Legion

By Brian Rankin

August, 165 A.D. and the Legion Legio III Gallica lead by the general Avidius Cassius marches on the deserts of northern Mesopotamia against the mighty Parthian empire. Through the trials of war, one centurion, Titus Flamininus, stands ready to lead his cohort and Legio III Gallica safely through this dynamic time in this unfamiliar place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483631844

Book preview

CHAPTER I

I’m running late. Anaxagoras is definitely going to have my hide. Then again, this is my first tardy; he might let me off. Father did need help keeping track of the grain bags being loaded. Would it matter if I missed one day? It’s a good day—why am I worrying about school? I’m thirteen, I should be enjoying the world around me rather than learning about dead men whose wisdom is common knowledge. The wind blew through the grass, and the sun gave a warm glow to the earth; the trees bellowed slightly, giving in to the powers of the earth’s breath; the steady roll of the earthen mounds added to the beauty of the land.

It’s musical in its own right; listen closely and you can hear it. Wait—it’s not the Earth; its music; actual music. The sweet tunes of the pan-flute wafted through the air around the boy.

Who could be making it? He must be near the bend. The boy walked on with little care as he enjoyed the glorious day.

Ah, young man, A man said to him as he walked past. Tell me—are you a fan of ribald rhymes? Do you care to hear the music chime, or do you walk across this beautiful land and never care to stop and stand?

Excuse me sir?

The man gave a throaty laugh and said, Would you care to listen to some poetry? I’m a craftsman of the written arts and am on my way to Byzantium to seek a patron. It’s quite a long ways, and I thought this place would be nice enough to stop, write, and relax. So, do tell me young master—care to hear my words? The boy thought of his classes for a brief moment, but given his undeniable logic that it was a gorgeous day and the ever prevalent question, who cares about school, put his things down and said, I’d love to.

Excellent my young master; listen close. The minstrel cleared this throat and began:

A single drop from the mighty stream

Though its body gleams and shines

Can it ever see its purpose

In natures grand design

Or the stars that dot and fill

The heavens mighty skies

Do they think they’re more important

Than the sun that gives us life

The rocks and trees in the forest grove

Though they stand up straight and true

They don’t think they’re more important

Than either me or you.

So how can you see what your life is worth

Or where your value lies

How can you see your purpose

When you haven’t seen all of time

You must look at life

Look at your life through all our eyes

The poet sat down, pulled a wineskin from his bag and drank a haughty amount of the cool liquid. What do you think? The man asked with a laugh.

It was—it was beautiful. You’ll make any Patron happy.

Oh, by the vicissitudes of fate, I hope so. It’s taken me forever to come up with some good words and pleasant rhythm. The man took another drink. What’s your name young man?

Claudius Flamininus. The man took another drink of the wine and shook his head vigorously.

No no no. Heavens no, it’s not memorable… Not memorable at all. The man stroked his chin for a moment while he thought. Titus. You shall be called Titus. Titus Flamininus. Seems suiting enough. The man laughed again and offered the skin to the boy.

Titus woke with a start. He had been having different yet very vivid dreams for the past three days. His childhood had been haunting him in his nights. Then came a knock on his tent.

Sir, you’re needed at the command pavilion.

Titus waved the man on, not willing to speak while still in his sleepy stupor. Titus was twenty-nine years old, and a gruff man. He had joined the legions when he turned sixteen, and in thirteen years had proven himself a tough legionnaire and a very capable centurion. He stood up from his cot, sweating from the intense heat of the early morning, went over to his washbowl that he kept at the far end of the tent near his armor and prepared himself for the day. He couldn’t help but notice how his features had changed from when he first joined. He was of medium height and was built from all the fighting and labor he endured over the years. He had brown hair and eyes, which reflected the people of Rome.

By God it’s hot. God, a singular being in charge of the cosmos; hardly seems democratic compared to my friends and their many gods. Yet father was helped by those Hebrews who called themselves Christians. They may have stopped his fever, but they never stopped talking about The Father and Christ. Made an impression on father at least, after all, he did convert to the faith shortly afterward. Most of the Legion doesn’t seem to care about me being Christian. Some of the Tribunes and Centurions feel it’s a threat to the old ways, but I don’t care. I do as I’m instructed by the Legatus. I get my work done and I move on. Titus continued to talk to himself, being the only release from the heat he could find at the moment. The sun baked land clouded his mind and he found himself pondering thoughts normally never present.

God, if you’re listening to me, please get me through this place. Titus donned his armor, the Lorica Musculata which contoured to the muscles on his chest, an ornate imperial helm with a transverse crest, an equally ornate short-sword called the parazonium, his cape, and, lastly, his Vitis—or grapevine staff—which was a symbol of his rank. He exited his tent into an inferno of heat. It was early spring in Northern Mesopotamia, and the sun cooked everything it saw, while the armor Titus wore made the heat even more intense.

The Legatus, or General, or whatever you want to call him; I can’t believe him. When you’re in line he is an agreeable man with a good eye for command, but any slip, any slip in conduct at all, and he becomes someone else entirely. On one occasion, he had a man whipped for thirty lashes because the man didn’t recognize him. On another, he let one of my veterans return home when he discovered his father passed away. And just how many more meetings does he want?

Titus continued to walk through the city of tents on his way to the meeting thinking about the heat and its unbearable intensity, cursing things which he normally took for every day work. The rumble of the encampment was loud with men carrying on the business of maintaining a full legion. Smiths worked their furnaces; shepherd’s worked their flocks; cook’s worked to feed the insatiable appetite of men of war; Centurions shouted orders, and men obeyed. Titus approached the command pavilion and a Praetorian announced his presence:

Pilus Prior Titus Flamininus.

Send him in. Came the voice of a man in his early forties.

Titus entered the cool tent with a slight gasp of relief. The day was hotter than normal and showed no sign of letting up for the months to come. The tent itself was a ruby red adorned with lavish furnishing. Rugs, cushions, several desks and work areas, several busts of powerful men lining the interior, and other spaces closed off for personal use all gave the impression that a man of wealth beyond measure lived here. He immediately noticed the head centurions of the Legion were assembled, including the Legatus himself.

Come in and relax; you’re early, and we’ll begin as soon as the tribunes arrive. The man who spoke was the senior centurion of the legion, Lucius Artorius Castus. Titus knew little about Lucius’s past—only that he’s been the Primus Pilus of the Legion since he was assigned, he preferred to be called Artorius, and that he demanded respect and gave it in return. A stocky man with brown hair and green eyes, Castus was in his early forties and spoke little. He had served for twenty-seven years in the Legions, and had participated in many battles. Regardless of any titles, the legionaries knew he ran the legion.

Titus sat down on one of the cushions and relaxed while many of the officers talked and drank amongst themselves. He never really got along well with the other centurions; they were good reliable men in battle, but many were from the western half of the empire, and he couldn’t relate too well with them with the exception of Lucius Artorius and a few others.

Tell me sir—how long has it been since you last saw home?

Five years, three months, seven days, and this morning.

When in heavens are you going to retire? You’re too old for this. Artorius smiled and continued to relax by leaning on one of the tent posts.

Tell me again how they built the pyramids, father?

Okay, I’m old—I get it. Someone’s got to keep this place in order, and it’s definitely not going to be them. Artorius pointed to a group of the Legatus’s men who were laughing in a drunken stupor. The sun wasn’t even at its peak, and the men, or boys, as Titus thought, were already drunk. Titus enjoyed a good drink, but to have it interfere with work, that’s unacceptable; especially so early in the morning. If they had been soldiers, then discipline would have been enforced, but seeing as they were merely companions of the Legatus, it was overlooked. Besides, when do you return home?

Titus looked up and thought to himself:

Home, it was a place I so long desired. Every now and then I managed to return home for an extended period, but it was never enough. When I swore my life to service to the empire, I was but an ignorant boy looking for his place in this world. Now, I see that the only place I belong is next to her. Oh how beautiful she is. I was but a boy daring to charm a woman but I did. I did.

You missed yesterday’s discussion Claudius. The old man—with his trimmed white beard and hair, striking green eyes, slightly wrinkled face, and deep aura of wisdom—stared at the boy inquisitively. He seemed very changed in his eyes. Ever since he missed his first lesson three weeks ago he’s changed towards what seemed the better and yet worse. He was wiser and more pro-active in his debates and lessons, but his temper grew hot at times, and he seemed agitated at being in this great shrine of self-advancement. Anaxagoras gathered that his student was hiding something from him, and he was going to finally discover what it was.

Again sir, my name is Titus.

I know what you presume to call yourself, but your father named you Claudius, and that is what I to shall call you. Any objections you have I suggest you bring to your father. Now, silence, for I speak.

Titus humbled himself slightly for his tutor out of respect, but remained agitated at being called on when he wanted to leave and go venture off.

Why have you missed my classes? The boy didn’t reply. I sent a letter to your father asking him if we could observe his business, but he informed me that his shipments have left some time ago and that we would have to wait until the other estates are finished with the harvest; so your excuse of helping your father has run its course. Now tell me young man why have you missed my classes? Titus grew stiff at the notion that his ruse was discovered. Growing ever more embarrassed at the intelligence of his tutor, he slowly bowed his head in shame and guilt. The truth was that he wasn’t pursuing something, but someone and he was to prideful to tell him. However, the old man having been a boy his age quickly understood his pupil.

Hmm, look around you Claudius and tell me what you see. Titus still kept his look to the magnificent stone floor.

Here, if you look around and tell me what you see I’ll call you Titus. Having given him an offer he couldn’t refuse Titus gazed around him with a renewed, albeit slightly reluctant, vigor. What he saw reflected the grandeur of the empire. The floor was white granite with black streaks and the walls were also made of stone with big windows cut into them to allow the radiance of the sun to burst forth and give life to the Scriptorium. Before him was a desk made of cedar. It was exceptionally well made with elephants, lions, and other exotic animals carved into it which gave it a majestic look. Ivory was inlaid into the legs which only added to the scene of wealth before him. On the desk were many scrolls neatly bound and sorted. There was also enough ink available to the right of the desk to write a manuscript of considerable length. Adjacent to and behind the skillfully carved desk were shelves filled with scrolls of old men’s wisdom and knowledge. It seemed to Titus that everything that could be learned could actually be learned simply by spending enough time in this one room. Torch and candle holders, a fireplace, and chairs were strategically placed throughout the room to provide the maximum amount of comfort and light to the master of this grand place. Titus saw all these things and only two words seemed to speak to him; Wealth and Knowledge. What do you see Claudius?

I see… I see wealth sir. Is it knowledge means wealth?

One way to look at it, but try harder. Titus gazed at the scene before him but couldn’t make out the deeper message.

I don’t know master.

Everything in here will not disappear. It is set in stone and paper and is constantly being added to other places, being learned by other men; and it is all saying the same thing. Titus gazed at Anaxagoras with curiosity for he didn’t understand. This girl that you’re pursuing though will eventually move on. She is not set in stone, she is not permanent. Everything that I have tried to teach you has fundamentally been about how men try to maintain their own happiness in life. Whether it be through their pursuit of wisdom, debauchery, sacrifice to their Gods, war, or humility, in the end it has been about preserving your own peace, your own joy in this world or the next and they all carry one profound message. And that message is if you don’t follow your own course toward happiness, then all the wisdom in the world would be for nothing. Titus looked at his tutor in humble awe at having discovered the secret of his absence. The wisdom in his words didn’t set in at first, but after having repeated them in his mind he recognized that the old man was right. He was right and Titus had but one question.

How did you know I was seeing someone master? Anaxagoras laughed heartily and gazed at his pupil in delight.

Because my boy I am older than you. You didn’t think I was always this age did you? Titus sat down in a chair and laughed with him.

No I guess not.

"Let me tell you a fundamental fact young man. Old men know everything. They know when you’ll disobey them,