Текст книги "Swords of Rome"

Автор книги: Christopher Buckner

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

Valerius managed a smile. It was obvious that he did not feel right about the mistake he made, but he admired the young man for his wisdom, nevertheless.

“I don’t think I could kill,” Gaius suddenly stated after a short silence. The image of Calfax came to him: the way he killed, so meaninglessly, without mercy or feeling for those he cut down. A part of him wondered if that was his future now, to be trained to fight other men, and to take pride in the act of killing – to allow vanity to confuse him as it had Valerius in his youth.

Valerius shook his head. “It is never easy. As a soldier, you might be…you will be called to do so, to protect yourself and the men under your command.”

“What do I do when I’m faced with the chose?

“It is different for each man. You will learn things that you can’t understand now, skills that will give you the tools you’ll need to protect yourself, and hopefully prepare you for the day when you’ll be faced with your life, or another’s. Even so, nothing I teach you will make it easier. When the time does come, it will be up to you to take action, or die. It really is as simple as that. I would, however, suggest that you always keep in your heart the memories of those you are fighting for. It will make it that much easier in the end.”

“Julia, and Antony,” Gaius muttered to himself before he gazed up into the old soldier’s eyes. “How do I know I will ever be strong enough, when that day comes?”

“You, my young ward, have more courage and strength than you know. I can see great things in you, as I saw long ago in your father. I know you will be valiant, greater than your father and I.”

Valerius took a swig of water before he placed his arm around Gaius’ shoulder, deciding that it was best that he changed the subject to something more entertaining for the lad.

“Did your father ever tell you how he met your mother?”

“No, he did not,” Gaius replied as his ears perked up with renewed interested.

“Oh, wonderful; let me indulge you then. As it so happened, when your father was back in our camp, after his rescue of me, it was your mother who nursed him to health when he finally woke up from his long slumber.”

“Really, she did? Why was she in the camp?” Gaius asked with a wide smile.

“Well, as I’m sure you already know. Your mother was quite a talented healer. And too, she was a strikingly beautiful woman; some think your father acted through most of his recovery just to be around her longer. Many of the men, including myself had desired her, but it was your father who won her heart. Even still, I never saw what she saw in that big lug, but the two ultimately fell in love. However, there was one big problem that stood between their union.”

“What was that?”

Valerius looked down at Gaius and spoke softly as he answered, “Your mother was a slave.”

“A slave?!" He gasped, truly shocked by the revelation.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. She belonged to our camp prefect, and since she was beautiful, and a talented healer, the prefect was not willing to part with her. Nevertheless, that fact did not stop your father from approaching him and requesting that the prefect sign her over to him – he even offered to buy her.”

“What happened?”

“I’m getting there,” Valerius laughed. “Well, by the time your father woke up and started his romance with your mother, word gotten out about your father’s heroics on the battlefield, how he saved a certain promising officer with strong family connections, myself, from a hundred rampaging Carthaginians – or was it two hundred? I forget. Needless to say, your father was a real hero of Rome. The prefect offered him anything he wanted, promotion, money, other slaves, land and more, but it was only your mother whom he desired. Not wanting to lose face in front of his men, the prefect agreed to sign ownership of your mother over to Julius.”

“Then what happened,” Gaius asked eagerly.

“Well, you’re here aren’t you,” Valerius chuckled.

“That isn’t what I mean. What happened next? Did they marry?”

“Well, your mother was now the property of your father, and he could have forced her to do anything he wanted. However, the first thing he did was give your mother her freedom. I tried to talk him out of it. I believed she would run the moment, she was a freed woman, but to my surprise, she remained and agreed to marry your father. A few years later the war finally ended. Your father was awarded land for his bravery before he eventually left the army and retired to his property, where you grew up.”

Valerius’ smile widened as he admitted a hard truth to himself. “I must confess, while I’ve enjoyed my life, wealth, privilege and the chance to train many fine young men, I have always envied your father greatly. He found true love, something that is precious, and something that so few men actually manage to find.”

“I never knew any of this,” Gaius commented as his thoughts drifted.

“I suspect they never wanted you to know, not now any ways."”

Gaius smiled as he looked up at his new friend, “Thank you, Valerius.”

The veteran just smiled.

“You should hear about our exploits in Africa, your father and I. Now those were some harry days,” Valerius bellowed with a funny grin.

“Please tell me.”

Gaius stood taller as his stare fixed on Valerius as he began another story. For the rest of the night and the days that would follow, the apprehension between the two had left. They had bonded, overcoming the fear that lingered between the two. Now, from this moment on, Gaius was not fearful of what lie before him. He knew he could trust the old soldier as much as his father had, and for the first time, was excited by the adventure he was about to embark on.

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-shoulder 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 thumpas 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, the 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.

Once more, the two young Romans collided, but this time Gaius’ attention was turned elsewhere as a messenger rode into the compound and galloped towards Valerius’ office.

This rider had been the third one this week and while the contents of what they carried was private, everyone in the camp, including Gaius, had some idea what the fuss was about.

There were rumors spreading across the countryside that trouble was coming from the north. A Carthaginian general was moving fifty thousand men down through the Alps, and would enter Italy in a few weeks.

Gaius was now twenty-three, and he felt he was prepared to defend Rome if the word came from the Senate that the Republic was going to war. He had studied harder than most in the legion and thought himself eager as any veteran in the Sixth Legion.

He still recalled the promise, he'd made to his father the day he left home with Valerius: he vowed to make the man proud and do his very best to be a proper soldier like his father was, and to this day, from the moment he walked through the camp gates, he had done everything that had been asked of him.

While he legally couldn’t join the legion until he was sixteen, he spent those first three years in Valerius’ shadow, learning and watching the old legate’s every move. When his training began Gaius found he had a natural talent in many forms of warfare. He easily bested men twice his age in numerous forms of soldiering: wrestling, swordsmanship, horsemanship, boxing, and most important, tactics, strategy and command. Because of these skills, he was made an optio when he was seventeen – greatly due to his ability to read and write. Two years later he was made a junior centurion and giving the command of his own century. Currently, Valerius had him assigned to the first cohort of the legion, where his promotion continued to climb. The old man seemly wanted Gaius to stay near him as he came of age, grooming him to perhaps one-day take command of the legion itself.

He knew that Valerius had great faith in him, and would one day entrust him to lead the Wolves. That was an honor that both excited and scared Gaius greatly, most of all because he could not imagine living to see a day that Valerius did not command this legion.

Gaius’ thoughts return to his duties as he heard another loud thump, as a body hit the mat.

Taking a deep breath, without having to turn his head to see who lay on his back, he called out, “Again. And do try to win a match while we’re still young, Maurus.”

Later, that evening Gaius walked into Valerius’ office and stood quietly at attention near the doorway as he waited to be called forward.

He watched his old mentor pack several maps into a stack of satchels, assisted by two young aides who rushed around quickly from shelve to shelve.

Ten years ago when he first met Valerius, he seemed as frightening as a titan. Gone now was the burly, haze-eyed brute that donned a thick grey beard. Replaced, Valerius had in him the fire of a teenager.

He was clean-shaven, although there were still some streaks of grey running through his short hair, and a few extra lines under his eyes. He moved and acted with a renewed sense of purpose, which gave Gaius hints about why he had been summoned.

The legate’s eyes were locked on one map. From Gaius’ vantage, it seemed to be a detailed map of northern Italy. The two aides, no more than fourteen, rummaged through the shelves that were filled with other documents. They were busy sorting, collecting and categorizing them into small travel bags that would be moved with Valerius’ command. Gaius smiled as the boys glanced over at him. It wasn’t too long ago when he was in their shoes, doing errands for Valerius or the other officers of the legion. The work was tedious and thankless, but they were learning important lessons, even if they hadn’t realized it yet.

One of the aides, a young dark-haired boy fumbled as he was carrying an arm full of documents, most of which seemed to be dealing with the payroll for the legion.

The papers rained down onto the floor, turning Valerius’ attention away from his work.

“Dammit, boy! Pick those up and be more mindful of what you are doing, or by the gods, I’ll send you back to the whore of a mother of yours,” Valerius yelled.

“Yes, legate, sir. I apologize,” the boy repeated several times over as he franticly dropped to his knees and quickly collected the papers.

“Centurion,” Valerius said without even raising his head to look at Gaius. “I want the first cohort ready to march in the morning. Have them in full kit and enough rations for two weeks.”

“It will be done, sir,” Gaius responded obediently.

He did not move or say anything more even though it was clear those were all the orders Valerius wanted to issue at the moment.

Valerius lifted his gaze; his eyes showing signs that the old Roman didn't sleep for a full day now.

“Is there something else on your mind, Centurion Gaius?”

“Yes sir, if I may ask. What is our destination?” Gaius quickly replied without hesitation. Even though he and Valerius showed each other the proper formality that was expected of any legionnaire, they still had an easy relationship with one another that Gaius knew he could ask anything of the legate and probably get an answer.

“You may ask, but that does not mean you will get an answer.” Valerius leered at Gaius with cold eyes, a stare that would have made other officers nervous, but Gaius held his ground with an unmoved expression. He was as eager, if not more so than anyone else to know what was going on. War, was, after all what these men had trained for their entire lives.

Valerius snorted.

“The Senate is having a special session in four days. My presence has been requested in Rome, and the legion placed on standby,” he finally answered.

“Then it is true. We are going to war with Carthage?” Gaius asked, his question shared by the whole legion, who waited eagerly to hear if the rumors spreading were true or not.

“It is not for me to decide such things, lad. However, if I were a betting man, I would say we are. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” Valerius answered with an unwavering reply. While he would never say it, Gaius could see in the legate’s actions that he was excited as well. He’d been stagnated for too long – away from a real fight for years, with only hunting pirates and putting down tiny Greek rebellions to occupy his decades since the last war with Carthage.