Swords of Rome

never lifted a sword, no less used it. The impending campaign and the fear of again facing Hannibal in the field, but most of all, Julia and what had happened between the two of them when last he saw her.

His fantasy did not cloud reality. Gaius knew there was nothing he could do, and any words shared between Julia, and he only made things worse between them. He could win glory in battle a hundred times over, and still not attain her. However, he was not the problem. It was her.

Julia was a woman, and property of her father. Her heart played no role in how she was used, and Paullus offered more for Varro’s rise than Gaius ever could.

The guilt that he felt went towards Paullus as well. The man was good, and truly did seem to love Julia, despite Gaius’ wanting otherwise. The man had entrusted him, and even bestowed an uncommon confidence in their relationship, one which Gaius found himself appreciating more than he would have cared to believe. So, Gaius sulked — depressed, not sleeping and hardly eating as if the whole world was crashing down around him. He knew he had no right, and thought about Maurus’ word when he shared some of his feelings, “there are plenty of fish in the sea. And being of rank, you’ll have your pick of the best ones when this war is done.”

While his words were cliche, Gaius felt, having heard it a hundred times to love-sick men he wondered if they were true. Was there another woman out there for him that would heal his broken heart?

NO! Gaius exclaimed with a fury, as he tossed his blanket to the floor.

Gaius grew bored with his inability to sleep, so he stood from his bunk, got dressed and decided to take a walk through the camp. Outside, the moon hung at its highest point. The nights had grown warmer, but still, there was a cold nip to the air, which forced Gaius to pull his cloak tighter around his shoulders.

The camp held four thousand men, nearly all of them under his command. More recruits were being conscripted daily from Italian settlements and other providence loyal to Rome. Gaius had to admit that he was impressed that a brand-new army could be raised so quickly. Of course, it was glory or vengeance that most of the new soldiers sought — their allegiance came from Paullus’ wealth, which, alongside the Senate had been funding far more legions than the Republic had ever fielded before.

Most of those men and young boys drafted into the legion were asleep within their goat-skinned tents. A few soldiers were gathered around fires, talking among themselves, sharing drink and stories with the veteran who had survived Trebia and Trasimene, or the riots that engulfed the city after.

While there had been a time that Gaius recognized nearly every man in the Sixth, at the moment, as he looked at the faces of the men around their fires, he found it hard to place them. So many of his friends were gone, and the war hadn’t even reached a year yet. Many of those he would lead into battle were juvenile, sixteen or seventeen, others a bit older; so desperate the recruitment had been that retired veterans had been promised a hefty ransom and promotion if they should reenlist. Gaius looked to some of these men now to guide the adolescent, while he and his own veterans attempted to make them prime for battle. However, it troubled him more than the best men. The seasoned legions were still overseas, fighting in Greece, Macedonia and Africa. The Senate, under the guidance of Paullus and Varro had convinced the mob that recalling them was not needed. While it was true that protecting the Republic's interests beyond Rome’s borders was important, it was more likely, as rumors had persisted that the two consuls sought to build their own armies, and in return, shaping their destiny.

If victorious, some wondered, or feared, how far the two men might rise once the threat passed.

As Gaius wondered aimlessly toward the front gate to the camp, his attention was focused on one soldier who sat alone as he rubbed his hands over a dim fire. There was nothing of particular interest about the man — a boy really, other than the fact that he looked ridiculous in his oversized tunic.

His leather belt was fastened as tightly as it could, with a few extra notches carved into it so that the buckle could seal properly.

His arms and legs were nearly bare of hair, as was his chest and chin. His features were that of a boy, one that seemed barely fourteen, if not younger. His wide brown eyes stared without purpose at the dancing flames, as if his mind was elsewhere, perhaps home, wherever that might be.

“You should be asleep, soldier,” Gaius broke the dim quiet of the moon-filled night.

The boy seemed taken aback suddenly as he hadn’t seemed to notice Gaius standing a few paces before him.

As he focused his sight, waiting for his natural night vision to aid him, the boy sudden rose to his feet once his mind recalled Gaius’ face, and more importantly, his rank.

“Prefect! Sir!” the boy saluted without hesitation as he tried as best he could to seem taller and broader across the shoulders, as he puffed out his chest.

“The hour is late, and a soldier wakes early,” Gaius added as he came closer, before holding his hands out and embraced the rising heat from the fire.

“Yes, sir, but I was unable to sleep, so I thought I would come outside and sharpen my sword.”

Gaius glanced to the boy’s side, seeing that his gladius rested against the side of a log that the boy had used as a bench. Near it was a wet-stone.

“Are you having difficulty sleeping, or are the lads giving you trouble?” Gaius asked as the boy stood at ease.

“No sir. I find my accommodations acceptable, as well as my comrades.”

“Then, you are expecting an attack?” Gaius mused with a grin.

“No sir. I merely thought it best to keep vigil, sir.”

Gaius couldn’t help but chuckle at the boy’s eagerness. He clearly wanted to play the part of a soldier, well enough, but it was a terrible sight that he did not look the part.

“How old are you?” Gaius asked.

The boy hesitated for a moment. There was no denying his age, but the lad seemed to fear the answer, as if Gaius might cast him out of the army, or give him a lesser job. However, his young age and respect for Gaius’ rank did not give him the maturity to learn to lie, so he answered truthfully.

“Fourteen, sir. However, I will be fifteen in three months.”

“You could be dead in three months,” Gaius added, which forced the boy to swallow hard.

“I could be dead tomorrow, or the next day, or twenty years henceforth, sir. Death claims all of us, eventually,” the boy spoke, attempting to sound sure.

“Very true. What is your name?” Gaius asked.

“Cato, sir.”

“And where are you from, Cato?”

“Tarentum, sir.”

“You are a long way from home, Cato.”

Cato’s eyes drifted ever so slightly, as if he was recalling the home he left behind, which was to the south, along the coast, on the southern foot of Italy.

“Tarentum’s ports are important to the Republic. You should be home with the garrisons protecting Rome’s interests,” Gaius commented after a short pause. “Why bother coming all this way, certainly your parents must miss you.”

“I have no family to speak of,” Cato stated.

“Then, what did you do, who did you stay with?” Gaius asked.

“I was a clerk’s apprentice, working at the docks.”

“Then a boy of some talent and intelligence, then?”

“Not really, sir. I was never very good at counting. The master…” It was then that Cato realized that he said too much, which caused Gaius to perk up at the notion the boy had just alluded to.

“Master,” Gaius repeated. “You were a slave?”

Cato was hesitant. A part of him wanted to run. He was near enough to the gate that he might have a shot. Certainly, once he confirmed his identity Gaius would turn him in. If he wasn’t sent home, he would be nailed upon the cross.

“I…” Cato bit his lip, fighting with himself to speak the truth. “I was a slave, sir, yes.” Cato finally admitted.

Gaius leaned in closer, now sitting next to Cato.

The boy seemed unsure what Gaius’ intentions were at the moment, but he sat down, pulling his knees up to his chest as he twitched terribly.