece.
When I walked back to my quarters, I had to focus on calming myself and breathing, not unlike preparing for a battle. Then the gods gave me direction. An idea was planted in my mind and I felt at ease.
Felix was putting a shine on his well-used lorica segmentata. He was the only one of the contubernium remaining in the camp, due to his immobility. We were given the afternoon off from duty and the rest of the men had gone into town. No doubt that they were already deep into their cups.
I sat down opposite Felix once I had retrieved a small amphora of the red wine I had recently procured in Sirmium. Did I mention that good red wine was one of the things I spent my coin on. That and anything related to weapons and war. In any event, I opened the wine and poured two cups.
He swallowed deeply, smacked his lips and said: “Did Hostilius send you?”
Felix had been in the army long enough and he was no fool.
“Yes”, I replied.
He nodded and said: “I know that it is not your decision, you are only the messenger.”
He drained the rest of his cup and I followed suit.
I filled the cups again and I said: “Felix, may I ask about how you came to serve in the legions?”
“I have never told the boys how I ended up in the legions, but I might as well tell you. You saved my life twice over. First you killed those Goths and secondly you took care of my wound. By the gods, all of us owe you our lives.”
It was late afternoon and darkness was descending over the camp. Felix turned his cup in his calloused hands as if trying to find the words in the wine.
“My father owned a farm close to Rome. I was raised on that farm. We worked hard and we did well, or rather I thought we did well. My parents could even afford a tutor to teach us our letters and numbers, although the old Greek was half drunk most of the time and probably came cheap.
My father and mother were good people but somehow they borrowed money from the wrong man.
The man they had borrowed money from coveted our farm. Rich, powerful and influential men get what they want, heh?”
He took a deep swallow from his cup and continued, a deep frown on his weathered face.
He stared into the distance and said: “I can remember it as if it happened yesterday. I was in the kitchen lighting a fire for my mother when they arrived. We knew nothing of it. Apparently the farm was taken as payment for settlement of the debt and the men had come to evict us. A fat official and two ruffians from the city.
My mother told them to leave the house and the official struck her.”
He looked me in the eye and said: “My grandfather was in the legions and he had taught me how to work a blade, before the coughing sickness took him. I was not close to as good as you are, but who is, heh?
They struck my mother and they died. All three died. What can I say, I was young.
That’s how my father found us heartbeats later.
I left the farm that same afternoon. Never been back.
The great Septimius Severus was recruiting for his campaign in Britannia and two months later we were camped next to the fortified wall built by Emperor Hadrianus.
I later heard that my father was executed and my mother sold into slavery in some obscure part of the Empire. I thought about deserting to go and find her.”
He stared down at his feet and said: “But I was too afraid of execution if I did, so I did nothing, nothing. And now it’s too late.
I got no family, no skills, nowhere to go.” He smiled weakly and added: “I guess that’s the fate of most of us old timers, so I shouldn’t really feel special.”
I rolled the dice. “What did your father farm with?”
“Horses”, he replied.
I smiled then, which I could see confused him.
“I have a proposal for you, Felix”, I said as I refilled our cups for the third time.
Chapter 13 – Optio
As I had mentioned earlier, if you follow the path laid out by the gods, things fall into place.
Early the next morning the whole contubernium had packed their belongings to relocate. The same thing was happening all over the camp as the legion restructured.
For the first time I dressed in the garb of a centurion, which was issued to me the previous day. I donned my transverse horsehair crest and brand new metal greaves. My friends had helped me polish my chain mail to a brilliant shine and I certainly looked the part. And I carried a vine cane, of course.
Hostilius came to fetch the group that had to join the first century.
We took our neatly packed belongings and followed him. The items we could not carry we stacked on the pack mule.
He had allowed Felix to join us, as he still had a few weeks left before his official discharge. He was on light duty though, which meant that he mostly stayed in the vicinity of the accommodation and kept the fire going.
The Primus Pilus escorted me to my new quarters. Centurions did not share accommodations, and I had my own room. I was also allowed to employ a slave or a servant should I wish to.
Once I had placed my belongings in my quarters I was taken to my new century, the fifth of the first.
Unlike the previous day, with Felix, I was not nervous at all. In my past life, east of the Danube, I had regularly commanded a thousand Huns and had even killed a rebellious subordinate in a duel.
Roman legionaries are trained to do many things, but above all, the legions were designed around a system which enforced strict discipline. It was the most important differentiation between the legions and its barbarian counterparts. Discipline.
The benefit of this culture for a centurion, or any other officer is that you are obeyed. It does not matter whether one is a good or bad officer. The punishment for not obeying a command from your senior is severe.
In any event, Hostilius called the assembly of the fifth century of the first cohort. He introduced me as the new centurion, while the men were standing at attention. A double strength century of one hundred and sixty battle hardened veterans, eyeing me with suspicion.
Amongst the hostile faces I spied Felix, Pumilio, Ursa and Silentus. It made me feel at ease.
I was never one for speeches and I said: “You are now my century and I am responsible for your actions, by command of the emperor. We are all here to do our duty to Rome. Dismissed.”
Hostilius nodded in agreement and left to attend to his duties.
Many young men dream of one day becoming a centurion in the legions. They imagine the life of a warrior, slaying the enemies of Rome and eventually retiring a hero.
That is far from the truth. I soon realised that the bulk of the work is based in administration. Setting up duty rosters, arranging the watch list and writing daily reports to Hostilius.
Administration and keeping the peace. One hundred tough, mostly uneducated men, crammed into a confined space is a recipe for conflict. Add in another fifty eight centuries, slaves, auxiliaries and camp followers
and you have trouble aplenty.
There is one solution that I discovered rather quickly. Men, even the rough men of the legions, are less prone to cause mischief when they are exhausted.
I had gained personal experience of this, inflicted upon me by the barbarian tutor named Bradakos.
I made them run and do weapons training in full armour.
Our stints were longer and more intense than any other century, the only difference being that I participated in every activity, rather than just meting out the punishment.
Very soon my nickname changed to Belua, which means “monster”. I cared little.
Every centurion has a second in charge. The position is referred to as the “chosen man” or optio. This position is normally a stepping stone to the rank of centurion and comes with various responsibilities and double pay. My predecessor was killed and his optio had to retire due to the loss of three fingers on his sword hand.
I had the consent of Hostilius to first evaluate the men before proposing a candidate.
At first I was tempted to choose one of the men from my previous contubernium, but that would be seen as favouritism and only cause more problems than it solved.
Didius Castus caught my attention from the outset. Physically he was intimidating, yet spoke little. He excelled at weapons training and was an excellent swordsman. I often used him to demonstrate a technique to the century. He was slow to anger, yet respected as he had put more than one of his comrades on the injury list when harassed. He was literate, albeit not to a very high level, but more than sufficient to read and write reports and do basic numbers work.
He had always been overlooked for promotion due to his one major drawback. He possessed a terrible stutter which was not always present, but reared its head from time to time.
I must say, it took more than a little effort to convince Hostilius to sanction my appointment, but in the end he did agree, reluctantly.
Once I possessed the mandate, I called Didius to my office. He walked up to my desk, saluted smartly and came to attention, focusing his gaze on some imaginary spot above my right shoulder. His armour was meticulously maintained.
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