Christopher Buckner - Swords of Rome

“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.

Gaius tried to hold back his smile, managing only a faint grin.

“Then if I may inquiry further, sir. Why only one cohort? Won’t the rest of the Sixth be needed if up north if Hannibal is crossing the Alps?”