Christopher Buckner - Swords of Rome

Quintus glanced back one last time as the senators and other Carthaginians present at the brief assembly were at each other’s throats. Some accepting Rome’s offer for war, while others demanded that they sue for peace, at any cost. This told Quintus all he needed to know. Carthage was not ready for a prolonged conflict, and more than likely would not send aid to Hannibal. The rouge would be alone and easily dealt with when and if he crossed the Alps. And at the very least, he would be bogged down for a number of years, perhaps even a decade without help from home before he could actually threaten Rome directly. No matter, Quintus knew Rome would be back here, in these chambers, with Hannibal’s head on a pike. With him, Carthage would kneel before Rome and her legions.

The Republic's destiny was at hand.

Gaius stared into the fire and watched the flames dance with no particular interest, as the embers from the newly placed log burned bright against the night sky. It had been four days since he had left his father, and the only life he had ever known. He understood the reasons why he was forced to leave; still, a part of him wished he could see his father and friends one last time. So much needed to be said, but so little actually was spoken. Now, he found himself in the company of a stranger.

Valerius served with his father long ago, during Rome’s last war with a nation called Carthage. He learned that fact but knew little else since neither of them had said more than a dozen words to one another since they had set out on their long journey. He knew that Valerius was taking him to some kind of camp, one where other young men served the Republic, the home of the Sixth Legion. However, what new life awaited him, he knew nothing about, or if he could properly prepare himself for what was to come in the weeks and months.

Becoming a soldier, a warrior of Rome had been one of his boyhood dreams, ever since he discovered his father’s armor, he dreamed about glorious adventures in faraway countries; fight barbarian hordes, and defending the values of Rome. However, now, too soon had the obligation been thrust upon him that he doubted his ability to overcome the trials that would be waiting for him when he reached his destination.

Valerius stroked the fire. For four days, the two had been heading south, and while they were never far from a town, every night they camped under the stars. Gaius did not mind this; he was accustomed to sleeping outdoors, which was comforting for him since it was something he and his father had done many times. Tonight, they sat under a tall tree that had twisted and weathered branches, which protected the pair from the light rain that was beginning to fall. Rested up against the tree, Gaius glanced over at the breast plate that Valerius had worn. It too was engraved with the same image of the white wolf, only in a different style, but serving the same meaning.

Gaius noted that both his father and Valerius seemed to coven the crest a great deal. Even when they spoke of the Sixth Legion, their words were filled with respect and joy, like two proud fathers. Gaius wondered what it all meant. Would he also come to cherish the Sixth as they had — his new family, his brothers? How would he know if he was going to like the life that was being forced on him? His mind was vexed with these questions and many more — too many uncertainties. He hated not knowing what to expect. He disliked surprises, and more so feared his own lingering doubts. Fear was terrible, and it had sunk its teeth into him. What should happen to him if he failed? What if he was a terrible soldier? He had nothing to his name but what was strapped to the horse.

What would become of me? Gaius shivered at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Valerius broke the awkward silence as he noticed Gaius rubbing his arms as he huddled near the fire.

“Not really,” he lied.

Valerius smiled as he reached behind him and tossed Gaius his lion-skinned cloak. Gaius eagerly wrapped the warm fur around him, enjoying the soft feel of the hide, which lifted his spirits a bit higher.

“You should try spending a winter in north of the Po Valley. Some nights, it seems you have to light the whole damn forest on fire to stay warm. Hell, we couldn’t burry our dead some nights,” Valerius commented as she continued to stroke the raging fire that sat between he and Gaius.

Gaius did not reply, which Valerius sighed at, seemly hoping his attempt at humor would break the tension between, he and Gaius.

“You should eat something. You’re practically skin and bones.”

“I am not hungry, thank you,” Gaius replied as a nearly full bowl of stew sat near his feet. The food wasn’t bad, and in fact, it was very much the same that his father had made every night since his mother passed from this world.

As thunder clapped, in the distance, Gaius glanced over at Valerius, who continued playing with the smoldering logs in the fire. It was then that Gaius seemed to recognize that the old soldier’s mind was lost, as if the gravity of what was asked of him was weighing heavily on his mind. Gaius realized, while he had lost a father, Valerius had lost someone special to him as well, and it was out of love that he had decided to take Gaius under his wing — a last act of friendship.

Taking a deep breath, Gaius spoke. “How long did you know my father?”

An uneasy grin appeared on Valerius’ face as he continued to play with the fire, more so out of distraction than necessity.

“Well, I was a few years older than you when I first met your father. We both joined the Sixth during one of the wars with the Samnite. I was young and stupid back then, full of unfounded confidence. I was a big lad, already skilled with the sword, hailing from wealthy roots. I believed I deserved the best position just because I thought I was of higher birth than anyone else. However, your father, he challenged me, put me in my place more than a few times and showed me that to be a good leader I had to be a better follower.”

Valerius smiled at the memories of his youth.

Gaius leaned in closer, listening carefully to every word the legate said.

“So, you two were friends then, from the start?” Gaius asked.

Valerius laughed with a bellowing roar.

“Oh no, dear boy, your father and I were bitter rivals from the very start. I hated his guts from the moment I first laid eyes on him. So pious, confident, and like I, remarkable skilled.”

Gaius looked more than a little surprised to hear Valerius’ statement, which was spoken with all honesty.

“What do you mean?” Gaius asked as his smile disappeared.

“I and your father challenged each other daily, in anything and everything you could imagine, just to see who the best was: who was superior with the sword, spear, and the better horsemen, boxing, wrestling, eating, and even who could lay the most women.” Valerius winked with the last comment and added, “I must admit that I always came out on top with the woman,” he finished with an odd grin that Gaius failed to comprehend.

Valerius continued, “Many times our daily challenges came to violent blows. We would fight until one of us couldn’t get up, or until the centurions beat us over the backsides with their vine-canes; bloodied, bruised and even a broken bone or two from time to time. It did not matter as long as one of us proved who the better was. However, with all that said, our spirited contests made both of us the best among the Sixth.”

“And then you became friends, from your contests?”

“Oh no, we became even greater rivals.”

“Then what changed? What made you two brothers in the end?”

“War — namely Rome’s conflict fought with Carthage many years before you were born.” Valerius tossed another log onto the fire, which sparked and crackled as the heat of the flamed engulfed it.