“It’s difficult to know what to do if a soldier questions an order or shows he’s unhappy with it,” Attius said.
Lentus looked at him with some surprise. “Not so, sir; if any of my men did such a thing, they would get a beating at the least,” he responded.
There was a long pause.
“Ah, yes, you’re quite right; a legionary would get a damn good hiding. Of course, centurions cannot be beaten by superior officers. That would destroy all respect their men might have for them,” Attius continued.
“The legion would turn into a rabble,” Lentus agreed.
“That’s the way of it. Mind you, a centurion can be reduced to the ranks and then flogged. No-one would want to see that, of course. Apart from the shame to the man concerned, it would reflect badly on the reputation of the legion he’s serving in. Me, I’d rather fall on my sword.”
“Well yes,” Lentus said, suddenly uneasy about the direction of this conversation. “But he would have had to do something bloody serious.”
“Something like interrupting a senior officer giving an order in the field and then appealing to another officer?” Attius demanded. The blood drained from Lentus’ face until it was as pale as the moon above him. The First Spear Centurion put one arm across Lentus’ shoulder and went on. “Tricky things, tribunes; we both know that nine out of ten of them are playing around for a year to help their civilian careers in Rome but then there are the others; the ones who will go on to high command. It’s hard to remember that even an experienced centurion just can’t afford to put that sort right,” he paused again to let his words sink in. “How long have you served, Lentus?”
“Twenty years,” he croaked.
“Saved any money?”
“Yes, enough,” he said.
“If I were you, I would think about turning it in. A centurion’s honourable discharge bounty is worth having and if you’ve got money put by, you should be able to live well, probably get some public appointment outside of Rome; damn expensive place Rome. Goodnight Centurion Lentus.”
Two days later, a courier going up to headquarters was accompanied by former Centurion Lentus with his paperwork signed and countersigned. Lentus was gone. Replacing a centurion did not impose any difficulty on Titus; so many men achieved the rank only to be killed in the following few weeks or months that finding someone to fill a gap was routine. Tertius and Lucius saw a connection between the brief spat on their last sortie and the sudden disappearance of Lentus who had seemed like a fixture in The Second Lucan. They asked Attius about the matter.
“An effective legion needs an effective centurionate, gentlemen and it is the duty of the first spear centurion, and no other, to make sure all the officers under him are fitted to their positions. Former Centurion Lentus was a good soldier and a brave man but he had his faults. He was increasingly inclined to think he knew best at all times.” Attius grinned. “He was wrong of course; I’m the one who always knows best.”
“But I made no complaint against him,” Tertius said.
“No more you did sir, neither did Tribune Longius but anything soldiers overhear is repeated and all gossip comes to my ears sooner or later. Lentus should not have expressed doubt at your order not should he have turned to Tribune Longius. He is fortunate that matters have ended as they have. May I help you further, gentlemen?”
“I intended no disrespect to you…” Tertius began but Attius stopped him.
“I know that, sir. You did not want to let an injustice go unchallenged but in this case there has been none.”
Passer’s behaviour was another disciplinary matter that needed attention. When Lucius and Otto were on duty, he ran wild. His household tasks took up a fraction of his time and when they were done, he explored, interfered, asked questions at the wrong times and became a general nuisance. There were complaints. Lucius shrugged them off but they persisted. At last he and Otto sat Passer down for a serious talk. After the preliminary accusations on one side and blanket denials on the other, they reached an impasse. Then Lucius had an inspiration.
“Passer, what do you want to be when you are grown up?”
“I’m going to be a soldier,” he replied firmly.
“That’s not possible. You aren’t a citizen; all legionaries must be citizens.”
“Of course, I am. Your father freed me. I have the paper….”
“Passer, you are no longer a slave, that is true but that does not make you a citizen.”
“Well, that can’t be right.”
“Boxer would not lie to you, don’t be insolent,” Otto told him.
That ended the argument but dashed Passer’s spirits. Lucius looked at the unhappy boy and sighed. He could not leave things there.
“You could join the navy; you don’t have to be a citizen to do that.”
“Don’t want to,” Passer told him abruptly.
“Why not?
“Can’t swim.”
“You’d be on a ship.”
“Might fall off.”
Lucius was coming to the end of his patience and Passer was looking sulky. It might have ended with a slap “to wipe that look off your” face but Otto intervened.
“What part of your work do you like best?” he asked the boy.
“Looking after the horses... and the mules,” Passer replied, visibly brightening.
“So, if you cannot be a soldier, would you like to work with horses?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Passer said reluctantly.
Otto turned to Lucius. “There is the answer, Boxer,” he said.
“What exactly?” Lucius asked; he had now passed from annoyed to bored with the discussion.
“We take him to Martellus.”
They exchanged salutes with the master farrier who glared at Passer.
“You again; I thought I told you to clear off – permanently?”
“Decanus Martellus Flaccus is an expert in shoeing horses….” Lucius began but Martellus snorted.
“I am a farrier. I do a lot more than that. I correct their gait. I tend them when they are sick and I keep them in the best condition they can be.”
“Indeed, Martellus; I was just trying to explain to Passer here….”
“Would you like to explain why he’s such a pain in the backside, sir?”
“I can do that,” Otto interrupted. “He is young and runs around like an unbroken colt because he has no one to train him. He knows a little of horses and would like to learn more. Will you teach him?”
Martellus looked passer up and down as carefully as if examining a young horse being offered for sale.
“Do you want to be initiated into my craft?”
“Yes, please, sir,” Passer said without hesitation.
Martellus smiled and then shook his head, looking at Lucius.
“I don’t know if that would be fair to the lad. The trade’s not what it was; too many slaves doing the work now. Who wants to pay a master craftsman his due when you can buy a cheap slave to do his job? Of course, the results will never be as good but most people either don’t know enough about it or don’t care.”
“There must be some opportunities,” Lucius suggested.
Martellus puffed the air out of his cheeks and scratched the bristles of his shaven head with one sooty finger.
“Well, I suppose slaves need expert supervisors and then there’s racing stables and stud farms. Their stock’s too valuable to leave in just anyone’s hands…. “
“Will you train him?” Lucius asked trying to disguise the pleading tone in his voice.
“Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll take him on as my apprentice for five years. At the end of that time he will know enough to be able to earn some sort of living if he pays attention and works hard. What do you say boy?”
“Oh yes, sir, I will try my best, sir.”
“Very well; we have all heard you give your word. As an apprentice he should live under my roof but that’s not possible in an army camp. He’ll have to sleep in the h
ayloft; I can arrange a cot for him. Now the premium, let’s say, one hundred denarii per year, five years so five hundred denarii and we’ll draw up a contract.
“Five hundred denarii?” asked the astonished Lucius.
The master farrier looked grave.
“Sir, Passer is not a member of my family by blood or marriage so he’s not entitled to my special consideration. You expect me to open the secrets of my craft to him and teach him its practice. Surely you understand that education comes at a price and mine is not excessive.”
“When you put it like that…”
“I do, and the five hundred up front please. Without being morbid, you could be knocked on the head next week; these are the Rhine Borderlands after all.” Everyone made the sign against evil. “We will both have a copy of his contract and it will state my obligations to him in respect of the premium paid and his duties to me for the full period of five years.”
Lucius looked at Passer. “Now, Passer, if you decide to do this, Decanus Martellus Flaccus becomes your master. You are not in bondage to him; you remain a free man but you agree to be under his tutelage and obey him for five years until you have mastered the farrier’s craft. Let each of us hear you say that you accept these terms. If you do not want to, we shall have to think again.”
“Master Lucius, I was a slave in your father’s household until he made me a free man and now you pay a fortune so that I can earn my living in the world? I agree; my heart is so full of gratitude to your noble family. May I take the name of Passer Lucius Longius on my contract to honour you?”
The legate was consulted as a matter of courtesy. He had no objection.
“I hear that the boy was becoming a major irritation; at the least this will keep him occupied.”
Otto had decided to sleep outside under the porch again fearing that the comforts of Luca had softened him. He had bought a folding bed to keep him off the floor and kept an oil lamp beside him. He opened his case and took out “The lady Aelia’s scroll” as he thought of it. Passer had received his contract that day and Otto was in a thoughtful mood. He scanned the scroll and his eye caught one particular item.
“Those who claim to own their fellow men are looking down into a pit forgetting that justice should rule the world.
Zeno.”
He put everything carefully away and extinguished his lamp. Before he slept, he considered what he had read. It was the stupidest idea he had ever come across. It was obvious that there must be slaves and if there were slaves, they had to have owners.
When he woke in the morning, Zeno’s words had remained with him but his mind had worked on them during his sleep. Otto asked himself why it was “obvious” that some men were bound but others free. There was no answer other than that this was the way things were. He wrestled to find sense in the words that Aelia had thought so important for him to read. He remembered his family slaves. They were not ill-treated but he could not recall the name of a single one of them. He could picture them. Tall, blond or red-headed for the most part, speaking the same language as his family, dressed like them; in every way similar but they were not at liberty. They were lesser because they accepted their state, he decided. But supposing enduring their lowly status was an act of courage; holding on to life in the hope that one day they would again be free? In a perverse way, that was honourable. As for looking into a pit, how better to describe Servius, thrusting and grunting over the belly of the German girl in the brothel? He was so deep in his need for dominance that he could never climb out. He needed to prove his power over her and to show Otto that he too was less than Servius. Slaves were other, slaves were inferior. The girl was German, Otto was German therefore he, Otto, was other and of no more account than she was. The last thing that came to mind was Passer. Having been born a slave, then freed, he had been told that one of the few ways to earn a decent living once he had mastered the trade Martellus was teaching him was to become an overseer of slaves. It was absurd. Otto did not arrive at any conclusions but had a greater respect of Zeno.
By the end of the first week after Passer left them, the quarters Lucius and Otto shared were a mess. In spite of the boy’s tendency to wander the camp getting into trouble when he wasn’t occupied, he had done a lot of boot and belt polishing, armour and saddle cleaning, horse grooming and floor sweeping. Trying to do it all themselves as well as performing their military duties was too much. And it had to be said that Lucius was not a lot of use. He had never needed to do these mundane tasks himself and lacked both the skill and the patience.
“Come on,” he said to Otto, “we’ll have to go to the slave traders among the camp-followers and see if we can buy someone to help us out.”
Otto thought of Zeno and hesitated but what alternative was there? He shrugged and followed Lucius out of the Porta Decumana.
A figure they had not seen before stood on the far end of the bridge opposite the camp gate. As they drew nearer, they saw that he was not of any great age but sadly worn down by life. His cloak and tunic were threadbare. He was very thin and his lips blue in the cold wind. He wore a soldier’s belt but no weapons and had a scuffed satchel hanging by his side. As Lucius drew level he saluted and tried to come to attention but could not. His left leg bent outwards below the knee and was badly bowed.
“Good morning, sir,” he said.
“And to you…. ex-legionary?” Lucius asked, stopping beside the stranger.
“Ex-decanus, sir, for all the difference it makes.”
Lucius put his hand in his purse and offered two small coins. The man recoiled.
“I am not a beggar, sir,” he said gathering the shreds of his dignity about him.
“Then how do you live, man?” Otto asked.
“I do what I can; odd jobs, mostly for soldiers, cleaning and polishing kit and the like. I can handle a mule wagon as well. I’m not too good at climbing in or out but I can drive alright; sitting down job you see, this doesn’t get in the way,” he replied pointing at his left leg.
Otto and Lucius exchanged a sharp look.
“What is your name, decanus?” Lucius asked.
“Felix sir,” he said with a wry smile.
“Felix? But that means happy and lucky….” Otto blurted out and then wished he hadn’t.
“Former Decanus Felix, I am Tribune Lucius Taurius Longius and this is my oath companion Otto who has also adopted my family name of Longius. There is a tavern not far off where we can get a bowl of soup fortified with wine, that isn’t too bad. Would you like to join us? We have a proposition we may wish to put to you.”
Felix tried not to wolf his soup down but it was obvious he was immeasurably hungrier than his companions. Another bowl was fetched and he ate that more slowly, finished, he told his tale. It was a familiar story. He had not been in the army long enough to accumulate much in the way of savings and received little other than his back pay when an axe blow to his left leg ended his career. He had arrived yesterday driving a wagon for a trader but it had been a one-way trip. He was standing near the camp gate hoping for work when they met him.
“Why did you not go home to your family when you were injured?” Otto asked.
Felix looked at him with a half-smile.
“Romans despise cripples, sir. My parents are dead. I know my sister would try to hide her shame for my sake but her husband would not. Sitting on their doorstep with a begging bowl is worse than the life I have now.”
“What can you do to earn money?” Otto asked.
“As I said, I can drive a cart and I can clean and look after kit and sharpen swords properly. I can bake very good soldiers’ bread and make a decent stew. I can keep the billet presentable and tend the horses.”
“Would you like to work for us, Felix, doing what you just said? You’d have a room, your meals and a bit of money every month?” Lucius asked.
“What, permanent like?” Felix asked astounded at his good fortune. “Here take my hand on it tribune, before you change your mind.”
“I say this is a good idea and Zeno would be pleased,” Otto answered with a chuckle.
Lucius raised his eyebrows at the reference to the Greek philosopher; he recognised the name but knew nothing more of him. Lucius decided he was someone Otto had talked about with Aelia but what he had to do with the arrangement with Felix he could not say.
Titus Attius looked over Felix’s discharge papers and confirmed that he could freely come and go in the camp. He also gave him a pass to use the soldiers’ baths as a “former comrade” which stretched the rules but no-one objected. Felix lived up to his name. he was cheerful by nature and felt that he had been lucky to find his place with Lucius and Otto. They woke in the morning to the smell of fresh bread baking in the small clay oven and the sound of Felix stumping about the kitchen. They had found him some better clothes but he baulked at accepting them at first, repeating that he was not a beggar.
“Boxer’s reputation will be harmed if you go about in worn-out clothes. People will say he is taking advantage of you,” Otto told him.
The next day, Felix was dressed in the best tunic and cloak he had put on for years.
When he was not working and the weather was kind, Felix took to sitting on a stool on the veranda letting the warmth of the sun ease his damaged leg. He soon became a well-liked fixture, exchanging greetings with whoever passed by.
Otto watched him one day, ordering Lucius to lift his feet off the floor so he could sweep under his chair and the table. Lucius did as he was told and Felix pushed the dust and dried mud from their boots towards the door, whistling as he always did. It was a scene of almost domestic contentment. Otto thought how much better is was to be served by a free man doing his job than by a fearful or resentful slave. He understood why Aelia had included the quotation from Zeno on the scroll she had given him.
The inward-looking life of the legion went on as spring passed into high summer. They marched, fought and laboured under harsh discipline. Men were killed and injured in combat or accidents. Their food was monotonously plain and their wine not much better than vinegar. But they were compensated by comradeship and pride in themselves. They were a legion of Rome; no-one could stand against them.
Knight of Rome Part I Page 25