Julia, on the other hand, came along only a few months ago, when she was old enough to keep up with them. She was in a worse state than her brother. She had no friends to call her own, as most of her father’s associates' daughters were either too old, or only had sons. Regardless, she enjoyed more boyish games than what was typically expected of young ladies.
Once she joined the two in their frequent adventures, her affection for Gaius grew. She had an obvious crush on him, and for a time, it bothered him, given his non experience with girls. However, he grew to accept Julia’s less than vague hints about her desire to marry him, even though both barely understood what the concept entailed. Ultimately, he grew to like her as much as he did Antony- his extended family of a sort.
The two boys continued their play as they neared Gaius’ home, as they pitted their wooden swords against one another in a running, uphill battle, as the sun was nearly below the western horizon.
Antony pretended he was a great swordsman. He loved tales of the blade and often imagined he was a master with it. Honestly, he was just a boy, and his skills extended only to basic thrust and poor blocks. Gaius, on the other hand, while no master was more practiced. His father showed him years ago how to handle and properly wield a sword — how to respect the weapon and use it if need be to protect himself. Because of this, he held back when playing. He didn’t want to hurt Antony’s feelings by winning each bout, but he wasn’t going to lose them all either. He made sure to keep their victories and defeats about even, and along the way he showed Antony few useful tricks to improve s own form. The gesture was appreciated and made their games all the more enjoyable.
“So, did I tell you that I was going into the city in a few days?” Antony spoke as he thrust his sword high, which was easily parried by Gaius.
“
“Yes. And I was wondering if you would like to accompany me? It is the last day of the games, and there is to be a festival in honor of Jupiter. My father said I could bring a friend along, if I so choose. And who better than you?”
Gaius couldn’t help but smile at Antony’s words. For as long as he could remember he had dreamt of going to Rome, the capital of the Republic — the greatest city on the face of the earth. It had always annoyed him greatly how close he lived outside the city, yet had never been allowed to see Rome for himself.
“Yes, of course I would like to go. You know I do!” Gaius replied enthusiastically. “But…” a terrible thought suddenly entered his mind, which wiped the wide smile from his face.
“What is it?”
“My father — I would have to ask him, and I don’t have to tell you what his feelings are about Rome,” Gaius answered; his voice filled with doubt.
“I am sure you can convince him, if you try. But, let me know by tomorrow, will you? Good day, Gaius.” Antony patted Gaius on the shoulder as he turned and raced down the hill, heading back towards his father’s lands; swinging at the overgrown weeds with his sword as his mind was still trapped in the body of classical heroes.
Gaius felt a knot begin to form in the pit of his stomach. The prospect of having to convince his father into letting him go was daunting, and as he neared his front door, he began running through his mind what words he would use that might better his chances. However, none came to mind as he reached his house.
Gaius reached for the old and worn wooden handle that led to his home. He took a deep breath before he pulled down the latch and opened the door. He had just gotten home by the expected time, but as he entered he could clearly see that his father was nowhere in sight, which brought a faint sense of relief as he sealed the door shut, and then putting his things by his bed, which was set against the far left corner of the small home.
Gaius scrunched his nose as he smelled what was cooking over the small fireplace directly in front of the door. A large cast-iron pot sat over the medium-burning flame. The contents inside: a brown sloppy mess, which he was all too familiar with eating over the past two years, was boiling over. He didn’t wait for his father to come back before he reached on top of the fireplace and pulled down one of the two bowls and spoons that rested above.
Stirring the stew, which made him turn his head slightly from the smell, Gaius finally scooped out a large portion for and spooned it into his bowl, before walking over to the long table that sat on the opposite side of the room, and took one of the stools.
The stew smelled worse than it actually tasted, but after having to swallow the slop nearly every day for two years, since his mother’s passing, he was beyond tolerant of it by now.
It was a shade of brown; thick and had a foul odor that reminded him of a dead rabbit he found last year behind the barn, which had been decomposing for a week. Inside was cuts of beef, various vegetables and some other stuff he had never been able to identify, nor was he sure that he wanted to.
Gaius grabbed a hearty piece of bread, tearing it free from the loaf and dipped it into the bowl. As he took his first bite, as he always did, he plugged his nose with one hand, while scoping a spoonful into his mouth with the other. Then soon after, he poured himself a cup of water from a clay jug that sat in the center of the table, and gulped it down in one sitting, before pouring another cup. He repeated this process for the first five minutes, eating as quickly as he could, both because he was hungry, and out of nervousness about what he was going to say to his father when he returned. A part of him wished he might get to bed sooner so that he could avoid the conversation altogether. However, he had promised Antony he would see what his father said about the subject of going to Rome.
Gaius heard the latch on the front door as his father stepped inside, carrying a stack full of logs in one arm, and a heavy iron axe in his other.
He glanced back at his father, Julius, as he set the logs down by the fire — sweat dripping down from his brow as he then walked over to the fireplace and readied his own bowl of stew.
Julius was a tall, muscular man, taller and bigger than most Roman men, which were contributed to the family’s Gallic ancestry. He had tanned skin that glistened with perspiration. His hair, even though he had been out of the legions for going on eleven years, was still trimmed neatly, low and tight around the ears and above the nap of his neck. His left eye was partly clouded, which obscured his vision, and while his exterior was rough, no one save for Gaius knew that inside, his body was failing him.
As he sat across from Gaius and shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth, a number of deep scars that ran along his thick muscular arms shined neatly in the low flickering candlelight, symbols of the many battles he fought and lived through during his youth with the legions.
Julius moaned for a brief moment, a sound that Gaius was familiar with. He was in almost constant pain, with few days free from the torment. While it bothered him a great deal, he was not about to voice his discomfort to anyone beyond a few groans and moans. Gaius did not know what ailed him precisely, only that his continuing problems must have been the reason why he left the legions a decade earlier.
It was not uncommon for Julius to wake in the middle of the night, haunted by dreams of his past deeds and torments suffered. Two-year’s prior Gaius’ mother would have been there to calm him, but since her passing, things had only gotten worse.
A few nights ago, Gaius caught his father rummaging through the large footlocker that he kept under his bed. Inside was his gear, the effects and weapons of a Roman soldier. He noticed, as he watched him, hidden in the shadows of the moonless night that he seemed most interested in the crest that was engraved on the chest plate of his armor. Later, when he was certain, his father was gone for the day, tending to the grounds, Gaius snuck a peek inside the footlocker and saw what his father had been staring at so intensely. The plate was engraved with an ivory wolf’s head. The craftsmanship was beautiful, and it must have been worth a small fortune; enough, if sold, to rebuild the house and replant the fields, yet it remained locked away, carefully wrapped in a silk cloth.
Whatever its meaning to his father, Gaius had yet to ask. Since then, every so often, he would sneak another peek; rub his fingers over the extremely detailed image of the white wolf, and wonder what it must have been like for his father to have worn the armor into battle. He would never dare to ask him about his military past. Some mysterious were best kept under the bed.
Gaius put his spoon down before he took a deep breath, and then spoke.
“Father, I would like to ask you something.”
“What?” Julius asked with a grunt as he chewed.
“My friend, Antony, has asked me to accompany him to Rome in two days. There is a festival in the city, and he said that I could come, if you agreed.”
“Antony?” Julius seemed to ponder the name for a moment before he spoke again. “That is Maximus Titus Varro’ son?” he then asked as pulled out a small bone from between his teeth.
