The Rubicon, a river whose name eludes most of the men standing in formation, is not one with much significance to the locals, nor is it one that is crucial to the surrounding terrain. But, this river is one that divides land where Julius Caesar can...
The sound of hoofbeats on the soft, Po region soil piqued my ears. Suspecting it was nothing more than a traveler or a merchant, on his way to trade Roman goods with the newly conquered Gallic lands that I had gladly served Caesar in conquest of, I continue to sharpen my gladius. The whetstone glides along the surface of the blade, ringing in pleasure; such as a cat or a dog being rubbed along their stomachs, purring and wagging their tails. The sword hasn't been used in many months, yet it shines like the day that it was placed in my possession. Given to me by a face now long forgotten in a land far from here. Soon, I will have lived away from the land of my birth longer than I had before I left.
Suddenly, the horse stops. The air seems to get heavier with each passing moment, as if all the wind gods are gathering above me -- vultures circling the deceased. Then, like a rooster warning of the coming daylight, squelches of caligae approaching my domicile bids me to turn around. A smile tugs on the corner of my lips from seeing the face of my decanus, Granius! My glee fades to a mask that I wore in the legion, one of a hard heart and a ready sword arm, since a sadness hung over Granius' eyes, which I could only expect signified grave news. His shoulders, slumped after dismounting, rose to a strong posture.
I place my clenched right fist over my heart in salute, "Ave, decanus."
Granius nods, pulling a scroll from his bag, "'Noting your previous service in the 13th Legion, 7th Cohors, 29th Contubernium, Gaius Julius Caesar extends to you, Publius Sentius, an offer of reenlistment to your former legion. Caesar bids you accept and aid him in his future struggles.' It goes on, but it's a yes-or-no question." He rolls the scroll back up, slipping it into his bag.
"You already know my answer, Granius." I motion with my head to the home Caesar had given me, "Give me three hours and I will be in full marching order. Where is muster?"
"Two miles south of here." He began backpedaling, "I gotta go, Sentius, see you at muster. Vale."
"Vale!" I salute once more as he mounted his equine companion and rode off along the road.
Creaking from the door echoed in my home around the lingering early morning rays, slowly sliding across the room. In a corner of the room, hidden from the lines of light laying along the floor, slumped my old armor, shield and personal sack. I can't believe I didn't unpack this yet, I think. Pondering it a moment longer, I realize, it's because I'm not home. Home isn't in a house, it's in the mobile camps buried under trees in the lands of the Belgae, it's in the tent that I share with my contubernium, in the meaningful, yet meaningless conversations upon the ramparts staring into enemy territory.
Good for me, then, that home is a mere 2 miles away.
At muster
Ups! Tento obrázek porušuje naše pokyny k obsahu. Před publikováním ho, prosím, buď odstraň, nebo nahraď jiným.
It had only been a year since last I walked through the Via Praetoria to my cohort's tents, yet I still feel the lares tickling my stomach as I approached the looming arboreal walls, with the glistening of helmets bouncing along the ramparts. Nostalgia washes over me like the mighty Rhine as I hear the clanging of blacksmiths over the hanging sound of thousands of men carrying conversations, laughing and giving orders. As this is a permanent camp, the roads were paved, causing my caligae to slap on the stones as I ambled towards my unit.
"How fares thee, Sentius?" the centurion greets. He scribbled something quickly on the wax tablet in his hand. Looking up with only his eyes, he points to his left, "You know where your tent is. Four of your contubernium have already arrived, so shake a leg and let's get working."
"Ave." I salute and hurry over to my unit's tent.
I jog past men cooking, maintaining their arms, and even some who are tending to the pack animals or ordering the unit's slaves to do it for them. As I near the middle, friendly faces hail me from underneath a tent. I slow my gait down to a fast walk, hailing my unit once I reach the entrance of the tent.
"Salve, Sentius!" Junius, my sqaudmate, greets.
"Salve. Who's ready to smash some Germanian skulls?!" I whoop and bang my shield, slung over my back, with the pommel of my gladius.
"Did Granius not tell you why we got reenlisted?" Marcus inquires.
"He read the beginning of the message, but not the end. He knew my answer wouldn't change. Why?"
Marcus looked at everyone gathered, almost as if he wanted someone else to explain. He sighs, "Caesar has been locked in a bit of a squabble with the Senate. Many Optimates have been calling for him to disband many, if not all, of his legions and step down from his proconsulship."
"What is Pompey doing in all this? Surely a fellow triumvir would help Caesar out!" I ask, incredulously.
"It appears that Pompey is ignoring this agreement in light of Caesar's overshadowing conquest in Gaul. I don't like this either, but it seems that Caesar may have raised us to be his closest force in case of civil war." Junius chips in.
"Truthfully so, but Pomepy has plenty of accolades on his own, I wouldn't see why he would turn against Caesar if not for jealousy." Marcus posits.
"Jealousy, maybe. I, for one, am entirely unsure as to how the situation fell apart in only one consulship. When we were disbanded, Gaul was secure and Rome was celebrating." I move to sit on a stool as I speak.
I notice footsteps to my right. "I suspect it has to be Cato who is behind this." Granius enters the tent and plops down next to me. He continues, "He's been at odds with Caesar since Caesar first hit the scene. Remember when Caesar walked out of the Senate after trying to call for a trial after Cicero captured some Catalina's co-conspirators? Cato must have not taken such a bid for clemency that lightly. Almost assured, he wishes to end Caesar's imperium to charge him for crimes that Cato views he committed."
"Would Cato have a case? Surely, whatever Caesar did couldn't have been too egregious. I remember the consulship of Julius and Caesar with much fondness." I comment.
"That's the consulship of Caesar and Bibilus, Publius." Marcus corrected.
"Pardon me. Yet, I don't recall seeing Bibilus doing much in terms of legislation or even of attending the senatorial meetings. Why then would it not be called what I said? For, if Bibilus were consul, why did he not serve his first month where he held fasces?" I retort, staring deeply into Marcus' eyes.
Marcus flicks his eyes away from mine, "He was still elected that year, so we should still respect the will of the people. Jupiter would not allow him to become a full consul without his full faith in Bibilus and his abilities." He finally meets my eyes again, "Would you question the judgement of Jupiter himself?"
"I would never wish to anger Jupiter." I scan the room, looking to see if anyone else wants to add anything.
An awkward pause fell over the tent, lingering in the air for several moments before Granius stood. "Enough yapping, we have orders to complete."
