Marching With Caesar: Conquest of Gaul (4 page)

I was leaving behind my two sisters, Livia and Valeria, and despite the fact I loved both my sisters, it was Valeria I was closest to, because she had essentially been my mother in everything but name. Now they were both married and I was left alone to fend for myself with our father. Our slave Phocas, and his woman Gaia, the names given to them by my father, did their best to protect me from Lucius, but they were slaves and there is only so much a slave can do to a master. Fortunately, my father’s beatings were long since ceased, once I became much larger and stronger than he was, yet that did not stop him from constantly reminding me how worthless I was, and how I would never amount to anything. Deep down I knew that if I did not leave the farm soon, there would come a point where I would strike my father down. When I was young, I possessed a fearsome temper, and had not developed the sufficient amount of self-control to that point to be sure that I would be able to stop myself if my father went too far one day, and no matter what the provocation, any son who kills the
paterfamilias
faces the harshest punishment under Roman law. Therefore, it was better for everyone that I took this step in joining the Legions, and to that end I made a deal with my father that if he would swear that I was the legal age to join, he would never have to gaze on my face again, a pact that was mutually satisfactory. Of course, nothing is ever that simple; in order to finally persuade him it was in both of our best interests, I swore that if he did not enter into this agreement that he would never be able to sleep soundly again, for I would find a way to kill him.

For Vibius it was more straightforward. He was the youngest of several sons, with no hope of inheriting his father’s business, so his options were limited. He could have been apprenticed to another craftsman, but the dream of joining the Legions burned so brightly in both of us that in truth there was little question which path he would take. Dreams of glory and the riches that waited were too strong a lure to keep Vibius in Astigi, despite his feelings for Juno, a friend from our childhood and to whom he had pledged his eternal love, a promise that she returned. The fact that I was in love with Juno as well was something that I kept hidden for the whole length of our friendship.

Two days after I first donned the
toga virilis
on my sixteenth birthday in April, about a third of a watch before first light, Phocas and I hitched the mule to the wagon, with Gaia packing the food we would eat on the way, along with various other essentials. All my belongings, or at least those that I planned on taking with me, were in a bundle as part of the load, along with obligatory amphorae of wine to keep my father Lucius properly lubricated along the way. He was much more pliable and cooperative with a skin full of wine at hand, and both Phocas and I were nervous that somehow things would fall apart and my father would try to sabotage the deal we made. He had been more sullen than usual since our agreement, yet to that point did or said nothing to indicate he was having a change of heart. To remind him of the threat I made, I had taken to wearing a dagger, given to me as a gift by our tutor Cyclops. The point, so to speak, was not lost on Lucius, as I saw him eying it continuously, no doubt imagining the feeling of it plunging into him should he try to betray me. Once the wagon was loaded, Phocas went to inform my father Lucius that all was ready. He walked out, wrapped in his cloak, already staggering a bit, since he had not slept but been drinking all night. Without a word, he climbed into the back of the wagon, onto the makeshift pallet that Gaia had prepared, and within moments was snoring loudly. Phocas and I exchanged a glance, then he mounted the wagon and with Gaia beside him and with me walking beside the wagon, we left the only home I had ever known. I wondered as I stopped for a moment to gaze back at the modest farm, its main house not much better than some of the hovels I would come across in Gaul, if I would ever see it again, and if I did, under what circumstances. Then I turned and trotted to catch up with the wagon.

Just after dawn, we met with Vibius and his father, both of them astride mules. Vibius’ father stank of lime and rawhide, marks of his trade as a tanner, but he was pleasant enough. His good spirits I suspected came from the relief he felt at having solved a dilemma without lifting a finger, increasing his family fortunes by subtraction since Vibius was one less mouth to feed. I also believe our choice absolved his conscience of having to make a decision about Vibius’ future since he was not going to inherit the business. Despite that, I could also sense some genuine affection on the part of Vibius’ father towards his youngest son, a feeling only strengthened by what I witnessed on our journey to Corduba. At least I could see a resemblance between the two; Vibius was the image of his father, the same short but powerful frame and bandy legs, as if they had been born astride a mule, with pigeon chests and muscular forearms. And they had more similarities than physical, as I was to learn on the journey. Juno was standing there, her eyes red-rimmed and puffy, signs that she had spent the last night with Vibius in a state other than connubial bliss. Despite the fact that they were as yet unmarried, their love for each other, and the ardor that young men and women all suffer from combined to make any idea of Juno’s maidenhead remaining intact, as by rights it should have, an impossible burden for the both of them to bear. Normally, this might have caused Juno’s father to exercise his rights as
paterfamilias
and kill Juno while demanding some sort of punishment from Vibius and his family, except their love for each other and the affection that Juno’s father had not just for his daughter but for Vibius as well, all worked to cause him to turn a blind eye to their passion. I knew that Vibius and Juno were having sexual relations, but Vibius was kind enough and cared enough about Juno to avoid the normal boasting a man does to his best friend about his conquests. Although we never spoke of it, I believe that Vibius knew I loved Juno as he did, and it was a mark of his friendship that he did whatever he could to avoid rubbing what was in effect a failure in my face. Regardless, it hurt; nevertheless, I smiled as I went to Juno to give her a farewell hug. Putting my arms around her, I could feel my heart racing, the unbidden and unwelcome thought coming of what it would be like if there were no clothes between us, if we were alone and……..I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts that were bound to make my feelings known if I allowed them to continue.

Juno, for her part seemed oblivious to my struggle, stood on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear, “Titus, please take care of Vibius. Make sure he comes home to me.”

“I will,” I promised, and I meant it sincerely.

Despite my feelings for her, they were still overridden by my love for Vibius. Suddenly grabbing both of my arms, in a grip that was surprisingly strong for a girl her size, she whispered urgently, “Swear it on Jupiter’s stone, Titus. Swear that you’ll bring him back to me alive.”

Flattered that she put that kind of faith in my ability, and somewhat unnerved by her passion, I made the oath, which calmed her down. While I was making my farewells to Juno, Vibius’ father had ridden his mule over to our wagon, where he saw Lucius sprawled in the back of it, snoring away.

Glancing over at me, I could feel the heat in my face rising, but before I could speak, Phocas said smoothly, “My master has been suffering from ague and flux, and it’s weakened him considerably. But despite his illness, he didn’t want to deprive his only son of his greatest wish to join the Legions.”

Vibius’ father nodded gravely, clearly not convinced in the slightest but not wishing to make a fuss about it either. Farewells done, we turned our little caravan towards the road out of town leading towards Scallabis.

The trip was pleasant enough; the weather cooperated, and Vibius’ father turned out to be a veritable fount of chatter, telling awful jokes and fantastic tales of the exciting life in the tanning business. He was not that bad, truth be known, and as we talked, I could see where Vibius got his sense of humor and buoyant nature. Lucius regained consciousness a watch or so into the journey, leaning over the side of the wagon to retch violently. Phocas handed the reins to Gaia in order to aid Lucius, his help being in the form of handing him an amphora of wine.

Seeing Vibius and his father watching and unable to ignore what was taking place, Phocas announced, “This is a potion that’s served to ease my master’s suffering in the past. We paid a Greek doctor for a large quantity since it’s proven so effective.”

I silently thanked the gods for Phocas and his quick thinking; despite the transparency of the fiction, neither Vibius nor his father seemed inclined to dispute it, and given that Lucius’ sickness seemed to pass as soon as he drank of the “potion”, there was no unpleasantness. In fact, once Lucius was fully conscious, he began a conversation with Vibius’ father, who rode beside our wagon as they talked. They began discussing the current political situation, with the aftermath of the Catiline conspiracy still fresh on every citizen’s mind. While they talked, it gave Vibius and I the opportunity to drop back a way, he riding and I walking as we talked. The only topic of interest was our immediate future, and we both speculated on what was facing us. As much as Cyclops had told us, there was as much and more that we did not know, of which we both were all too aware.

Arriving in Scallabis after almost two weeks of hard travel, it was the first time I had been to the provincial capital. To my country-boy eyes, it was the height of glamour and excitement, a bustling metropolis that always seemed to be buzzing with activity as farmers, muleteers, merchants, whores and all sorts of shady characters flocked to the city. Of course, it was not a metropolis, but I had yet to see Rome or Alexandria, another point about which Lucius was only too happy to remind me, seeing it as one more sign of my inadequacy. Just as our party entered the city through the main gate, my father made a loud declamation how this pile of
cac
was nothing when compared to Rome, going on to relate how his father, who loved him well, took he and his brothers to the eternal city to see none other than Pompey Magnus. His words immediately drew hostile stares from the others around us, and I felt my face turn red from embarrassment, with Phocas turning to give Lucius a warning look as he sat in the back of the wagon, swilling wine and running his mouth, completely ignoring the both of us.

Vibius and his father looked equally embarrassed at this display, and finally I dropped back to the wagon to hiss, “By the Furies, if you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll kill you on the spot!”

He opened his mouth to say something back to me, but evidently the look on my face stopped him, because he snapped his mouth shut and remained quiet, sullenly sucking on his wine skin.

Making our way to the Praetor’s residence, this was the site of the
dilectus
, the
dilectus
being the official recruiting effort for the Legion. Because it was just after mid-day, there was a line of young men, accompanied by the men who would vouch for them, waiting for their turn in front of the
conquistores
, the group of officials charged with finding qualified enlistees to enroll in the name of the Praetor. It was in this line that I first heard the name of the Praetor, a name that every citizen of Rome and probably every human being in the known world has heard of by now. It was by way of overhearing a couple of the older men, obviously the fathers of other boys.

“So do you know anything of the new Praetor, since you’re recently arrived from Campania?” asked one of the men, some sort of artisan by the look of him. The man he was asking was dressed as a member of the equestrian class, although it was clear that his toga had seen better days.

The equestrian nodded, and said, “I know of him. Gaius Julius Caesar is his name, of the Julii.”

The artisan shrugged, responding, “Never heard of him. What do you know?”

The equestrian gave a snort of derision. “He’s ambitious, I’ll give him that. He’s so ambitious,” he said with a sly grin, “that he supposedly became Nicomede’s ‘woman’ when he was serving under Marcus Thermus in Bithynia.”

This caused the other man to hoot with laughter; it has always been the case that the lower classes love any hint of scandal attached to their social betters.

The equestrian became serious, “Whether or not that’s true, that’s what’s said. But what I do know is that Caesar is well-loved by the people of your class.”

He did not say this as a compliment, yet if the other man took offense, he gave no sign,

“Well,” the artisan grunted, “what I care about most is whether or not he can properly lead a Legion. The gods know in my day it was hit or miss.”

The equestrian looked at the other man in some surprise, “You were in the Legions, citizen?”

“One of Marius’ mules,” the other replied with quiet pride, as well he should have.

The men of Marius’ head count Legions were the first of their kind, and showed their supposed betters that they could fight just as well as anyone in the higher classes, better perhaps. In fact, it was the reforms of Marius that opened the door for those of my class to enter the Legions and perhaps advance their own fortunes. For the rest of the time we stood in line, the equestrian was completely respectful of the artisan, and indeed began plying him with questions about Gaius Marius.

Such was the nature of the conversations all along the line as we shuffled slowly towards the entrance to the building, which even I could see was not much more than a large villa. It served as the headquarters and the living space for the Praetor sent by Rome to govern the province, and as I was to learn, carries the same name as the headquarters tent of a Roman military camp, the
Praetorium
. While we waited, we saw much bustling about, with couriers coming and going, jumping from their horses to walk quickly into the building, then reappearing in a matter of moments, their dispatch bag full, either of answers to the original dispatch they had delivered, or some sort of counter-orders or further questions, or at least so I imagined. Phocas was monitoring Lucius carefully, to ensure that while he was sated enough to be lucid and appear to have all of his faculties, my father was not allowed to render himself insensible. With the day passing and the sun sinking lower, I began to worry that we would be out of luck since my father had not remained this sober for this long in some time, and despite my threats I was worried that he would bring ruin to all Vibius and I had planned because of his thirst. Finally, it became our turn; Vibius and his father would follow us, and I took my father by the elbow, applying extra pressure just before the impatient guard made a comment, giving him a look that was meant to convey exactly what awaited him if he failed. His fear was palpable, but he nodded his head and we entered the building.