The Noise of War

by Vincent B Davis II

  Flies swarmed around happily, feasting like it was their Saturnalia.

  I couldn’t look away. Certainly, this must be a dream. A nightmare, rather, especially for those within the cages. The majority of the browsers seemed unaffected, and the slave masters were as jolly as if their wares were expensive Parthian jewels rather than rotting flesh.

  “Here, sir.” A hand shot through one of the wicker cages at my side, a handkerchief dangling from skeletal fingers.

  “What?” I asked, woken from the nightmare.

  “The smell. I know. It’s quite unbearable.” The man within the cage was much older than myself, probably nearing his forties. He was balding, but his grey hair still had flecks of black and was curled in thick locks. Even in this cage, the man had been able to maintain the neatness of his beard, and had obviously retained some of his composure as well. He spoke Greek, and his words were refined and smooth. He didn’t seem frightened or perturbed by the injustice around him.

  A slave master jumped in front of me and rapped his staff against the cage. Short and fat, the slave master’s face was glowing red from anger.

  “Shut up, you! We’ve told you to keep your mouth shut. Do we have to beat you again, or will you listen?” the slave master shouted in a Massiliot dialect of Greek. “Never mind him, sir. He isn’t worth your time.”

  “You speak Greek, then?” I asked the man within the cage.

  “I speak many languages, sir”—he gave a humble smile—“although Greek is my native tongue.”

  “Latin as well?” I asked. The slave master stood by, perplexed.

  “Yes. And Hebrew, Phoenician, and Aramaic.”

  “Yeah, Hebrew. He’s a damned Jew. A Greek and a Jew, sir. He’s not worth your time.” The slave master stepped in between us. “What are you, a soldier? I bet you’ll need someone strong and tough. Someone who can follow orders?” he asked with a wink. “This one’s not been a slave long enough to mind his manners.” He hit his staff against the cage again, the man within only leaning back in response. “Or perhaps a pretty young thing to take the stress of soldiering away? We have some virgins available—” he continued to rattle on, but I pushed the bastard aside and stepped closer to the cage.

  “How did you become enslaved?” I asked, locking eyes with the man in the cage.

  “It’s a long story, sir.” The slave looked away for the first time. “I inherited some debt from my father, and not debt from legitimate institutions, if you catch my meaning,” he said, not seeming to begrudge his lot as much as would be expected of someone in his position.

  “I told you to quit talking!” The slave master reached to open the cage.

  “Hold.” I stuck out a hand to restrain him. “If you only just became a slave, what were you doing before?”

  “I was a librarian in Athens.” He seemed quite proud of this, but perhaps a bit sad that he was a librarian no longer.

  “Good for nothing, sir. Couldn’t hold up your sword,” the slave master said.

  “What are your skills, then?” I asked.

  “Transcribing, writing, reading, languages…”

  Already my mind was racing with what I could accomplish with a man like him at my side.

  “And are you familiar with philosophy?”

  “My time in Athens exposed me to many schools of higher thinking, sir,” he said.

  “If you’ll just come right this way, sir, I’ll show you some of our other men. Numidians, Celts…strong, tamed beasts!” the slave master pleaded.

  “And for double the price, right?” I asked, turning to tower over the fat little slave master.

  “Double the value.” He gulped but managed to grin.

  “I’ll take him.” I gestured to the man in the cage.

  “If you don’t, I’m gonna beat him to death. But really, sir. We have better wares.”

  “I think you know how much this man will sell for if you came tame him properly. To some scholar or Roman noble, right? I’ll take him.”

  “I’m not sure you can afford him, sir.” The man analyzed my scratched armor and dirty tunic.

  I revealed my stipend from Marius and a letter of intent with the consul’s seal.

  “I’m a military tribune of the Roman legion under Gaius Marius. And I am leaving here with this man. Do you understand?”

  I wasn’t normally so forthright, but I was losing my patience with greedy little men who made a fortune on the suffering of others.

  “Five thousand sestercii.”

  “Here’s more than that.” I tossed him the entire bag. He tested the weight but didn’t bother to count it. He unlocked the cage and allowed the man to exit, kicking back the other slaves who were inching closer to their freedom.

  “It’s your loss, Roman,” the slave master said, extending the slave to me as if he were a loaf of bread.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I hurried out of the slave market, thankful that I would never have to return. Only after I had left the premises did I turn to notice that my new slave was lagging behind, struggling with all the power he had to overcome a limp and keep up.

  I walked back to him.

  “Slow down, we’re in no rush. I apologize. I was simply anxious to leave that place, or I might have hurt that little man.” The slave looked at me and nodded in thanks.

  “It’s a strange master who apologizes to his slave,” he said.

  We walked through Massilia’s streets, weaving in and out of the throngs of travelers who had flocked to see the “lovely city by the water.”

  “It’s a strange slave who disobeys his slave master as you did that man.”

  “As he said, I haven’t properly learned my manners.” He smiled, and I smiled back. His manners were quite refined.

  “Your name? I hadn’t asked your name.”

  “Apollonius. And yours, sir?”

  “Quintus. Quintus Sertorius, military tribune,” I said, the words feeling strange coming from my lips for the first time. “So, Apollonius is your name. But you’re a Jew? Strange name for a Jew.”

  “My father was Greek. He was a traveling merchant, on the Egyptian route down to Sidon. He met my mother passing through Jerusalem. They married, and here I am.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something strange. There were several cloaked men who were gathered near a storefront and whispering to one another. Beards covered their faces and their hoods were pulled down over their eyes, but I felt as though they were looking at me.

  “Well, I’m happy to have you, Apollonius. And just so you know, I won’t have you carrying my sword or shield. I can do that myself.”

  We passed by a theater where a Greek comedy was reaching its climax, judging by the laughter from the intoxicated crowd. In this gathering, I spotted more hooded men. They were the only ones not laughing along with the actors’ jokes.

  “Apollonius, have you been in Massilia long?”

  “Thirty-one days, if I remember correctly.”

  “Have you noticed anything strange?” I asked. There was a reason Marius had determined that I must go to Massilia—to ensure that there was no activity that was unbefitting of an ally of Rome.

  “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.”

  “Call me Quintus. That feels strange.” I placed my hand on his elbow and quickened our pace to a less dense area. “Have you noticed any strange men visiting? Cloaked men.”

  “It’s winter, sir—Quintus. I’ve seen many cloaked men.”

  “Perhaps your right.” I ventured to look over my shoulder to see if the bearded men were still looking at me. I couldn’t tell if they were. Perhaps combat had frayed my nerves. “I need to purchase a horse. Do you know where I might find one?”

  “Near the north gate. I saw stables when they were carting me in.” He pointed in the direction we were already moving.

  “I’m looking to acquire a horse,” I said, approaching an old man in a straw hat at the stables.

  “Male or female?”
he said, revealing a toothless mouth.

  “No matter.”

  “For breeding, riding…what is it for?” The man turned and led Apollonius and me into the stalls where several horses were being inspected by other shoppers and stable keepers. The smell of shit was poorly covered up by the oil of crushed rose petals and the cheap perfume worn by the female visitors. It was just familiar enough to remind me of the stable I’d grown up working in, but my father ensured ours was kept far cleaner. By the sweat of our backs, it was cleaner than most Roman villae.

  “For battle,” I said, remembering myself.

  The old man squinted and spit a massive glob of saliva.

  “You’ll want this one, then, I bet.” He led us to a black stallion in the middle of the stalls, which was already being admired by others. “He’s only been here a few days, and he’ll sell as fast as he can run.”

  “Let me see him,” I said. The man pulled back the rope and allowed us to enter. This stallion was separated from the other horses, for what I imagine must have been aggression issues. You could see it in those massive, wet eyes. He wanted to fight.

  “Name?”

  “Bucephalus,” he shrugged. It was the name of Alexander the Great’s famous warhorse, and it was fitting for a stead like this, although I imagined that the old man might have made it up on the spot.

  “Here, boy.” I approached the horse. He swayed his head this way and that, emitting a low grunt every few moments in repressed aggression.

  “If you ever put him out to stud, he’ll catch you a good price.” The old man leaned up on the chipped wood of the stables and spit again.

  “What do you think, Apollonius?” I asked.

  “A fine steed, sir,” he said, admiring the beast but keeping his distance.

  “You know, a stallion this size would make me a target in battle,” I said, imagining how I might stand out from the rest atop such an animal.

  “If coin is your concern, I can cut you a deal,” the stable keeper said, appearing as disinterested as he could manage.

  “What about that one?” I pointed across the stables to another stall, where one horse stood beside several others. This horse alone remained passive, while the others snorted and vied for attention.

  The stable keeper shook his head. “A girl. Too young. No good for battle.”

  “You mind if I take a closer look?”

  The old man threw up his hands in exasperation but led us to her regardless.

  “Hey there, girl,” I said as I approached. She leaned in curiously, straining her neck to smell my hands. “Hey, girl,” I said again, sensing her reaction.

  “Something’s wrong with that one. She’s dull, half brained, or her mind is broken.”

  “And what makes you say that?” I asked.

  “Our trainers have all but stopped working with her. She’s useless. Can’t learn a damn thing.”

  I looked into the horse’s eyes, and spoke again in a low voice. Something caught my attention.

  I lifted my hand and snapped by her perky ears. They did not respond.

  “She’s not dumb. She’s deaf.”

  “What difference does it make? She’s useless,” the man said.

  She did not respond to sound, but she responded with a swish of her tale each time I touched her wet nose.

  “Because a horse that cannot hear the horrors of battle will be less likely to avoid it.” I turned to Apollonius, whose eyebrows were raised. He gave me a nod. “How old did you say she is?”

  “Four last August. Too young for battle anyhow.”

  “Young enough that she can still be taught.” I didn’t bother to inform the man that I had been raised training horses, and I knew how these stables operated. They took their best-looking and most able-bodied horses, taught them a few tricks, and then sold them at a hefty markup. Those tricks, though, made horses harder to train. I much preferred a clean slate.

  We haggled on the price for a bit, and whether the reins, saddle, and some feed would be included, but eventually I walked away with that horse for far less than she was actually worth. The man thought I was a fool, and perhaps my fellow tribunes would as well, but I had made my choice.

  “This way toward the road to the Po?” I asked the old man as he counted up his coin.

  He gave me a nod, and nothing more. “Come on, then,” I said to Apollonius. “I’m anxious to leave this place.” He didn’t know that where we were going was much less pleasant, but he would soon find out.

  I led the horse by the reins we had been provided, and Apollonius cleared the way before us.

  As the gates came into view in the distance, I spotted more of the hooded men. If I returned to tell Marius that I had only seen Gallic men with long beards and cloaks in the middle of winter, he would have thought me a fool. But something about it unnerved me.

  “Apollonius,” I called ahead, “see those men there? You’re certain you haven’t seen anything suspicious?”

  He turned and walked back to us so that he could reply in a quieter tone.

  “As a matter of fact, sir, now that I think about it…yes. Several of these men… You mean the ones in the olive colored cloaks, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “They arrived less than a week ago. They all look similar, don’t they?”

  “They do. I wonder what their purpose is.”

  “I wouldn’t inquire about it, sir. They don’t look very friendly.” He was correct in his assessment. They moved slowly and deliberately, and there was something sinister about the way they whispered to one another and kept looking over their shoulders.

  Some small boys noticed my armor as we walked, and began racing alongside us.

  “Roman! Roman!” they shouted, and pretended to march along with us into battle.

  I kept my gaze on the bearded men.

  “Any coin, soldier? Coin?” they asked.

  “Go on, now.” I tried to shoo them away, but more and more seemed to join.

  “Roman! Roman!” they shouted louder still. The bearded men turned and watched us. I could feel the gaze of several eyes as I tried to get the children to leave us.

  “Leave us,” I said, but my voice was drowned out by their shouts. I tried to pick up our pace, but I could see that the bearded men were beginning to approach. “Apollonius, take the horse. Take the horse.” I passed him the reins and placed a hand on the hilt of my gladius.

  More of the cloaked men materialized out of the crowd.

  My gaze darted as my heart began to race. Marius had been correct. There was some kind of insurgency in Massilia. And he had sent me into the lion’s den.

  “We need to move.” I took the front and tried to clear our path. Apollonius hobbled along as best he could. My new horse snorted anxiously, perceiving my distress.

  As the path cleared before us, one woman remained standing where she was. She wore the same olive cloak as the bearded men, and held a babe to her chest wrapped in a wool blanket.

  As we approached, she turned at the last moment to meet my gaze.

  “Roman? You’re a Roman?” she said, as if in desperation. Wide eyed, she demanded my attention. She leaned toward me as if for me to examine or kiss her child. But then she dropped the blankets, which had been empty, save the dagger that she now clutched. She leapt forward with a shout.

  At the last moment, I stepped to the side and caught her arm. Drawing my sword, I shoved it into her belly as she stumbled past me.

  As quickly as it had begun, the woman collapsed onto the cobblestone path as the crowds scattered, shouting. I held my dripping sword out before me and turned to meet whatever other assailants there might be. There were none.

  The hooded men had disappeared. All the children had scattered, horrified.

  “Are you alright, Quintus?” Apollonius said, his hand over his mouth. He stared at the woman in horror, and I could tell he was doing all he could to hold back vomit.

  “I’m unhurt.” I continued to scan the area, try
ing my best to avoid looking at the twitching corpse before me.

  When at last I did, her eyes were still flickering with light, but her breathe had stalled. I knelt beside her and closed her eyes, and only then did I notice the branding on her neck. I tilted her head to the side, and made out the words “VOLC. TECT.”

  “Volcae Tectosages.” I stood and exhaled.

  “What?” Apollonius turned his head.

  “It’s a tribe. To which this girl and her friends must belong.” I shook my head.

  “Why would they try to kill you?” Apollonius asked in dismay. “They must have thought you were spying on them.”

  “I was.” I took the reins back from Apollonius. “Come on, we need to move.” I led our way out of the city and didn’t look back.

  7

  Scroll VII

  Two days before the nones of February 651 ab urbe condita

  “Does this place look alright?” I asked as we neared a clearing off of the main road. Frogs croaked and creatures rustled in the distance, but this patch of earth was as tame as we could find. I could tell Apollonius was having a hard time riding. A horse’s back, which can feel quite natural to some, can make certain men extremely uncomfortable. My new slave was among them.

  “It’s dry, at least. You’re the master, though, so you can decide,” he said, breathing heavily. I didn’t respond to him, instead hopping from my new horse and helping him do the same. I laid a few tunics out on the ground. “The breeze is nice, but it’s a bit cold, don’t you think?”

  The labor of walking wasn’t enough to warm him, as the shivers in his limbs was apparent.

  “Give me just a moment and I’ll start a fire,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said cheerfully, “a skill taught in the legions?”

  “I learned first from my father many years ago. We’d go hunting in the mountains north of my village. Winter or summer, it was always cold, so knowing how to start a fire was paramount if you wanted to keep your toes from freezing off.”